scene with Don Quixote 
Frontispiece  
Dulcinea deal Toboso  
Sancha Pancha  
Don Quixot    

THE HISTORY Of the most Renowned Don Quixote OF MANCHA: And his Trusty Squire Sancho Pancha.  
Now made ENGLISH according to the Humour of our Modern Language.  
AND Adorned with several Copper Plates.  
By J. P.  
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Hodgkin, and Sold by William Whitwood at the Golden Dragon in West-Smithfield, next the Crown Tavern. MDCLXXXVII.   

SOMETHING instead of an Epistle to the Reader, By way of DIALOGUE.  
YOU are come out into the World, Sir, very unmannerly, methinks. Your meaning, Sir.  
What! nere a courteous, nor a Gentle Reader under your Girdle?  
Oh, Sir, that were a Romance indeed, to call Readers Courteous and Gentle in this Age. Coffee has so inspired Men with Contradiction and ill Nature, that Readers are as hard to be pleased as Ladys in a Mercer's Shop. Here's nothing but Carping and Momussing now adays; this is not well, and that is amiss; this might ha' been better, and that's stark nought: All find fault, but none will mend. Ask your Acquaintance what he thinks of such a Book?— Idle, cries one— Insipid, cries another— The thing's quiter spoiled, cries a third— And so the Book's presently condemned with a Psuh— and a Toss o' the Nose.  
Why then, in my Opinion you venture very hard the running such a Terrible Tongue-Gauntlet.  
Not so neither— This Book has an Advantage above all others; 'tis a Book-Errant, it has Don Quixote's Lance and Buckler, his old armor and the Barbers basin, to boot, to defend itself. And therefore as it expects no other, then what befell all the Knights-Errant i' the world, Rubs and Snubs, and Buffets and Challenges. So where it cannot get the upper hand and kill the Dragon, there it is bound by the Constitutions of its Order to suffer all Misfortunes; which tho they may be terrible to others, to a Book-Errant can be no more then unlucky Adventures— Come, come, Sir, the World's wide, and tho your Knight-Errants were many times rudely thwackt and thumped by the ignorant giants, yet they were many times more kindly entertained by Kings and Princes.  
But why Don Quixote? Had you nothing else to trouble your Brain with?  
Distinguish, Sir, you take it for a bare Romance; and I look upon it as a pleasant Story, to show how vainly Youth misspend their hours in heightening their Amorous Fancies, by reading those bewitching Legends of Tom Thumb and Amadis de Gual; and Thousands more of that Nature, not worth the naming. Now Instructions are like Pills, for they meet with many humours that keck at their bitterness, unless guilded over with Fable and Fancy. People are sooner ridiculed, then ranted out of an ill Habit; and the best way to represent the Deformity of any thing, is to expose it in a pleasing mirror. But 'tis none of my Business to preach over Don Quixote— Have ye any more to say, Sir?  
Not that I can think of at present.  
Then God buy to ye.   

Amadis de gall to Don Quixote de la Mancha.  

BEshrew thy Heart, Sir Knight, what hast thou done?  
Thou hast alarmed all Elysium.  
What Upstart Champion's this? quo they, whose worth  
Gives a new Lustre to the Fading Earth?  
Like soaring Rockets, or Mayor's day Wild-fire,  
That spit and crackle, and with a Bounce expire;  
So have I seen in Vintners Chimney laid  
A single Brush, that such a Blaze has made   

More then five Faggots, Bands and all could do:  
Hold, Valiant Knight, and leave an Ell or two  
Of the wide World for others to subdue.   

By Styx, it cost me many a broken Crown,  
Many years Toil, ere I could get renown:  
But thou, great Quixote, just as Horses run,  
Hast all our Wonders in a Heat out-done.  
To Witty Benengeli thanks, who wrote  
With the same Spirit, that his Champion fought;  
While our damm'd Hum-drum Dottrels, dull John Dory's,  
But rather digged our Graves, then wrought our Story's;  
Fuel for Satan— may they burn as long,  
They and their Legends, as th' have done us wrong.    

Don Belianis of Greece to Don Quixote de la mancha.  

BUt for great Hector, Troy had nere been known;  
And when her Glory was decayed and gone,  
'twas I to Greece restored her first Renown.   
And Mancha had been little Mancha still,  
But for thy famed, that all the World does fill.  
And now I'me sorry, by my Troth I'me sorry,  
That I should giants, Knights and Draggons worry,  
With so much deadly feud, to leave not one  
For thee, old Bully Rock, to piss upon.  
But pardon th' errors of a Hair-braind Sword,  
That nere fore-saw thy Birth upon my Word:  
Else I had surely left a small Recruit  
For thee to reap thy Valours noble Fruit.  
howe'er I lions left, and pasteboard Kings,  
And over them thy triumph loudly rings:  
The pasteboard King had not a word to say;  
For Why?— his Head was off, and there he lay.  
The lion crouch'd and quaked like any Wether;  
And stunk too, for by Jove I smelled him hither.  
Thus thou hast done enough, in doing well,  
While thy great famed has reached the depths of Hell:  
Now then give o'er, and ere thou Feeble prove,  
Let Dulcinea taste the sweets of Love.   

Orlando Furioso to Don Quixote de la Mancha.  
KNight of the lions, from the Place called Hell,  
Orlando Furioso greets thee well.  
After such Feats performed by Sons of Thunder,  
What dost thou muddling in the World, I wonder?  
Thou sayest, Example set thee' at work— suppose so;  
But not to match Orlando Furioso:  
Does thy Name sound like his, Nickapooposo?  
Does Quixote rumble like Orlando Furioso?  
Hadst thou intended that the World should note thee,  
Thy Mistress should ha' been the Fair Quihotee;  
And Thou Don Flustro Blustro deal Toboso,  
Then thou hadst nicked Orlando Furioso.  
But as thou nere didst chine at one smart blow,  
A giant cased in Steel, from Top to to;  
Nor carve an Armed Knight, as Carver slices  
A roasted Wild-duck till it drops in pieces;  
Thou art no Peer of mine, and I defy  
Both thee and all thy genealogy.  
Besides, I hear th' art one of Hamet's Fools,  
Set up to make Knights-Errant Knaves and Fools:  
If so, By Jove, and all this gloomy space,  
Go creep to Heaven, and come not near this Place;  
For if thou dost, by Proserpines fair Thighs,  
Death and the cobbler meet thy villainies.  
A Thousand Torments are thy endless doom,  
And I'll myself supply the Devils Room.   

The Knight of the lions to Don Quixote de la Mancha.  
KNight of the lions, as but fitting,  
To thee, the Knight o' th' Sun sends greeting.  
Great is the Noise which in the World  
Thy famed has made, while tossed and hurled  
From Post to Pillar, thou hast done  
Such Deeds that Story scarce dares own.  
Then to myself I thus did cry,  
nouns— what a Sheepshead Knight was I  
To this same spark of Chivalry?  
But growing cool, I caught thee tripping;  
Poor Sancho from his Wife kidnapping,  
And shamelessly thyself belying,  
How Queens and Empress lay dying,  
Neglecting People, Kingdoms, Laws,  
And all for love of thy lean Jaws;  
A Tale to tell unfore-skind Jew,  
For I'll be hanged if it were true.  
Then, wherefore such a hideous Racket  
about Madam Dulcinea's Placket?  
For after all, 'mong Poor and Rich,  
I nere could hear of any such.  
And therefore by this burning Hole,  
I take thee for some arrant Fool;  
For surely no true errand Knight  
Would shadows Love, and shadows fight.  
Only as Thou didst lion dare,  
That Style I give thee leave to wear;  
So Knight o' th' lions. fare thee well,  
Wishing thee like myself in Hell.   

The Unknown Knight to Don Quixote de la Mancha.  
REnowned Knight, thou makest me March-hare-mad,  
To hear thy Feats, and I among the dead;  
They call thee Fool— but by my death, they lie—  
Fools Fortune favour, thee she nere came nigh;  
But suffered Carrier-slaves to thrash thy Bones,  
While Hunting after her, 'mong Rocks and Stones.  
Little they think, that lie on Beds of Down,  
The pains Knights-Errant take to win Renown;  
To Fortune, Slaves, and Vassals to their Misses;  
Three giants Heads for half a dozen Kisses.  
Only thy Dulcinea she's a Pattern,  
Chast as the Moon, and modest as St. Kattern;  
She claimed no Arms of Knight, nor giants Face,  
Lest broad blew Spot should Baby's Cheek disgrace;  
Yet thou didst both present, to roast and boil,  
The welcome Fruits of thy Laborious Toil.  
Then, after all, if Fool thou art, farewell;  
I'me glad on't, Fools fare best in Hell.   

The Princess Oriano to Dulcinea deal Toboso.  
MAdam, the Reason why I writ you this,  
Is to inquire your health, and hand to kiss;  
I hear y' are one of us, Don Quixote's Lady,  
But scandulous Tongues approbriously upbraid ye.  
They say, your Mother baked Ox Cheeks, your Father  
cried out at Nine at Night, or sometimes rather:  
If this be true, as fleering Rumours speak all,  
I would not make a kitchenwench my equal;  
For I'me a Princess born, I do assure ye,  
And shouldst thou be home-spun, should nere endure thee.  
Pray sand me word how you your time do spend,  
When you sit down to Cards, when make an end,  
How coached abroad, how visited at home,  
How deep i' th' Mercers Books, what's Laceman's sum;  
Do but unfold these Anxious doubts of mine,  
I'll then resolve to be, or not be thine.   

Gandalin, Squire to Amadis de gall to Sancho Pancha, Squire to Don Quixote.  
AH! Brother Sancho, what good luck hadst thou!  
Thou and thy Master loved like Calf and Cow;  
He like the Cat, that hears her Kittens cry,  
Didst thou but bawl, to thy Relief would fly;  
Hadst thou a mind to talk, talk on cried he,  
And so both talked by Turns most lovingly;  
Thou hadst an Ass to ride on, at thy ease,  
And eke a Wallet for thy Bread and Cheese;  
While we with Snapsacks trudged a foot, God knows,  
With thousand Blisters on our founderd Toes,  
And speak a word, tho' nere so smooth and racy,  
'twas, dam ye Dogbolt, who made you so saucy?  
Ah— Sancho— Sancho, hadst thou flourished then,  
Or I lived now, we both had happy been;  
With Proverbs then thou hadst inspired my breast;  
For I was not so wicked as the rest:  
I could not play at Cards and swear i' th' Hall,  
While Masters drank above, the Devil and all:  
No, I had been another governor  
With ample Rule and Legislative Power,  
famed like thyself, in every Bodies Mouth  
extolled, proclaimed and praised from North to South.  
But missing thee, ill fortune turned up Trump,  
I died, and in oblivion lie upon my Rump.   

A Dialogue between Rosinante and Sancho's Ass.  Ass. 
FRiend Rosinante, thou lookst wondrous lean.  Ros. 
How can I choose, ●hat taste nor Oat nor Bean.  Ass. 
The Horse that eats no Oats, no Oats can shit,  
How couldst thou carry then both Arms and Knight?  Ros. 
My Heart was good altho' my Flesh were low.  Ass. 
'tis not the Fashion though, as times now go  
To serve great Men without reward.  Ros. 
'tis true,  
But he would promise fair, tho' deeds were few.  Ass. 
Words feed not Horses, Asses oft they do.  Ros. 
Else thou hadst starved ere now.  Ass. 
Good Rosinante why?  Ros. 
Because thy Master's poor.  Ass. 
Then let me die,  
I'll rather serve him then some Lords.  Ros. 
How so?  Ass. 
Because the Poor themselves are Asses too,  
And love the Beasts that carry as they do.  Ros. 
How might I change? it is too late I fear:  Ass. 
Not so, if thou an Asses voice wilt hear.  
To England go, where Fools are rich in Purse,  
There give it out, thou art Don Quixote's Horse:  
Thou shalt be sought and bought, and taught to vault;  
Then shown at Fairs, for every one a Groat;  
Thus shalt thou live at ease, lamented die;  
And Smithfield Bards at last shall writ thy Elegy.   

THE CONTENTS.  

THE FIRST PART.  

BOOK I.  

CHap. 1. The Condition and Quality of Don Quixote, with the Reasons and manner of his first Engaging himself in Hazardous Enterprizes and Noble achievements. page. 1.  
Chap. 2. Of Don Quixote's first frolic, or his solemn Departure from his Native Habitation. p. 6.  
Chap. 3. The pleasant Relation of Don Quixote's being dubbed a Knight-Errant. p. 10.  
Chap. 4. What befell the new Knight after he had left the Inn. p. 15.  
Chap. 5. A farther Continuation of the Knights Misfortunes. p. 19.  
Chap. 6. Of the delightful and diligent Survey which the Curate and the Barber took of the Squires Library. p. 22.  
Chap. 7. Of Don Quixote's second departure from his House. p. 26.  
Chap. 8. Of Don Quixote's good success in his dreadful and unheard of Encounter with the Windmills. p. 29.    

BOOK II.  

Chap. 1. The Event of the dreadful Combat between the courageous Biscayner, and the Valiant Don Quixote. page. 35.  
Chap. 2. Containing the pleasant Discourse between Don Quixote and Sancho Pancha. p. 38.  
Chap. 3. What happened to Don Quixote among the Goat-herds. p. 41.  
Chap. 4. Being the Relation of a Story which one of the Goat-herds  told to those that were with Don Quixote. p. 46.  
Chap. 5. A Continuation of the Story of Marcella. p. 50.  
Chap. 6. The Verses of the despairing Shepherd repeated, with other unexpected Accidents. p. 57.    

BOOK III.  

Chap. 1. Giving an Account of Don Quixote's unfortunate rencontre with certain Yanguesian Carriers. page. 61.  
Chap. 2. What befell Don Quixote in the Inn, which he took for a Castle. p. 66.  
Chap. 3. A Continuation of the innumerable Hardships, that Don Quixote and his Squire sustained in the Inn. p. 70.  
Chap. 4. Of the Discourse between Don Quixote and Sancho Pancha, with several other remarkable Passages. p. 75.  
Chap. 5. Of the pleasant Discourse between Don Quixote and his Squire; and of the Adventure of the Dead Corps. p. 80.  
Chap. 6. Of the most wonderful Adventure that ever happened to Knight-Errant, which Don Quixote accomplished without any danger. p. 84.  
Chap. 7. Of the winning of Mambrino's Helmet. p. 91.  
Chap. 8. How Don Quixote releass'd a great number of miserable Wretches which their Masters were driving to a place against their Wills. p. 97.  
Chap. 9. What befell the famous Don Quixote in the Mountain of Sierra Morena, which was one of the strangest Adventures in all this Real History. p. 102.  
Chap. 10. The Continuation of the Adventure in the Black-Mountain. 108.  
Chap. 11. Of the strange Accidents that befell the Valiant Knight of Mancha in the Black Mountain; and of his imitating the Penance performed by the Lovely-Obscure. p. 112.  
Chap. 12. A Continuation of the Amorous Pranks which the Courtly Knight of Mancha played in the Black Mountain. p. 121.  
Chap. 13. How the Curate and the Barber accomplished their Design; with many other Occurrences of great Importance. p. 125.    

BOOK IV.  

Chap. 1. Of the new and Pleasant Adventure which befell the Curate and the Barber in the Black Mountain. page. 135.  
Chap. 2. Where perhaps you may meet with something worth your reading. p. 144.  
Chap. 3. The pursuit of the History of the Princess of Micomicon, containing the cunning Policies and Stratagems of the Curate and Barber, to free the enamoured Knight from the rigorous Penance which he had undertaken. p. 152.  
Chap. 4. Containing the pleasant Discourse between Don Quixote and his Squire; with other Remarkable Passages. p. 159.  
Chap. 5. Of what happened at the Inn. p. 166.  
Chap. 6. The Novel of the Curious Impertinent. p. 171.  
Chap. 7. The Sequel of the Novel of the Curious Impertinent p. 179.  
Chap. 8. The conclusion of the Novel of the Curious Impertinent. p. 191.  
Chap. 9. Recounting several rare Adventures that happened in the Inn. p. 197.  
Chap. 10. Being a continuation of the History of the famous Princess of Micomicona, with other delightful Adventures. p. 204.  
Chap. 11. Containing the farther curious Discourse of Don Quixote upon Arms and Arts p. 211.  
Chap. 12. The History of the Slave. p. 215.  
Chap. 14. Wherein the Captive goes on with his Story. p. 222.  
Chap. 15. Of what happened in the Inn; and of other remarkable Passages, worthy to be known. p. 233.  
Chap. 16. Relating the story of the young Mule-driver, with other strange Passages that happened in the Inn. p. 238.  
Chap. 17. Being a continuation of unheard of Adventures. p. 245.  
Chap. 18. Wherein are decided the Controversies touching the Helmet and panel, with other Adventures as they really happened. p. 251.  
Chap. 19. Containing the notable Adventure of the Bailiffs, and declaring withal the horrible Wrath of the most Noble Don Quixote. p. 257.  
Chap. 20. Containing several Occurrences. p. 263.  
Chap. 21. Wherein the Prebend pursues his Discourse upon Books of Knight-Errantry. p. 269.  
Chap 22. Containing the excellent Discourse between Sancho Pancha and his Master Don Quixote. p. 272.  
Chap. 23. Containing the pleasant Dispute between the Prebend and Don Quixote. p. 277.  
Chap. 24. Containing the Goatherds Story. p. 282.  
Chap. 25. Containing the Quarrel between Don Quixote and the Goatherd, and the rare Adventure of the Penitents, which cost him the sweat of his Brows to accomplish. p. 286.     

THE SECOND PART.  

BOOK I.  

CHap. 1. Containing the manner of Don Quixote's third escape. page. 295.  
Chap. 2. Of the pleasant quarrel that happened hetween Sancho Pancha and Don Quixote's Niece and Governante. p. 302.  
Chap. 3. Containing the learned Discourse between Don Quixote Sancho Pancha, and the young Carrasco. p. 305.  
Chap. 4. Wherein Sancho satisfies all the young scholars queries, with other things profitable to know, and fit to be related. p. 310.  
Chap. 5. Containing the pleasant Discourse between Sancho Pancha and his Wife, &c. p. 313.  
Chap. 6. Containing what passed between Don Quixote, his Niece, and his Maid; which is one of the most important Chapters in the whole History. p. 317.  
Chap. 7. Containing a second colloquy between Don Quixote and his Squire, with other most Famous Adventures. p. 320.  
Chap. 8. What befell Don Quixote going to visit his Lady Dulcinea. p. 325.  
Chap. 9. Which when you have red, you will see what is in it. p. 329.  
Chap. 10. Containing a Relation how Sancho found out away to Enchant the Lady Dulcinea; with other Passages, no less certain than ridiculous. p. 331.  
Chap. 11. Containing the prodigious Adventure of the Chariot of the Officers of Death. p. 337.  
Chap. 12. Containing the strange Adventure that befell the Valiant Don Quixote, with the Gallant Knight of the Wood. p. 341.  
Chap. 13. Containing a continuation of the Adventure of the Knight of the Wood; and the pleasant Discourse that passed between the two Squires p. 346.  
Chap. 14. Containing the Continuation of the Adventure of the Knight of the Wood. p. 350.  
Chap. 15. Giving an Account who the Knight of the Looking-glasses, and his Squire with the Toting Nose, were. p. 356.  
Chap. 16. What befell Don Quixote with a sober Gentleman of Mancha. p. 358.  
Chap. 17. Wherein is set forth the greatest mark of Courage that ever Don Quixote shew'd in his Life, and the happy conclusion of the Adventure of the lions. p. 363.    

BOOK II.  

Chap. 18. What befell Don Quixote at the Knight of the Green Cassock's House, with other extravagant Passages. p. 371.  
Chap. 19. Of the Adventure of the Amorous Shepherd, and several other things. p. 379.  
Chap. 20. Containing very strange Accidents, as well in reference to Martin the Brave, as Basilius the Poor. p. 383.  
Chap. 21. Containing a farther Relation of Don Martin's Nuptials, and several other strange Accidents. p. 390.  
Chap. 22. Of the un-heard-of Adventure of the Cavern of Montesinos, which Don Quixote accomplished with great success. p. 394.  
Chap. 23. Containing a Relation of the wonderful things which the unparallelled Don Quixote saw in the Cave of Montesinos; the strangeness and impossibility of which makes this Chapter to be taken for Apocrypha. p. 399.  
Chap. 24. Where you will find a hundred Fiddle-faddles and Impertinences, as ridiculous as necessary for the understanding this true History. p. 405.  
Chap. 25. Containing the Braying Adventure; with the Adventure of the Puppit-Player, and the Fortune-telling Ape. p. 409.  
Chap. 26. Continuing the Pleasant Adventure of the Puppit-Player, with other pleasant Passages. p. 415.  
Chap. 27. Wherein is discovered who Mr. Peter was, together with the ill success which Don Quixote had in the Adventure of Braying, which did not fall out according to his wishes. p. 420.  
Chap. 28. Containing several remarkable Passages written by Benengeli, which he that reads the next Chapter with attention may know. p. 424.  
Chap. 29. Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Bark. p. 427.  
Chap. 30. Containing what happened to Don Quixote upon his meeting with the fair Huntress. p. 431.  
Chap. 31. Containing several extraordinary Matters. p. 434.  
Chap. 32. Containing Don Quixote's Answer to the Chaplain. p. 440.    

BOOK III.  

Chap. 1. Containing the pleasant Discourse between the duchess, her Damsels and Sancho Pancha, worthy to be red with attention. p. 449.  
Chap. 34. Relating the method that was taken to disenchant Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, which is one of the most famous Adventures in this Book. p. 453.  
Chap. 2. Containing the Means that were used to disenchant Dulcinea, with other admirable Passages. p. 458.  
Chap. 3. Containing the strange and wonderful Adventure of the Lady Dolorida, otherwise Countess of Trifaldi, with a Letter which Sancho wrote to his Wife Teresa Pancha. p. 462  
Chap. 4. Being a Continuation of the famous Adventure of the Lady Dolorida. p. 466.  
Chap. 5. Wherein Madam Dolorida recounts her Misfortunes. p. 467.  
Chap. 6. Being a Continuation of the Wonderful History of the Countess of Three-Skirts. p. 471.  
Chap. 7. Containing several Matters that appertain and belong to this remarkable Adventure. p. 473.  
Chap. 8. Containing the Arrival of Skrew-Peg, and the End of this Tedious Adventure. p. 477.  
Chap. 9. Containing the Counsel which Don Quixote gave Sancho before he went to his Government. p. 483.  
Chap. 10. Being a Continuation of Don Quixote's Instructions to Sancho. p. 486.  
Chap. 11. How Sancho went to take Possession of his iceland, and of the strange Adventure that befell Don Quixote in the Castle. p. 489.  
Chap. 12. How the famous Sancho Pancha took possession of his iceland, and how he behaved himself in his Government. p. 494.  
Chap. 13. Of the strange Accident that befell Don Quixote while he was pondering upon Madam Joan Tomboy: p. 498.  
Chap. 14. Containing a Continuation of Sancho's Government. p. 502.  
Chap. 15. What befell Don Quixote with Madam Doroty the Dutchesses Waiting-woman, with other Accidents worthy Eternal Memory. p. 507.  
Chap. 16. What befell Sancho in his Progress round the iceland. p. 512.  
Chap. 17. Who they were that whipped Madam Doroty and clawed Don Quixote; with the success of the page. that carried Sancho's Letter to his Wife. p. 519.  
Chap. 18. Containing the Continuation of Sancho's Government. p. 524.  
Chap. 19. The Adventure of the Second Madam Sorrowful, otherwise Mistress Doroty. p. 528.    

BOOK IV.  

Chap. 1. Containing the toilsome Conclusion of Sancho Pancha's Government. p. 533.  
Chap. 2. Containing several things that tend to the Illustration of this History, and no other. p. 537.  
Chap. 3. What befell Sancho upon the Road, which is all truth. p. 540.  
Chap. 4. Of the strange Combat between Don Quixote and the lackey Tosilos, in vindication of Madam Doroty's Daughter. p. 544.  
Chap. 5. How Don Quixote took his leave of the Duke, and what passed between him and the Discreet, but Impudent Hoyden Madam Tomboy. p. 547.  
Chap. 6. How Don Quixote met with Adventures upon Adventures, so thick that he knew not which way to turn himself. p. 550.  
Chap. 7. What happened to Don Quixote, which may be truly called an Adventure. p. 557.  
Chap. 8. What befell Don Quixote going to Barcellona. p. 562.  
Chap. 9. What happened to Don Quixote upon his entry into Barcelllona, with other things that carry more of Truth than Probability. p. 568.  
Chap. 10. Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Head, &c. p. 570.  
Chap. 11. What befell Sancho going aboard the Galleys, and of the Adventure of the Beautiful Mooress. p. 576.  
Chap. 12. Containing that unlucky Adventure which Don Quixote laid most to his heart of any that ever befell him. p. 581.  
Chap. 13. Who the Knight of the White Moon was; and of the News of Don Gregorio's Liberty, and several other Adventures. p. 583.  
Chap. 14. Which treats of that which he shall see who reads, and he shall hear that listens with attention. p. 586.  
Chap. 15. Containing Don Quixots's Resolution to turn Shepherd all the time of his being confined from bearing Arms. p. 589.  
Chap. 16. Containing the Adventure of the Bristles. p. 592.  
Chap. 17. Containing the strangest Adventure that ever Don Quixote met with, and the most surprising in all this large History. p. 596.  
Chap. 18. Which follows the Seventeenth, and treats of several things necessary for the Illustration of this History. p. 599.  
Chap. 19. What befell Don Quixote and his Squire in their way home. p. 602.  
Chap. 20. How Don Quixote and Sancho arrived at their Village. p. 607.  
Chap. 21. Of the strange ill Omens that happened to Don Quixote before he entered the Village. p. 610.  
Chap. 22. How Don Quixote fell sick, of the Will that he made, and of his Death. p. 613.      

To the Right Honourable WILLIAM Earl of Yarmouth, TREASURER OF His MAJESTIES household.  
My Lord,  
THE Story of Don Quixote de la Mancha, no less pleasant than gravely Moral, has been always highly favoured and caressed by Personages of most Illustrious note in all the Learned Parts of Europe; to which it has been made familiar by frequent Translations. And therefore it is, that your Lordship being equally Eminent, if not superior to any of them, for your Ancient Decent, and the Politeness of your Hereditary Learning and judgement, I humbly presume to lay this Oblation at your Lordships Feet; not knowing where a Work so generally Applauded abroad, could find in English Dress a more generous and safe Protection, or myself a greater Honour then to be,  
My Lord, Your Lordships most Humble, And most Obedient Servant. J. PHILIPS.   

 Don Quixote knighted 
Don Quixot dubbed a Knight errand by the Innkeeper. page. 10.   
 Don Quixote and windmills 
Don Quixot's Encounter with the Windmills. page. 29.   

THE LIFE and achievements Of the most renowned Don Quixote OF MANCHA. PART I. BOOK I.  

CHAP. I.  
The Condition and Quality of DON QUIXOTE; with the Reasons and Manner of his first engaging Himself in Hazardous Enterprizes and Noble achievements.  
IN some part of Mancha, of which the Name is at present slipped out of my Memory, not many years ago, there lived a certain Country Squire, of the Race of King Arthur's Tilters, that formerly wandered from Town to Town, cased up in Rusty old Iron, with Lance in Rest, and a Knight-Templers Target; bestriding a forlorn Pegasus, as Lean as a Dover Post-Horse, and a confounded foundered Jade to boot. Beef-steaks stewed in a Nasty Pipkin, with a Red-Herring to taste his liquour a Nights; Fasting and Prayer a Fridays, parched Pease a Saturdays, with a Lark now and then a Sundays to mend his Commons, consumed three parts of his Estate. The rest he as prodigally wasted in an extravagant Wardrobe: In which was an ancient Plush-Jacket, purchased from a Mountebanks Widow; a Pair of Black Bays Breeches for Holidays, purchased of the Hangman; and a Pair of Boots, first exchanged for Heath-Brooms, and then new Vamp't by the cobbler; with one Spur and Spur-Leather; well knowing, that if one side of the Horse went forward, the other must follow. And you may add to these his Extravagances, one suit more of Irish freeze for Worky-days. He kept in his House a grave Matron of Fifty for Service, a Niece of Twenty for private Recreation, and a Skip-kennel to Saddle his Horse, and F●ob Orchards for Second Course. The Master himself was in his Fortieth year; strong of Constitution, but the Skin of his Face withered like a Winter-Pippin; an Early Riser, and a great Night-Walker. Some there are who assert, that he bore the surname of Quixada, or Quesada( tho they who writ his Life are at great variance one amongst another as to this particular), yet by most probable conjectures the Addition of Quixada may be well enough allowed him. But let that pass, it not being a straw matter to our purpose what his surname was, or whether he had a surname or no; For it is our business to writ the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth.  
Know then, That this same Worshipful Gentleman, whenever he had any leisure time to spare( which was for the most part all the Year long) dedicated his vacant Hours to the Reading Stories of Knight Errantry; which he did with such an eager Appetite and earnest Devotion, that he forgot all his other Exercises, and let his Estate go at six and sevens. Nay, such was the Folly of this Country Squire in the prosecution of his vain Studies, that he made his Lands errand before himself, and sold a fair Estate to buy Books of Knight-Errantry to gratify his Curiosity; insomuch, that he stuffed his small Cottage with whole Wheel-barrow Loads of that sort of Waste Paper. Yet none of those famous Writers tickled his Fancy like the Works of the renowned Feliciano de Sylva: For he looked upon the clearness of his style, enterlac'd and embellished with certain quaint Ginglings and chiming Expressions, as so many Jewels of Eloquence; especially when he came to red the Love-Letters and Amorous Billets of the Knights to their Ladies; and the haughty Challenges which the disgusted Champions sent one to another. As where he found these Charms of his Understanding:  
The Reason of your Unreasonableness, which has affronted my Reason, has incensed my Reason in such a manner, that I have just Reason to Complain of your Beauty.  
And when in another place he met with the following Rapture:  
The Sublime Heavens of your Divinity, that raise you to the Stars, and make you the Deserver of the Desert which your Grandeur Deserves.  
Such Conceits and Whimsies as these, had so disturbed the Thoughts of our distracted Knight, that he took no Repose Day or Night, but continually plagued and tormented his Brains, to unravel those profound Mysteries which Aristotle himself would ne're have been able to have done, could they have raised him from the Dead to that intent.  
He could by no means endure to hear of those unreasonable and inhuman Cuts and Gashes which Don Belianis both gave to others and received himself. For he considered, that such cursed Slashes as those, let the Surgeon be never so skilful, could ne're be cured without the Face and Body being strangely disfigured with the Scars and Marks of quarrelsome Honour. Nevertheless, he highly applauded in that Author, the concluding his Book with a Promise of the Remaining part of those wondrous Adventures. And many times, not finding Him so good as his word, he had an itching desire to have turned Romancer, and to have supplied the unfortunate neglect of that forgetful Gentlemen, by putting an end to the Story himself: Which others say he certainly had done, had not his Thoughts been wholly employed upon far more important and weighty Designs. Moreover, this Scorbutic Humour of his had like to have been prejudicial to his Soul's Health: For the Curate of the Parish and He could never meet over a Pot of Nappy Drink and a Game at Back-Gammon, but they were always at Daggers-drawing about who was the bravest Kill-Giant, Palmerin of England or Amadis de gall: But Didymus, a Barber of the same Village, affirmed to his Teeth, that there was none to compare with the Knight of the Sun; yet if any one came near him, for fore-stroke and back-stroke, 'twas Don Galaor the Brother of Amadis de gall; for besides that he was better born by the Mothers side, and better bread, for a true Bear-Garden Cut and Slash there was no man living out-did him.  
fixed in his Resolutions he betook himself so passionately and with so much eagerness to his Studies, that a Nights he por'd on from Sun-set to Sun-rise, and a Days from Sun-rise to Sun-set. And thus, by Sleeping so little and Reading so much, he exhausted the moisture of his Brain to that Degree, that the Vehicle of his Understanding being quiter dried up, his Senses forsook their Quarters. In the mean time, his empty Pericranium was stuffed with nothing but the Lumber of Enchantments, Quarrels, Encounters, Battels, Challenges, Wounds, Love-Letters, Amorous Addresses, Torments of Despair, Horrible Woes, Dire Distresses, Labyrinths, Intrigues, Possibilities, Impossibilities, and a World of other Trompery. And these charming Follies had taken so deep a root in his Fancy, that he believed for Gospel all the frivolous Fables and chimeras that he red. He admired the Cid Rudiaz for a most Valiant Knight; but not to be compared with the Knight of the Burning Pestle; for he with one back swinge of his falchion cut in two i' the middle two famous giants, both near as tall as two ordinary Steeples, and about ten Yards about i' the Wast. But he had an extraordinary opinion of Bernardo deal Carpio, who sent the Enchanted Roldan to the Devil, lifting him up from the Ground by the Buttocks with one Hand, and gripping his Wezant so hard with the other, that he choked him in four Minutes, as Hercules did Anteus. He always spoken very Honourably of the giant Morgante; who tho he were descended from the most cruel and savage Race of all the giants, yet always carried himself like a person that had something of Breeding and Gentility in him. But above all the rest he extolled to the Skies Raynaldo of Montalbon; among whose achievements, there was none pleased him so to the Life, as when he Sally'd out of his Castle and robbed all that he met upon the Road, Man, Woman, and Child: And then again, when he stolen the Idol of Mahomet, which was all of Gold, and pawned it when he had done to new Rig his Harlot.  
In short, having thus lost his Wits, the strangest whimsy entered his Noddle, that ever pestered a Distracted Skull. For now, such was the Result of all his Studies and Meditations, That as a thing that was not only convenient, but absolutely necessary, as well for the increase of his Honour as for the public Good, nothing else in the World would serve him, but he must needs Dub himself and turn Knight errand; with a design to roam about the World in quest of Adventures, and to put in practise whatever he had red, in imitation of those wandering Champions in former times, that trotted from Post to Pillar, Pot valiant and Fool-hardy, seeking all occasions to pick Quarrels for the Relief of injured Virgins, abused married Women, and oppressed Widows, in defiance of all Danger; and after great achievements thus performed, to rest his weary Bones and bruised Limbs in the Bed of immortal Honour. Poor in Purse, but Rich in Conceit, he had already in Imagination the Diadem of Persia. And therefore flattered with these bewitching Dreams, and puffed up with a thousand soaring Thoughts, he prepares with expedition to take the Field. The first thing he did, was to scour an old svit of armor, that had been his Father's Grandfather's Great-Grandfather's Father's; as Rusty as the Keyhole of a Miser's Powdering Tub, which for many Ages had been laid up and forgotten in a moldy Hamper among the Garret-Lumber. But when he had rubbed with a dry Brick( as bright as their Age would permit) the Cuirace, Vambraces, and Gauntlets, the Devil of any Helmet could be found, but only a single Head piece. However his Industry and Ingenuity supplied that defect, by pasting together several pieces of Brown Paper; of which he made himself a most complete Vizor to defend his Nose and Eyes. This Invention pleased him wonderfully; nevertheless to make trial whether it were proof against a giants strong Arm and keen Cutlace to boot, he presently drew forth his own Sword. But so it was, shane light on all ill luck, that with one puissant stroke he spoiled the Toil and Labour of a whole Week. Scorning, however, to be daunted by his first Misfortune, he fell again to work with his brown Paper and Paste; and warned by his first Miscarriage, he bethought himself of putting a thin Plate of Iron between every piece of Paper; which he did so artificially, as if he had been Tubal-Cain himself, that now fully satisfied with the strength and sufficiency of his Workmanship, he resolved to confided in his Ingenuity, without any farther Trial.  
In the next place, he went to visit his Warlike stead; which tho a lean ill-favoured Jade, whose Bones stuck out like the Corners of a Spanish Reyal, with more Defects than a Brewer's Mill-horse, yet he valued equal to Alexander's Bucephalus, or Cesar's cloven-footed Barb. Four Days together he spent in considering what Name to give him; for( as he argued very well with himself) there was no Reason that a Hobby, which carried so famous a Knight, should be without a remarkable Name, especially a Beast so serviceable as he was; and therefore he laboured to give him such a Name, as should demonstrate as well what he had been before he had the Honour to bear the burden of a Knight-Errant, as what he was afterwards. Besides, he thought it but fit, since the Master had changed his Condition, that the Horse also should change his Name, and get him a new one, a brave sonorous Word, to make a noise in the Air, as it partend from Tongue, befiting the Respect and Esteem that was due to the Quality and Profession of his Owner. And so at length, after several Names, which with long Study and Meditation, came into mind, rejecting some, blotting out others, chopping and changing, dashing out, putting in, scratching his Pate, rubbing his Forehead, twitching his Beard, at last he pitched upon the celebrated and altisonant Name of Rozinante. A Name to his heart's desire, a lofty, loud sounding, Riddle-unfolding, Sense-explaining Name, pointing from his first Condition of a Pack horse, to the high Degree of a Hackney-Errant.  
Now having found out a Name, so much to his satisfaction for his Horse, his next care was to find out some signal Appellative for himself; to which purpose he sate in serious Council with his own Thoughts Eight Days more. At the end of which, he concluded upon the Worshipful, Right-Worshipful, Honourable, Right-Honourable Name of Don Quixote: From whence the most celebrated Authors of this unquestionable History infer, That his true Name was Quixada, and not Quesada, as others erroneously conjecture. And finding that the valiant Amadis, not content with the bare plain Name of Amadis, without the Addition of his Nation and Country, to lace it, and render it famous, gave himself the Title of Amadis de gall; he deemed it most highly proper to embellish his own Name like a fringed Pair of Gloves, with the Trimming of his Country's Denomination, and therefore called Himself Don Quixote of the Mancha, as well to honour the Hamlet of his Nativity, as to let the World know the place of his Birth.  
And thus having scoured his Arms, made himself a Beaver to his Iron Sculcap, and found out a Name both for his Beast and Himself; he considered, that there was nothing now wanting more, but to find out a gipsy Mort for the exercise of his Courtship, and to be the Lady of his Affections; for that a Knight-Errant without a doxy, was like a three without Leaves, or a Body without a Soul. Said he to himself, should it happen, for the punishment of my Sins, or for some spite the Devil may owe me, that I should meet with some Giant, as it is usual for Knight-Errants to do, and I should lay him sprawling at the first Encounter, or sliver him into two equal parts, and so become the Lord and Master of his miraculous Carkace, would it not be proper for me to sand these Trophies of my Valour to some Lady or other? And that the Giant, vanquished and mangled as he was, should, at his first entry into her presence, throw himself at her Feet, and with a low and trembling Voice, should cry, Fairest of Ladies, I am the Giant Caraculiambro, Lord of the iceland of Malindrama, vanquished in single Fight by the ever, as he ought to be, most renowned and valiant Knight, Don Quixote of the Mancha, who has here sent me to present myself a prostrate Captive to your Illustrious Sublimity, for your Highness to dispose of at your own most absolute Will and Pleasure. You cannot imagine how the Knight was transported with Joy, after he had thus discoursed with himself; more especially, having withal bethought himself where to find a Trugmallion fit for his turn. For, as concurring Fates would have it, there lived, it seems, in a Village adjoining to his own Lordship, a young fresh-colour'd smerking Country-Wench that went for a Maid, but in truth, was a cracked piece of Ware, with whom the Knight had formerly been in Love; tho for her part, she knew nothing of it, nor took any Cognizance of his Kindness. Her Name was Aldonça Lorenço; and this was she of whom he made choice to be the Idol of his amorous Devotions; and then pumping for a Name to call her by, that might be suitable to his own, and correspond with the Dignity of so great a Lady and Princess, as she was like to be; at length he pitched upon the Name of Dulcinea deal Toboso, for that his Mistress was a Native of that Village. An Invention that wonderfully pleased him, to hear the smooth, musical, poetical Running of the Syllables, so proper for Sonnets, Madrigals, and Serenades; and the Majesty of Toboso, that brought up the Tail of the Name.   

CHAP. II.  
Of Don Quixote's first frolic; or his solemn Departure from his Native Habitation.  
HAving made these Provisions, and secured himself against all Accidents, he resolved no longer to delay his entrance upon the Stage of the World, as now believing himself guilty of all the Mischiefs, all the Wrongs and Injustices committed among mortal men, which he had power both to redress and prevent. And so, one morning before day, in the Summer-heat of July, without imparting his Design so much as to his Shirt, or being perceived by any Creature living, he cases himself in Iron from top to to, laces on his Helmet, hangs his Target at his left shoulder, takes Lance in Hand, and then mounting Rozinante, away he sneaked out at a private Gate of a Back-yard into the free and open Field, transported at the prosperous Success of such a noble Design. But hardly had he jogged on above a hundred slow Paces from his Habitation, when a most terrible scruple of Conscience had like to have ruined all, and put him upon the dismal Resolution of renouncing the whole Enterprise. For it came into his Mind, wretched Man as he was, that he had never yet been dubbed, as the Laws of Knighthood required; and therefore that he neither could, nor ought to Challenge, or combat any professed Knight. And, which was more, that as a Probationer only, it became him to wear white armor, and not to carry any Device or Motto in his Shield, till he had signalized himself by some remarkable Encounter.  
These weighty Considerations put him in a strange Quandary, till at length his Vanity having surmounted his Reason, he resolved to be dubbed by the next Person he met, in imitation of several others, who had done the like, as he had observed in the continual Progress of his Studies. As for that Nicety concerning the Colour of his Arms, he was soon rid of it, when he bethought himself that he had both powdered Brick, and leisure sufficient, to polish and burnish 'em, that they should look as white as the driven Snow. And thus having appeased these mutinous Qualms, on he troop'd the place of a Butter-woman's old mere, leaving it to the Discretion of his Horse to go which Way he pleased; believing assuredly, that it was only in that, wherein the very Essence and Being of all Adventures consisted. In this slow March, a thousand Dreams and Fancies rocking his delighted Soul; What a charming Pleasure will it questionless be, said he, for Ages to come, to red the Story of my famous Acts! When the grave and serious Penman of this my first Career in Search of famed, shall thus begin.  
Scarce had the Bright-hair'd Phoebus began to dishevel his gold'n Tresses o'er the silent Earth; and scarce the little Birds had tuned their Pipes to sing their early Welcomes to the beautiful Aurora, who having newly left her jealous Paramour's Bed, began to show her self to drowsy Mortals, from the Balconies of La Mancha's Horizon, when the renowned Knight, Don Quixote disdaining effeminate Repose, and the soft Pleasures of voluptuous Dreams, mounting his fierce Courser, Rosinante, entred the ancient and delightful Plains of Montiel. For to tell ye truth, that was the very Road he took. And then proceeding; Oh happy Age, said he, and happy Sons of Men, which now the Gods have deemed worthy to behold transcendent Acts of Valour, and be the Witnesses of my achievements, more fit to be engraven on Columns of Brass, and cut in Marble Pillars, as Monuments of my Glory, and Examples for future Ages. And thou, whose Fate soever it shall be to register th' Effects of my astonishing Prowess, Forget not, I beseech thee, to publish to the World the Vigour and Courage of my Rosinante, the faithful and constant Companion of my Adventures. Out of these he rambl'd into other Discourses; and, as if he had been really and truly up to the hard Ears in Love. Oh, Princess Dulcinea, quo He, sole Mistress of this Captive Heart! Justly must I complain of your Injustice in thus condemning me to live an Exile from your Presence, and imposing on me your severe and rigorous Commands never to behold your Beauties more. Remember, most illustrious Lady, and th' only Empress of my Thoughts, remember, I say, the Pains I take, and the Hardship which I undergo, all for love of Thee.  
With raving, such as these, he entertained his Thoughts, and such like Ejaculations, which he had cond' by Heart from Volumes of Romances; and these enchanting Dotages had so possessed and stupefied his Reason, that he never minded the parching Heat of the Sun, which now shot down his Beams so perpendicular upon his Coxcomb, enough to have broiled his Brains, had he but had a skull to have contained a Dram of Intellect.  
He travelled all that Day however, without meeting any Adventure worthy the Trouble of Relation, which put him into a kind of Despair; such was his Impatience to try the Strength of his Arm.  
Now here it is that Authors disagree; for some aver, That the first Adventure which fleshed our Knight-Errant, was that of the Lapicean Gate: Others, that of the Wind-mills: But all that I can discover in this matter, and what I meet with in the Annals of La Mancha, is only this; That all that Day, his Horse and He stepped on, traveling fair and softly; and that toward the Evening they were both ready to perish for Hunger, and so tired, that Rosinante could hardly stand upon his Legs. At what time, Don Quixote looking wistly about him, in hopes to discover either some Castle, or Shepherd's lowly Cottage, where to rest himself and his weary stead, by and by espied an Inn; a Sight more welcome than a Land mark to a Tempest-driv'n Pilot. Thereupon, Necessity vanquishing Compassion, he quickened feeble Rosinante with a Spur, and arrived at the Inn upon the shutting in of Daylight. Now it happened, that at the same time two young Females, otherwise called Daughters of Joy, who were to go the next Day to Sevile with the Carrier, stood cooling themselves at the Inn Door. This fell luckily out; for the Knight-Errant, whose Head was intoxicated with Romances, and made all his Conjectures by his Reading, no sooner saw the Inn, but he imagined it to be a Castle with four Towers, which his strong Fancy as soon had fortified with Motes and Draw-bridges, and all those other Securities of Fortification described in the Stories of Knight-Errantry. Therefore he stopped a while at a distance from the Gate of this imaginary Fortress, expecting when some Dwarf would sound his Horn upon the Plat-form, to give Notice of the Arrival of a strange Knight. But finding that no Dwarf appeared, and that Rosinante had more mind to he i'the Scable, he advanced to the Inn Gate, where espying the two young Hackney-Sinners before mentioned, he took'em for Ladies of great Quality standing for the benefit of the fresh Air, at the Gate of the Castle. It happened also at the instant Time, as Luck would have it, that a Swineherd hard by, sounded his Horn three times to call home his hogs; which was delicious music in Don Quixote's Ear, who now believed, that the Dwarf had given notice of his Approach. Thereupon, with a Joy unspeakable, he road gravely up to the two Jilts; who beholding a Man so formidable cased in Iron up to his very Teeth, and loaden beside with his War-like Lumber of Lance and Buckler, as those that were more used to naked Conversation, and disarmed Carnality, were about to run for't. But then, Don Quixote rightly conjecturing their Terror by their Flight, lifting up his Past board Visor, and discovering his withered, dusty Countenance, with a comely Grace, and grave Delivery: Ladies, quo he, be not afraid; for be secure, your Flight is groundless: The Order of Knighthood, which I profess, permits me not to injure any Person, much less such fair and virtuous Ladies as yourselves. Those soft Expressions stopped their Career, so that they turned back to, and viewed with Admiration the ridiculous Figure of the rusty Apparition, that spoken with so much Affability, and yet they could not see any Mouth he had. But that which made 'em most merry, was to hear themselves called Ladies, a Title they had never been accustomed to; insomuch that it put 'em into a loud fit of Laughter, which so incensed Don Quixote, who thought himself the Subject of their Mirth, that with a Countenance overcast of a sudden, like a serene Sky; Give me leave to tell ye, Ladies, quo he, That Modesty and Discretion would better become Damsels of Quality, which I take you to be; whereas Laughter without Ground, is an Imprudence next to Folly: Nevertheless, bright Pair of matchless Beauties, quo he, I speak not this out of any ill Will, but by way of wholesome Advice to those whom I am bound to serve and honour. This high flown Mixture of Reproof and Ceremony, set the two young Wenches a gigling ten times worse than before, and made the poor Knight as mad as a March Hare: so that 'tis hard to conjecture what would have been the Issue, had he not at the same time seen the innkeeper appear: who observing such a strange Disguise of human Shape, so oddly accouter'd with an old Wardrobe of Marshal Furniture, could hardly refrain bearing a part with the two Harlots himself. But having more reason than they to fear such a World of Warlike Preparation, he resolved to use him with more Respect, and therefore submissively accosting Don Quixote; Sir Knight, said he, if you seek for Accommodation in this Place, you will fail of nothing but a Bed; for all things else are here at your Service in abundance. Don Quixote, moved with the Humility of the Lord of the Castle( for such he had fancied the Innkeeper to be) and willing to return a becoming Answer; Worthy Paladine, quo he, the meanest trifle in the World suffices me, I am not a Person that studies Delicacy of Diet, or gaudy Curtains and valemce, as you may well see; my Arms are all the Ornament and Equipage that I admire, and combat is my Bed of Repose.  
The Inn-keeper could not well apprehended at first why Don Quixote gave him the Apellation of Paladine. But having been an Andaluzian Bully, a Jamaican Buckaneer, as true a Thief as ever sung Psalm at Tyburn, and still as wicked as a Northern Ostler or a French page., it was not long before he took the Elevation of the Knight Errant's Pole, and so having his Answer soon ready: Why then, Sir Knight, said he, considering the course of Life which you profess, methinks a good clean Pavement of hard Stones should be the best Bed in the World for your purpose; for I dare say your Worship sleeps no more then a Sentinel. Therefore Sir, 'tis but alighting, and I'll secure ye a Lodging that shall not only keep ye awake for one Night, but all the Year long, if you please. And having so said, he went and held Don Quixote's Stirrup; who, what with his ponderous Load of old Iron, and with Fasting all day, dismounted with great trouble and difficulty: However, as soon as he found his Feet upon the firm ground, his first care was of his stead, which he recommended to the more especial charge of the Paladine; assuring him, that of all the Beasts that ever tasted Hay, there was not a Better in the World. Upon which the Inn-keeper viewed him narrowly, with both his Eyes; but could not believe half so much as Don Quixote spoken in his Praise. Nevertheless, he lead him to his Lodging in the Stable, rubbed him down, litter'd him, filled his Rack; and so leaving the Horse, he came to see what the Knight his Master wanted; whom he found pulling off his armor by the assistance of the two Female Traders, to whom he was by this time perfectly reconciled. They had got off his corselet and his Cuirace, but do what they could for their Lives they could not unclasp his Gorget; and which was worse, his Helmet was tied so fast under his Chin, with two Green ribbons, that it was impossible to unloose the Knots without the help of a Knife, which the Knight would by no means permit to come so near his Throat. So that he was forced to keep on his Head-piece all Night; which was not a little pleasant to behold. However, that he might not appear ingrateful to the two Jilts that had tugged and pulled and moyl'd to help him from his Load, whom he took for no less then persons of Honour, and Ladies that belonged to the Castle, he made his Courtlike Addresses to their Ladyships in the following manner:  
Certainly, Ladies 'tis past Belief, that ever Knight was thus Honourably attended in a strange place, as Don Quixote. Noble Ladies, take care of Him, and of his Horse. O Rosinante! For that is my Horses Name, and Don Quixote of the Mancha is mine, which I never thought to have discovered, till I had rendered it famous by some achievement, for your sakes. But Necessity constraining me to apply that ancient Romance of Lancelot to my present Occasion, has enforced me to reveal a Secret e're I thought it seasonable: Yet I hope the time will come, when you shall be pleased to honour me with your Commands; and then I doubt not but to give you full Assurances of my Obedience, and to let you see by the Terror of my Arm, both my Ability and Readiness to serve ye.  
To this the two young Wagtails, altogether unaccustomed to such kind of Romantick rhetoric, and understanding as little the meaning of his Courtship, that signified nothing to their Employment, made no Reply; only they asked him, if he pleased to go to Supper; with all my Heart, quo Don Quixote; for I'll assure ye, I think it high time. But as ill luck would have it, it happened to be upon a Friday Night, when there was nothing in the Inn, but some few Remnants of a small Trout; tho others affirm, it was only a Piece of insiped Poor John. However, they gave it the Name of little Trout, and asked him, whether he thought he could fancy such a sort of Diet, especially when there was nothing else to be had. 'tis the same thing to me, quo Don Quixote, provided there be more then one; for many little Trouts make a large Salmon-Trout. For what is't to me, whether I am paid five Shillings in ten several Six-pences, or a whole Crown-piece? And besides, 'tis probable a little Trout may prove the better Meat, as we find Lamb to be far more delicate then Mutton. In short, whate'er it be, bring it in; for the Weight of armor, and the Hardships of travail, are neither to be supported without a full Belly. Thereupon they laid the Cloth at the Inn Gate, for the Benefit of the fresh Air; where the Knight was no sooner sate down, but the host brought him a small Commons of his young Trout, as he called it, but so ill dressed, as if it had been cooked in Ram-Alley, or whitefriars, with a slice or two of a Bran loaf, and that moldy to boot. But you would have split your sides to have seen him eat: For by reason that his Helmet was tied so strait under his chin, his chaps had not liberty to play; and such was the position of his Beaver above, that it was impossible for him to feed himself without help. So that his condition had been very ill, had not the Damsels that sate by him been so kind as to mince his Meat fit for his swallow, and then put it into his Mouth. But then how to get the Glass to his Nose the Devil himself could not find a way, till the Inn-keeper, more subtle then he, supplied that defect with another Invention, by setting one end of a hollow Cane to his Mouth, and pouring the Wine in at the other. All this while the poor Gentleman suffered with patience all these inconveniences, and would have endured a thousand more, rather then cut the ribbons that occasioned all his Misery.  
Hardly was this Pastime over, when it happened that a Sow-gelder drawing near the Inn, blew his Horn some three or four times as he came along; and that pleasing Harmony put all things out of doubt: For that he took to be a Consort of music sent to play at his Table. And therefore now more then ever confirmed that the Poor John was Trout, that the brown Loaf was Kingston white bread, that the two Strumpets were Ladies of Honour, and the Inn-keeper some Potent Paladine, to whom the Castle belonged, he fell into an ecstasy of joy for the happy fortune of his first career; the success of which flattered him with so fair a Prospect of future Prosperity. Nothing troubled him, but that he yet wanted the Ceremony of Dubbing, without which he could not lawfully undertake any meritorious enterprise.   

CHAP. III.  
The Pleasant Relation of Don Quixote's being dubbed a Knight-Errant.  
BUT that vexatious care tormenting his mind with restless Anguish, caused him to make all the quick dispatch imaginable of his short and homely Commons. So that after he had clean'd his Trencher and his Dish with the remainder of his Bread, up he rose in great hast, and carried the Inn-keeper along with him into the Stable, where after he had shut the Door, Don Quixote fell at his feet, and in an unwonted transport of Grief and Melancholy, This is the Place, cried he, most Noble Paladine, from whence I never mean to rise again, till your Lordship has vouchsafed to grant me one single Boon, which I have to request, and which will no less redound to your Honour, then the Benefit of the Universe. The Inn-keeper amazed to see the Knight prostrate at his feet, and talking at such a rate, was in a perk of troubles, either what to say, or what to do; finding all that he could possibly do or say, was to importune him to rise; but all in vain, till he had assured him to fulfil his desires. 'twas no more then what I always never questioned from your Magnanimity, replied Don Quixote. Then proceeding, The Boon, said he, which I crave, and which you so obligingly condescend to grant me, is no more then this, that to morrow by break of day, you will do me the favour to dubb me into the Order of Knight-hood; and that this Night you will permit me to keep my Vigils armed in the chapel belonging to your Castle, and prepare myself for that Illustrious Character which I so passionately thirst after; to the end I may be in a condition to seek Adventures in all Quarters of the World, and like another Theseus, to relieve the distressed, and rid the Earth of Violence and Injustice, according to the Laws of Knight-Errantry, which I profess.  
The Inn-keeper, who was as arch as the Devil could make him, and now had made a full discovery of the soft place in Don Quixote's Head, which he suspected before, to make himself sport, and for a jolly Scene of Mirth to invite Customers to his House, resolved to gratify his Humour. To that purpose, he applauded his judgement in the choice of such a Design, then which there could be nothing more Honourable, or more gloriously enterprised by a Brave and Valiant Knight, such he judged him to be, by his Graceful Aspect and Deportment. That he himself had pursued the same chase of Honour in his Youth, traveling through all parts of the World in search of bold Adventures; to which purpose he had left no corner unvisited of the Kings-Bench Rules, the skulking holes of Alsatia, the Academy of the Fleet, the college of Newgate, the Purliews of Turnboll, and Pickt-Hatch; the Bordello's of St. Giles's, Banstead-Downs, Newmarket-Heath: The Pits of Play-Houses, the Retirements of Ordinaries, the Booths of Smithfield and Sturbridge; not a public Bowling-Green where he had not exercised his heels; nor an Execution-crowd, nor a Hedge-Tavern, where he had not employed his pauming, topping, cogging Fingers; bubbling young Heirs, soliciting Widows, abusing Virgins; and in a word, that he had signalized his Name in all the Sessions-Houses, Criminal Courts of Judicature, and Pillories of the Nation; till at length he came to retire to that Castle, where he lived upon his own Revenues, and the Spoils of others, Entertaining all Knights errand, of what Quality or Condition soever, out of that respect which he bare to their Profession, and to partake of what they got in recompense of the good which they did in the World.  
As for any chapel, he confessed he had none at that time, having pulled it down, out of a design to build another much more beautiful; however he knew well that in a case of Necessity, a Probationer might keep his Vigils where he pleased; which he might therefore do in a Tower of the Castle, that seemed to have been built for the same purpose; and that in the Morning he would not fail to complete the Ceremony, so that he might assure himself of being as true a Knight as any in the World. Have you any Money? then added the Inn-keeper. Money! replied Don Quixote; not a Groat. Nor did I ever red in any Story, that ever any Knight-Errant but one ever carried Money about him. That's your mistake, cried the Inn-keeper: for tho you do not red of any such Custom in your Books, it was not because it was not so, but because the Writers could not imagine their Readers to be such sots, as to believe that Knights-Errant went unprovided of two such necessary Accommodations, as Money and change of fresh linen. Otherwise he might as well believe that all Knights-Errant were lousy, and went a begging: And therefore he might well think, they carried both Money and clean Shirts along with 'em, besides a little Box of ointment to dress their Wounds. For it so happens many times that your Knight-Errants may be engaged in a desperate Combat in the midst of a wild and spacious desert, where they may ride a hundred Miles before the meet with they Sign of an Anatomy-Lecture, and so a Knight-Errant might rot before he could find a Surgeon; unless, which rarely falls out, he has some kind Enchantress for his Friend, to sand him some fair dansel or Dwarf in a Cloud with a Box of Balm of Gilead; of which one single drop tented into the Wound upon the tip of the Dwarf or Damsels Tongue, makes him as sound in three Minutes as ere he was in this World. But because there is no depending upon such accidents as these, therefore in former days, your Knight-Errants had their Squires to carry their Money and other Necessaries; as their Dressing-Box, Lint, and Rags: Or else if they had no Squires, they carried those things themselves in a little Bag fitted so neatly to their Saddles, that it was hardly to be discerned. So that it is not only my Advice, but a Charge which I lay upon you, as to my Son and Darling in Chivalry, never to ride without Money and other Necessaries, which you will find to stand you in stead, when your best Friends forsake ye.  
Don Quixote having listened with great attention to the pretended Paladine, promised punctual Obedience to all his Commands, and then prepared himself for the watch of his Arms. To which purpose, he went and fetched all his rusty Furniture together, and placed it all in great Order in a Horse-Trough, close by a Well in the Yard, which he fancied to be the Tower; and then embracing his Target and his Lance, he took several turns before the Horse-Trough with an Aspect no less fierce and haughty then graceful and pleasant at the same time. In the mean while, the Inn-keeper, to make himself sport, discovered to all that were in the Inn, the Extravagancies of Don Quixote, his watching his Arms, and his impatience to be dubbed a Knight; who all admiring at the Folly of the Person, desired to be Spectators of the Scene; and so standing at a distance, they beholded Don Quixote with a grave and serious countenance, sometimes dancing step-stately before the through; sometimes leaning upon his Lance, with his Eyes all the while wistly fixed upon his Arms; for the Moon, that by this time began to shine as clear as in a frosty Night, discovered the whole Ceremony. But while the Knight was thus performing his Vigils, one of the Carriers that lodged in the Inn, came forth to Water his Mules, which he could not do without removing the Arms out of the through. Don Quixote no sooner espied him, but he knew his design, and therefore by way of prevention, cried out to him in a loud and furious tone, Fool-hardy Knight, who ere thou art, that daringly thus presum'st to approach the Arms of the most valiant Combatant that was ever gird with a Sword, take heed what thou dost, and be not so adventurous to touch those Arms, unless weary of thy Life, thou hast a mind to forfeit it, for the punishment of thy headlong Temerity.  
A warning sufficient, one would have thought, but the indiscreet Carrier was so far from regarding Don Quixote's terrible Menaces, that as if he had rather scorned his Threats, he took the Arms and tossed 'em from the through, as if he had been playing at Coits. But he had better have been asleep in his Bed. For then it was, that Don Quixote lifting up his Eyes to heaven, and elevating his thoughts to his fair Mistress, Assist me, Madam, cried he, in the Revenge of this Affront, the first ere offered to your Vassal; and while my injured Honour lies at stake, let not your Protection bauk the first trials of my Courage. Which short Ejaculation ended, he laid by his Target, took his Lance in both hands, and letting drive with all his force at the audacious Carrier, gave him such a blow upon his inconsiderate Pate, that he laid him sprawling at his feet; one more such, and the saucy Rascal had ne're known who had hurt him. Which Exploit thus valiantly performed, Don Quixote gathered up the scattered pieces of his armor, put 'em into the Horse-trough again, and renewed his Ceremonies as before, without the least Disturbance or Discomposure i' the World.  
Soon after, another Carrier, not knowing what had happened, came with design to water his Mules. But, as he was going to clear the through of that which he only thought to be old Lumber; Don Quixote, without speaking a word, or imploring the assistance of Male or Female, a second time laid by his Shield, and taking his Lance a second time with both Hands, laid on so like a Kettle-Drummer, that he broken the Carrier's Pate in three or four places. Immediately the Fellow roared out Murder, and his Outcry summoned forth all the rest of the Carriers and Passengers in the Inn, to know what was the matter. Don Quixote seeing them coming, brac'd on his Target, and with his Sword drawn in his Hand, Goddess of Beauty( cried he to his Dulcinea), Thou Strength and vigour of my Heart, in season now enliven with the Beams of thy Grandeur, thy Captive Champion, ready to engage environing Dangers. And having thus invoked his Female Deity, he found himself inspired with such a Reinforcement of Courage and Resolution, that all the Carriers in the world could ne're have made him budg'd an Inch. On the other side, the Carriers, tho they were wary how they came too near, yet willing to revenge the Sufferings of their fellow-travelers, gave the Knight such a Volley of Stones, that Don Quixote was forced to shelter himself under the covert of his Shield( that began to Ring as if the Women had been Charming down a Swarm of Bees) resolving not to stir a foot, for fear of abandoning his beloved armor. The Inn-keeper, on the other side, bawled out to the Carriers to let him alone; crying out, that he had  told them already what a Fool he was; adding farther, that the Law would acquit him for a Madman should he kill all the Carriers in the Kingdom. All this while the undaunted Hero made more noise than all the 〈◇〉 reproaching the Carriers for Rogues and Cowards, and calling the ●aladine of the Castle Villain and Traitor, for suffering a Knight errand to be so abused: But I would make thee know, said the Knight, what a perfidious Rascal thou art, had I but received the Order of Knighthood. But for you Scoundrels, Fling on, said he, do your worst; come near and receive the wages of your Insolence, which I question not but to pay ye without abatement. And this he uttered with so much fury and resolution, that he stroke a terror into all his Assailants: So that what with the dread that invaded the Carriers, and the loud persuasions of the Inn-keeper, the storm of Gravel and Stones ceased; and Don Quixote permitting the Enemy to carry off their wounded, return'd to watch his armor with such calmness of Temper, and moderation of Mind, as if he had never been disturbed.  
But now the Inn-keeper having had pastime sufficient, and wearied with the Follies of his Guest, resolved to dispatch him forthwith, and to gratify the Squire with the Curse of unfortunate Knighthood, to prevent any mischief in his House. So that after he had excused the insolence of those saucy Bumpkins, as being done without his privity or consent; he gave him to understand, that he had no chapel in his Castle, as he had  told him before, and that it was indeed needless; for that the remaining part of the Ceremony which consisted only in the striking him upon the Neck and Shoulders with the Sword, might as well be performed in the Field as in any other place, as he had red in the Register of the Ceremonies of the Order. Don Quixote, who was greedy of being dubbed, as a hungry Kite of a dead Horse, easily submitted to the Inn-keepers arguments, desiring the Paladine to make hast; for that if he were once Knighted, and should be once assailed, as he had lately been, he did not believe he should leave a Man alive in his Castle, but such as the Paladine should request him to spare. Immediately the Inn-keeper, like a Person that would do nothing rashly, went and fetched his Book where he set down the Carrier's accounts for Straw and Provender, and then returning with the two young Harlots already mentioned, and a Boy that carried before him a lighted Candle's End, he caused Don Quixote to kneel: Then reading in his Manual, as if he had been mumbling some sort of devout Prayer, he lifted up his Hand in the midst of his Devotions, and gave him such a Dabb i' th Neck, that he made him kiss the Buttons of his Doublet, and at the same time, with the flat of his Sword, such a slap upon the Blade-bone, as made him shrink up his Shoulders again. Which done, he ordered one of the Truls to gird the Sword about the knights Waste; which she did with an extraordinary Grace and Dexterity, considering how hard a thing it was to forbear laughing at every particular of the Ceremony, had not her Experience admonished her, by what she had seen the Knight so lately perform, that he was not a Person to be droll'd with. So far from that, that when she had girded on the Sword, Heaven, quo she, with a low curtsy, grant ye Success in all your combats and Adventures. In return of which, the Knight desired to know her Name, that he might understand to whom he was obliged for so great a Favour, and make her a Sharer in all the Honour of his valorous achievements. To which the Lady answered with all Humility▪ That her Name was Betty, the Daughter of a Cobbler in Southwark, that kept a Stall under a Chandler's Shop in Kent-street; and that she would be his humble Servant in all Places where she should have the Happiness to meet him. I beseech ye, reply d Don Quixote, hereafter, for my sake, assume the Title of Madam, and call yourself Madam Betty; which she gratefully promised to do.  
The t'other Nymph put on his spurs, which occasioned a Dialogue of the same Nature between them two: For nothing would serve him, but he must know her Name likewise; who modestly answered him, That her Name was Nancy-cock, that her reputed Father lived in Chick-lane, and was called, The End of the Law, as being the Common Executioner of all Malefactors in the Palatinate of Tyburn. Thereupon the new Knight obliged, her also to call her self Madam Nancy-cock, returning her a thousand Thanks and making her large Proffers of his Service.  
These wonderful Ceremonies, the like to which were never heard of before, being thus performed with a kind of Tantivy speed, Don Quixote, who was almost out of his Wits to be gadding after new Adventures, made hast to saddle Rosinante; and being mounted, he embraced the Inn-keeper a Horse-back, returning him a whole Ship's Lading of Thanks for Dubbing him, in a tedious compliment so full of Extravagances, as would argue a greater Folly to repeat' em. To which the innkeeper, overjoyed to be rid of him, made short Replies, and glad he was gone, discharged him without stoping his Horse for the reckoning.   

CHAP. IV.  
What befell the new Knight after he had left the Inn.  
AUrora now began to display her vermilion Beauties, when Don Quixote quitted the Inn, so well pleased, so frolic, so jocund, to find himself dubbed a Knight, that he infused the same Satisfaction into his Horse, who was ready to burst his Girts for Joy. But calling to mind the Advice which the Inn-keeper had given him, touching the Provision of necessary Accommodations for his Travels, he resolved to return home, to furnish himself with Money and Shirts, and to get him a Squire. For which Employment he had already designed a Neighbour of his, a poor labouring Man, with a great Charge of Children, the fitter therefore to make a Shield-Porter. With this Resolution he took the Road back to his own Village; at what time, Rosinante, as if he had divined his Master's Design, carried him a round Trot so nimbly, and so lightly, that you could hardly perceive his Heels to touch the Ground. But Don Quixote had scarce rid two hundred Paces, when he fancied that he heard a mournful Voice that pierced his Ears, from a Thicket upon the right Hand. Thereupon he listened with both Ears, and being confirmed that he was under no mistake, he gave Thanks to Heaven, that had sent him an Opportunity to perform the Duty of his Profession, and reap the Fruit of his pious Designs. These Moans, said he, are questionless the Moans of some distressed Creature, that has need of my Assistance, which it behoves me to give; and so saying, he gave Rosinante a gentle Remembrance with his spur of Knighthood, and hastened to that side of the Wood. Whither he was no sooner come, but he beholded a most doleful Spectacle; a young Lad of about fifteen Years of Age, naked from the Waste upward, and tied to a three. This was he that sent forth those miserable Lamentations, and not without good Reason. For a lusty Raw-bon'd Country Fellow was there tawing the hid of the poor Stripling with a Brawny Arm, and an unmerciful Twist of Leather Thongs, and between every Lash he tuter'd him with a Proverb; crying ever and anon, A short Tongue, Sirrah, and watchful Eyes. To which the young Varlet made no other Reply, but, Good Master, I will never do so again; for the Passion of God, good Master, I will never do so again— Pray Master, Indeed Master, I will be more careful for the future. Don Quixote beholding this barbarous Cruelty of the Country Fellow, moved with Indignation in the surly Tone of Anger, Discourteous Knight, cried he, 'tis a base and unworthy Act, to assail a naked Person that is not able to defend himself; but mount thy stead, and handle thy Lance( for he took the Farmer's Mole-sticker that lay by him upon the Ground, for a Lance) and then I'll make thee know thou hast done like a Coward, and the Son of a Whore.  
The Country-fellow giving himself over for lost at the sight of such an Apparition in armor, with a Lance fixed to his Breast, quaking and shivering, made Answer; Sir Knight, this young Hedge-bird, whom I am chastising, is my Servant, employed by me to look after my Sheep, but such a careless Rascal, that he loses one or two every Day, and therefore I punish him for his carelessness, or rather his Knavery: 'tis true, he complains that I do not pay him his Wages, but upon my Life and Soul, he tells a most impudent lie. The lie in my Presence, Dog, cried Don Quixote, by the Sun that shines, I could find in my Heart to run my Lance quiter through thy Lungs. Unbind the Boy, and pay him without more words, or else by him that made me, I'll immediately annihilate thee. The Countryman not daring to speak a word more, made him a low Bow, and presently unbound the Boy; of whom Don Quixote demanded how much was owing him? Nine Months, said he, at four Shillings and eight Pence a Month; which Don Quixote having cast up, and finding to be two and forty Shillings, ordered the Farmer to pay the Fellow his Money down, unless he intended to be sent forthwith to the other World. The poor Countryman ready to sink into the Earth for fear, replied, That he would not forswear himself in that Condition he was in for all the World; yet by his Oath already sworn, he did not owe the Lad so much: besides that, he was to abate for three Pair of Shoes, and sixpence for his being let Blood when he was Sick. That may be, replied Don Quixote, but the Blood-letting and the Shoes must go in Satisfaction for the Stripes which you have given him without a Cause; for if he have made use of your Leather in his Shoes, you have slashed off as much of his Skin; and if the Surgeon let him Blood when he was ill, you have drawn Blood from him when he was in Health; so there's Tit for Tott, reck'n one for t'other. Alas, Sir! cried the Countryman, 'tis my Misfortune not to have so much, Money about me; but let Andrew go home along with me, and I'll pay him to a Farthing. Go along with him! cried the young Rogue, finding himself to be o'the better side the Hedge, God preserve me, Sir, should I go along with him, he would flay me like another St. Bartholomew. How! replied Don Quixote, never fear, young Man, he had better eat, than touch thy Skin. I shall forbid him to offer any such thing, and then I suppose he will not dare to incur my Displeasure; and therefore provided he will swear by the Order of Knighthood, of which he is a Companion, I will not only let him go, but secure thy Money. Take heed what you say, replied the young Rogue, for my Master is no Knight, nor ever was of any Order in his Life; he's no more then plain Gaffer Haldudo, the rich Cuff, that lives at Quintanar. That's nothing to the Purpose, replied Don Quixote, there may be Knights among the Haldudo's; besides that, he who bravely does, is a herald to himself, since every man is the Son of his own Works. Oh but, Sir, of what Works is he the Son, cried the young Crack-rope, who denies to pay me what I have earned by the Sweat of my Brows. I do not refuse to pay thee, honest Andrew, God knows my Heart, for by all the Orders that ever were in the World, if thou wilt go home along with me, I'll pay thee to a Farthing, not only in hard Six-pences and Shillings, but perfumed to boot. Spare your Perfume, replied Don Quixote, only pay the Lad his Money, and I am satisfied; but be sure you be true to your Word and your Oath: For if thou failst, tho but a halfpenny, by the same Oath I swear, to find thee out, tho hide as deep within the Bowels of the Earth as a Lizard. And to the end thou mayst understand who it is thou art either to oblige with Safety, or offend at thy Peril; know I am the Valiant Don Quixxote of the Mancha, the Flail of Oppression, and the Scourge of Injustice. So Peace be with ye, upon Condition of exact Performance, as you will answer the contrary at your Peril. And having so said, he put Spurs to his Rosinante, and road away.  
So soon as he was gone, the crafty old Hunks of a Farmer followed him with both his Eyes, as far as he could see him; and when he was quiter out of sight, away goes he back to his young Ne're-be-good, and in a Tone of seeming Kindness; Come, honest Andrew, said he, 'tis now that I intend to pay thee thy Arrears, according to my Obligation, and as the Flail of Oppression, and the Scourge of Injustice has commanded me to do. Assuredly, said Andrew, if you do not fulfil the Orders of this same Noble Knight, whose Valour and Justice God reward with a long and prosperous Life, I will go seek him out where ever he is, and bring him back to chastise your contempt, according to his Oath. Content, cried the Farmer; and to show thee how I love thee, I am resolved to increase the Debt, that I may advance the Payment. And with that, binding Andrew again to the three, he fell anointing the poor Boy's back with such a detestation of Compassion, till he had almost killed the young Miscreant. Now call, said the Farmer, your Scourge of Injustice, thou shalt find, he'l ne'er be able to undo what I have done, tho 'tis but the half of what I should do; for thou Rogue thou, I could find i'my heart to flay thee alive. However, he untied the Rascal at length, and gave him free liberty to go and seek out his Patron to revenge his Quarrel. But the Country Farmer having had his Plenary satisfaction, fell a laughing with his rustic Ho, Ho, Ho's, till his sides were ready to crack, to see the Boy go limping away, shrugging his flayed shoulders, in search of a Needle in a Bottle of Hay.  
In the mean time the valiant Don Quixote, believing he had performed a most signal Act of Justice, was strangely transported in his thoughts, and ravished with this successful beginning, Most beautiful of Beauties, fair Dulcinea deal Toboso, said he, well mayst thou account thyself the most Fortunate of all Women living, who hast for thy Vassal so Famous a Knight as Don Quixote of the Mancha, who, as all the World knows, was dubbed a Knight but yesterday, and this very day prevented the most terrible Cruelty that ever Injustice invented, by wresting this young Lad out of the hand of his inhuman and merciless Executioner. And having so said, he perceived himself to be in a place where four Roads met; at what time it came into his mind, that it was usual for Knights-Errant to stop at such places, there to consult with themselves which way to take; which that he might be punctual in every thing, he resolved to do. But not being able to determine with himself, he gave Rosinante his own Head, leaving it absolutely to his discretion to make his own choice; upon which, Rosinante, governed by natural instinct, took the way that lead to his own Stable.  
Don Quixote had not road above two Miles, but he perceived a great company of People that followed him upon the same Road, who afterwards proved to be Merchants of Toledo, that were going to buy Silks at Murcia; being six in number well mounted, with three Servants on Horse-back, and three on foot, that lead their Mules. Don Quixote no sooner had 'em in view, but he imagined this to be some new Adventure; and therefore with a sour and resolute courage fixing himself in his Stirrups, couching his Lance, and covering himself with his Target, he posted himself in the middle of the High-way, till the supposed Knights-Errants came up; and no sooner were they come, as he thought, within hearing, but in a haughty and imperious tone, That Man, said he, who adventures to stir an Inch farther, moves at his Peril, until he has acknowledged the Empress of the Mancha, the Incomparable Dulcinea deal Toboso, to be the Peerless Beauty that surpasses all the Beauties of the Universe. At those words, the Merchants stopped, to consider the strange Disguise and Posture of their Opponent, and easily conjecturing as well by his Obsolete Figure, as by his words, what sort of Creature he was; yet no less willing to have a little sport, then to understand the meaning of that extravagant Confession, for which their very Bowels themselves were to be so rudely ransacked: One of the Company in smooth and calm Language, Sir Knight, said he, we never saw this Lady you talk of in our lives, but let us have a sight of her, and then if she be such a Phoenix as you say she is, we shall readily comply with your desires. What Obligation will that be, replied Don Quixote, when you have seen her, to aclowledge a Truth so visible to your Eyes? 'tis your Duty to believe, confess, avouch, to swear, and maintain this certain Truth, whether you see or no. And therefore make me this acknowledgement forthwith in due form, or else he challenged and defied 'em for Sons of Whores, and liars. For whether you come one by one, as the Laws of Chivalry require, or all at once, as it is the usual custom of Ragamuffins and ruffians, know I am ready singly to abide the Encounter in confidence of the Justice on my side. Sir Knight, replied the Merchant, I beseech ye in the name of all the Princes here present, that for the discharge of our Consciences, which will not permit us to swear hand overhead to a thing so prejudicial to all the Empresses, Queens, Dutchesses, and Countesses in Europe, you will do us the kindness to let us but see the Portraiture of your Lady, tho it were no bigger then a Cherry-stone; for by a single thread we may judge of the whole Skean, and so with peace and quiet of Conscience be able to give you satisfaction to your hearts content. For to tell you truth, we find ourselves already so inclined to favour your Mistress, that tho your Picture should represent her blind with one Eye, and the other distilling Brimstone and Quick-silver, yet we should be apt to be as partial in her favour, as ever Paris was to Venus. distil! ye damned Scoundrel, replied Don Quixote, in a hideous rage, there's nothing distills from her but Civit and Amber; she is neither blear-eyed, nor cupboard-back'd, but as strait as a Bulrush; and therefore know, you shall severely pay for the Blasphemies you have uttered against Beauty's matchless Paragon. And so saying, with his Lance couched he ran with so much fury at the spokes-man Merchant, that had not Rosinante chanced to have flounder'd and fallen down in the midst of his Career, the audacious Merchant had paid dear for his fleering. But Rosinante fell, and so threw his Master, who lay rolling and tumbling in the dust, and using all his skill and strength to get upon his legs again, but could not for his Guts, so encumber'd was he with his Lance, his Spurs, his Target, and the weight of his rusty Harness. However, in this helpless condition, he played the Hero with his Tongue, crying out, Hold, Scoundrels, hold— abide my Fury, white-livered Fugitives; stay till I get up again, Dastards, Cowards, and suffer me to redeem my Honour lost, not by my own, but the misfortune of a damned stumbling Jade.  
Upon this, one of the Mule-drivers, who no doubt was none of those that were endued with the most Saint-like Patience, not enduring the Reproaches and bravadoes of the wallowing Knight, adventured to wrest his Lance out of his hand, and having broken it in two pieces, with the butt-end did so be labour Don Quixote's Ribs, that you would have thought he had been threshing a Wheat-sheaf. At length, the Merchants called to him, and bid him hold; but the fellow was so pleased with his Exercise, that he could not forbear rib-roasting the poor Knight, till he had almost pounded him into green-sawce: For after he had broken one end of the Lance, he took the other, laying on without ceasing, till he had splinter'd both ends upon the disgraced Cavalier's Iron enclosure; who notwithstanding all that storm of Bastinadoes, lay all the while banning the Villains that had taken him at that advantage, and threatening Heaven and Earth for the injury he had received. But at last the Mule-driver surceast, and the Merchants pursued their Journey, furnished with matter for Discourse and Mirth.  
Don Quixote, finding himself alone, made a new attempt to get upon his feet; but if he could not before, you may be sure he was less able to rise of himself, when his Joints were almost dislocated, and his Flesh half bruised to a jelly. Nevertheless this was his comfort, that his misfortune was a misery frequently incident to Knight-Errantry; and a farther consolation it was, that this mischance had befallen him not through his own want of Courage, but through the fault of his Horse.   

CHAP. V.  
A farther continuation of the knights Misfortunes.  
WHEN Don Quixote found that he had no way in the World to help himself up upon his legs, he had recourse to his usual Remedy, which was to bethink himself what Stratagem he had red among his Authors. Nor had he studied long before his fruitful folly brought to his remembrance the stories of Balduin and the marquis of Mantua, when Charlot left the former wounded in the Mountain. A story known both to old and young, and as true as the Miracles of Mahomet. This Romance seeming to him as if made on purpose for the condition he was in, he fell a rolling and wallowing in the dust like a man in despair, and with a languishing voice to breath out the same expressions, which the same Author puts into the Knight of the Wood. Where art thou, fairest Lady, that thou art so little moved with my misfortunes? Either thou know'st nothing of my Sufferings, or else thou art become false and disloyal.  
As he was thus going on, just as he came to these words, O Noble marquis of Mantua, my Uncle, good luck so ordered it, that a poor Labouring-man, that lived in his own Village, and not far from his own House, happened to pass by with a Sack of Meal which he had fetched from the Mill, who seeing a thing in human shape lying all along upon the ground, asked him who he was, and wherefore he made such a doleful Complaint? Don Quixote, who fancied himself to be Balduin, and took the Labouring-man for the marquis of Mantua his Uncle, made him no Answer, but continued repeating his Verses, and recounting all his Misfortunes, with the Amours of his Wife with the Emperor's Son, word for word as they are set down in the story. The Labouring-man astonished to hear such a world of Romantic Gibrish, lifted up the Visor of his Helmet, bruised and battered as it was by the Mule-driver's Mallets, and after he had washed the dust off his face, presently knowing who he was; Good God, Master Quixada, cried the Labourer, who was your tailor, to make ye this Iron svit? How came ye into this Condition? But do what he could for his life, the other would give him no other Answer but what he went on repeating out of his Romance. Which the poor man observing, took off his Breast-plate and corselet, and sell a searching for his Wounds, but finding no sign of any Blood, or any gashes in his Skin, with a great deal of trouble he got him upon his legs, and then heaved him upon his Ass, as being the more easy and gentle Carriage. And so careful he was of the Knights Arms, that he picked all the very splinters of his Lance, and having bound them up together, fastened 'em to Rosinante's Saddle; and so driving the Ass softly before him, and leading Rosinante by the Bridle in his Hand, he made toward the Village with a slow place, musing with himself, yet not able to apprehended the Meaning of those Extravagancies which Don Quixote uttered all the Way. On the other side Don Quixote was no less afflicted; for he felt himself so crushed and mortified, that he could hardly sit the gentle Animal, that crept no faster hardly then a Snail; and all along he breathed forth such loud Sighs and Lamentations, that pierced the very Skies; so that the compassionate Labourer could not forbear once more to demand the Cause of his Grief. But as if the Devil himself had still put him in mind of Stories accommodated to his Condition, he quitted that of Balduin, and called to mind the History of the Moor Abyndaraxe, when Rodrigo of Narvaez, governor of Antequera, took him, and carried him away Prisoner. So that when the poor labouring Man asked him a third Time the cause of his Sorrows, he answered Word for Word what the Prisoner Abencerrage replied to Don Rodrigo in Diana of Monte Mayor, applying every Thing so oddly to himself, that the labouring Man cursed him to the Pit of Hell for his Extravagancies; and thence at length concluding, that the poor Gentleman was become a mere Sot, he made all the hast he could to the Village to be rid of his Impertinences. For, Don Quixote still continuing the Series of the Story, you must know, Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, said he to the Labourer, that this beautiful Princess, of whom I have given ye an account, is at present the Incomparable Dulcinea deal Toboso, for whose sake I have done, still do, and will perform the most famous Exploits of Chivalry that ever were known before, ever seen in our Days, or that future same shall record. Alas! replied the poor labouring Man, as I am a Sinner to God, I am neither Rodrigo de Narvaez, nor the marquis of Mantua, but only poor Peter Alonso, your honest Neighbour; nor are you either Balduin or Abyndaraxe, but a good honest Country-Gentleman of this Village, that ever since you came to your Means, have gone by the Name of Squire Quixada. I know who I am, replied Don Quixote, and I know, moreover, that I not only deserve to be the same that I have named, but the Twelve Peers of France likewise, and the Nine Worthies, all in one, since all their famous Exploits being added together, cannot equal my achievements.  
In this, and such other Discourses they spent their Time, till they came to the Village, where they arrived toward the Evening. But the Labourer unwilling that the Squire should be seen so ill mounted, stayed at a small distance under a Hedge till 'twas Dark, and then lead him home to his own House, where there was nothing but Confusion, by reason of the Master's Absence, which made the labouring Man willing to tarry a while and listen. There at the same time were the Curate and the Barber, his usual Companions, with whom his Servant-maid, it seems, was just then discoursing the Point. Lord bless me! quo she, Mr. Doctor, what d' you think of this Misfortune that has befallen my Master? 'tis now six Days ago since we have seen either Him, or his Horse, and he must have carried away his Lance and his Arms too; for we can find 'em no where about the House: It makes me almost at my Wits end. But as I was born to die, I'll be hanged if those cursed Books of Knight-Errantry have not been the Occasion of all this. I remember, I have often heard him say, He intended to turn Knight-Errant, and wander about the World in Search of Adventures; the Devil and his Friend barrabas take all those confounded Volumes that have thus debauched the best Headpeice in Mancha.  
His niece made the same loud Complaint to Mr. Nicholas the Barber: My uncle, quo she, was wont to red these devilish Books for two Days and two Nights together; at the end of which he would lay aside his Book, and fall a Fencing against the Walls like a mere Bedlamite; and when he had sufficiently hac'kd and hewed the Posts and Doors, he would cry, He had slain four Giants as big as Steeples; and then he fancied the Sweat, occasioned by the violent Motion of his Body, to be the Blood of his Wounds, which he had received in the combat; then drinking a large Glass of could Water, which he dreamt to be a sort of precious liquour sent him by the Sorcerer Esquife, he conceited himself whole and sound again. Now I durst not speak a Word of this, for fear the World should think my Uncle distracted; so that indeed I am the wretched Cause of all his Misfortunes, for not giving notice of his Follies in time, that so proper Remedies might have been applied, er'e 'twas too late, and all these excommunicated Authors might have been burnt for heretics. May I be broiled for a Martyr, replied the Curate, if they be not all condemned and executed before to morrow Night. They have lost me one of my best Friends, but beshrew my Heart, they shall never do any more Mischief. All which Discourse, when the listn'ing Labouring Man had heard, no longer doubting the Truth of what he suspected before; House there, cried he, as loud as he could yaul, open the Gates there for the marquis of Mantua, and the Lord Balduin, who is return'd home very dangerously wounded, as also for the valiant Rodrigo de Narvaez, governor of Antiquera, who brings along with him the Moor Abyndaraxe, Prisoner. At which Words they opened the Gate; at what time the Curate and the Barber knowing their Intimate Friend, the niece her Uncle, the Servant her good Master; they all ran to embrace, and welcome him home. To whom Don Quixote, Forbear, said he, with a faint Voice, I am sore wounded by reason my Horse failed me, therefore let me be gently carried to Bed; and if it be possible let the Enchantress Urganda be sent for to cure my Wounds. Now, as I hope to be saved, cried the Servant-maid, did not I guess right, when I  told ye my Master's Disease? But get him to Bed, and let that gipsy go to the Devil, we'll cure him, my Life for yours, without Enchantments. Millions of Cankers consume those cursed Legends that brought him to this Condition. Thereupon they carried the crazy Gentleman up to his Bed, and searched for his Wounds, but could find none. No, no, cried Don Quixote, I am not wounded, but only bruised by the Fall of my Horse, while I was fighting against ten Giants, the vastest in Bulk, and most courageous that ever were in the World. Hoy-da— quo the Curate, What, Giants too i'the Conspiracy! By my Sanctity, there shall not one remain in Being by to morrow Night. This done, they put a thousand Questions to Don Quixote; but he was not to be catechized, only he bid 'em let him have something to eat, and then leave him to his Rest, as being that of which he stood most in need.  
Thus while the Knight was left to enjoy himself, and the Pleasure of his own chimeras, the Curate informed his Curiosity at large, in what Condition the Labouring Man had found him; who failed not to give a punctual Account of the Particulars so far as he knew, as also of all the Fopperies which he uttered upon the Way; which confirmed the Curate to proceed in his Design the next Day; to which Purpose he appointed to meet the Barber at Don Quixote's House.   

CHAP. VI.  
Of the delightful and diligent Survey which the Curate and the Barber took of the Squire's Library.  
THE Squire quiter weary, sore, and tired, was now taking a sweet Nap, when the Curate and the Barber came to his House, and desired the Key of his Study-door, which was readily delivered. So soon as the Door was open, they all went in, Servant-maid and all; and there they found about a hundred large folios, together with several quartos and Octavo's very well bound, and exactly methodised. Presently the Maid ran out, and returning in Post-haste again, brought a basin of Holy-water, desiring the Curate to sprinkle the Study, for fear least some one of those Sorcerers, of which the Books were full, should come and enchant both him and the Barber, for going about to sand 'em out of the World. But the Curate, not so superstitious, desired the Barber to take down the Volumes one by one, to see what sort of Punishment they deserved, for that they might not all deserve alike. No, no, cried the niece, never spare any, for they are all alike guilty of my Unkle's ruin; and therefore let us throw 'em all out at Window, and make a bonfire of 'em all together in the Court-yard: And this was the Opinion of the Maid also; so highly were they resolved upon the Destruction of those poor Innocent Volumes. But the Curate having more mind to red the several Titles, determined to proceed his own Way.  
So then, the first Book that Mr. Nicholas pulled down, was Amadis de Gaule, in four Volumes. Oh, ho! cried the Curate, there is some Mystery in this, that this Book comes first of all: For I have heard, that this was the first Book of Knight-Errantry that ever was printed in Spain, and that it has served as a Model for all the rest. And therefore my Advice is, That it be condemned to the Fire, without Mercy, as the Author and Upholder of a most pernicious Sect. I beg his Reprieve, cried the Barber, for that I have heard several understanding People aver, That it is the best Story that we have, of its kind; and therefore as the only Thing that's good, belonging to the Profession, it may deserve a Pardon. Well then, said the Curate, for this time we'll spare Amadis— Go to the next. These are the achievements of Esplandian, the lawful begotten Son of Amadis de Gaule. What then, quo the Curate, he had never half the Wit or Courage of his Father— Here, Mistress Governess, open the Window, and throw it into the Yard, 'twill serve as a good Foundation for the Pile we intend to rear. Nor was the Maid flack to obey his Order, and so Don Esplandian was sent headlong into the Court, till his Executioners were at leisure.  
What's the next, cried the Curate? This, replied the Barber, is Amadis of Greece; and I am apt to believe, that all that stand a'this side are of the same Family. Then let 'em all be sent packing into the Court, cried the Curate: For rather then spare from the Fire Queen Quintiquinestra, and the Shepherd Darinel, with his Eclogues, and the Diabolical Discourses of the Author; I think I should burn my own Father alive, if I met him in the Disguise of a Knight-Errant. I am of the same Opinion, quo the Barber, and I by my Troth, quo the Niece. If it be so, quo the Maid, let 'em even go all together for Company; and so to save the Labour of traveling up and down Stairs, she sent 'em flying out at Window, to the clearing of a whole Shelf or two.  
What Bundle of Paper is that, quo the Curate? Tis is Don Olivantes de Laura, replied Mr. Nicholas. The same Author, quo the Curate, if I mistake not, wrote the Garden of Flowers; and I know not which is the most rascally lying Book of the two. But this I know for certain, that he shall march into the Court for a Nonsensical arrogant Whelp as he is.  
The next, cried the Barber, is Florismart of Hyrcania. How! Monsieur Florismart, is he there, replied the Curate? Nay then, since we have caught him, he shall down y' faith into the Court, maugre his wonderful Birth, and prodigious Adventure; for the Flatness and insipidness of his style deserve no better Usage.  
Here's the Cavaleir Platir continued, cried the Barber. Hang him, quo the Curate, for a lecherous old Goat, there's nothing in him that deserves a Grain of Pity. Out with him, Mistress Governess, without any more ado.  
The next that was opened, was the Knight of the across. Why truly, quo the Curate, one would think that he might deserve some Favour, for the sake of his Holy Title, sufficient to cover many Imperfections. But what says the Proverb; The Devil lurks behind the across: let him go to Perdition.  
Then the Barber fetching down the next Volume, Here, said he, is the mirror of Knighthood. Oh, I have the Honour to know him, cried the Curate; there you shall find the Lord Rieynald of Montauban, with all his Crew, a Parcel of Rake-Hell and Skim-the-Divel, the Twelve Peers of France, and that faithful Historian, Arch-bishop Turpin. However, I think fit to condemn these Gentlemen only to Perpetual Exile, because their Story contains something of the Famous Boyardo's Invention; from whence that Christian Poet, Ariosto borrowed several of his Fancies: whom indeed, I would use with as little Respect, if I should meet him prating in any other Language then his own, as high a Value as I have for him in his Native idiom. Why, I have him at home in Italian, quo the Barber, but I cannot understand him. So much the better, replied the Curate, 'tis not a Farthing matter; and we should have been highly obliged to the Captain that translated it into Spanish, had he spared himself that Trouble; for, to say Truth, he has done his Author a filthy deal of wrong; a Misfortune that happ'ns to all Translators of Verse, who can never retain the natural Graces of the Original Language, let their Wit and Industry be never so great. And therefore, as for him, and all others that undertake to writ of the Affairs of France; 'tis my Opinion, that we ought to preserve 'em in some secure and dry Place, till we can be at leisure to consider how to dispose of 'em; except it be Bernardo deal Carpio, and one more called Roncivalles, with whom if ever I meet, I will certainly deliver 'em up into the Hands of the Secular Power. To all which the Barber readily submitted, as one that pinned his Faith upon the Curate's Sleeve, well-knowing him to be a good Christian, and a Friend of Truth.  
Thereupon, opening the next Volume, they found it to be Palmerin de Oliva, and the next to that, Palmerin of England. Are ye there, quo the Curate, let that Palmerin de Oliva be first torn to flitters, then burnt, and lastly let his Ashes be strewed i'the Air, for the Wind to carry where they may be never seen more. But for Palmerin of England, let him be preserved as a relic of Antiquity; and let us put him in a Box as costly as that which Alexander found among the Spoils of Darius, which he consecrated to Homer's Works. That Book, Neighbour, is to be valued for two things. First, for its own Excellency; and secondly, because it is said to have been written by a learned King of Portugal. All the Adventures of the Castle of Miraguarda are well and neatly fancied, the style is easy and pure; beside that, the Author has taken great care to observe a Decorum in all, and to be exact in his Characters. And therefore Mr. Nicholas, with Submission to your better Advice, both he, and Amadis de gall shall be exempted from the Fire; but for all the rest, Long-tail and Bob-tail, without any farther search, let 'em all go to the Stake. Not so furious, good Neighbour, replied the Barber, for this Book here in my Hand, is the famous Don Belianis. He, quo the Curate with his two, three, and four Parts, had need of a good Dose of Rheubarb to purge off that dreadful Mass of Choler that continually inflames his Blood; besides, his Castle of famed, should be utterly demolished, and several other Impertinences pared away; which done, we should be willing to show him Mercy, or expose him to Justice, as we approved or disapproved the Emendations made. Till then, Neighbour, pray keep him at home in your own Closet, and be sure to let no body red him. I like your Admonitions very well, quo the Barber, and to save him the trouble of reading any more Titles, he bid the Maid take all the great Volumes and throw 'em into the Court. She that would have burnt all the Romances in the World for a new Smock, had no need of being twice spoken to, so that she sent eight large folios presently to their long Home. But the next Book, heaving more then she could well lift, she let fall at the Barber's Feet, who being curious to see what it was, found it to be the History of the famous White Tyrant. Cuds-niggers-daggers, quo the Curate, what ha' ye got Monsieur the White Tyrant too? Let me see him pray, Mr. Nicholas; this is a Treasure that you have found; this is an Antidote against Melancholy. Here we shall find the Valiant Knight, Don Kyrie Elyson of Montalban, and Thomas of Montalban his Brother, with the Knight Fonseca; the combat of the valiant Detriante with the Mastiff; the Stratagems of the Lady Pleasure-of-my-life; the Amours and wil●ss of the Lady Tranquilla, and the Empress in love with her page.. The Devil take me now, Neighbour, if I lie, this is one of the best Books in the World, for the style, and the most natural. Here the Knights eat, and sleep, and die i'their Beds, and make their Wills before they expire; with several other things both profitable and necessary, of which other Books never speak a Word. Yet for all that, I have a good mind to sand the Author to spend the rest of his days i' the Gallies for poisoning the World with so many cursed Absurdities, as it were, knowingly, and of his Malice fore-thought. Carry him home therefore, Neighbour, and red him, and then you will find, that all that I say is true. I make no question of it, cried the Barber; but what shall we do with all these lesser Books that remain behind? Certainly, replied the Curate, these can never be Books of Chivalry, they are too small. Here are none but Poets, and men of Madrigals, I'll warrant ye. And so it fell out; for the first they opened, happened to be Diana de Monte Mayor. I thought so, quo the Curate; but for these, believing all the rest to be of the same Stamp, they cannot be thought to deserve the Punishment of a Woman-Coiner; for they cause not that Disorder in the World, which Books of Knight-Errantry are guilty of; nor are the Maggots which they engender, half so corroding and prejudicial to the Brain. O good Mr. Curate, cried the niece, let 'em even suffer with the rest; for should my Uncle be cured of his Knight-Errant Frenzy, and once betake himself to reading these Books, we should have him turn Shepherd, and then we should never keep him from roving and rambling over all the Groves, Meadows, and Plains o'the Kingdom with his crowd and his Flageolet, and which is worse, perhaps we should have him turn Poet too; for they say, that Poetry is one of the most infectious Diseases i'the World, and the most incurable. The Lady speaks Reason, quo the Curate; 'twill do very well to remove this Stumbling-block out of our Friends way. And to that end let us begin with Diana de Monte Mayor; yet I do not think it fit to throw him into the Fire, but only to geld him; for indeed all that he talks about the Witch Felicia, and the enchanted Water, with the greatest part of his Verses, is too luxuriant and rampant; after which Castration, we may permit his Eunuch-ship the Honour of being the first that wrote in Prose of that nature.  
Cuds-fish, quo the Barber, here is another Diana called the second, compiled by one of Salamanca; Hey-day! and a third, written by one Giles Pole. Let that of Salamanca, quo the Curate, increase the number of the Dead; but preserve that of Giles Pole, as charily as if Apollo himself had wrote it. Now go on, Neighbour, for it grows late. Nouns, quo the Barber, here are no less then Ten Books of the Fortune of Love, composed by Anthony Lefraso, a Sardinian Poet. By my Holy Orders, quo the Curate, since Apollo was Apollo, and the Muses were the Muses, or that ever Poets were in the World, there was never, in its kind, a more pleasant and witty Book written; he that never red this Book, never red any thing that was delightful. Give it me, Neighbour, I had rather have it then a Gown and Cassock of the best Florence Silk in Tuscany. These that follow are the Shepherd of Iberia, the Nymphs of Enares, the Cure of jealousy. Take 'em Jaylor, quo the Curate, as they come together, let 'em go together— and never ask why, Neighbour, for then we shall ne're ha' done. Here's another Shepherd, quo the Barber, called the Shepherd of Filida. He was no Shepherd, cried the Curate, but a complete Courtier, keep him as the Apple of thine Eye. Bless me, quo the Barber, we shall ne're be poor now, here's the Ware-house itself, or the Treasury of Poetry. Ay, quo the Curate, 'tis a Ware-house indeed, but like a Costermongers, there are a World of rotten Pippins among the sound; were they less, they would be of more value: Keep it however, because the Author is my Friend, and for the sake of some few soaring Fancies of his that are extant. Here's a Book of Sonnets and Madrigals, quo the Barber, by Lopez Maldonado. That's my particular Friend, replied the Curate. Men admire his Verses when he reads 'em himself, and such is the Sweetness of his Voice, that when he sings 'em, he makes all the World dance after his Pipe. He is a little too tedious in his Eclogues; preserve him however from Tribulation. But how d' ye call the next? This is Michel Servantes's Galatea, replied Mr. Nicholas. He is one of my old Acquaintance, quo the Curate; but a Person more remarkable for his Misfortunes, then his Poetry. Something there is of Conceit and Invention in his Book; a great Cry, and a little Wool; for he promises much, performs little. We must stay for his Second Part, of which he assure us; perhaps in that, he may make amends for his former Errors. Set him aside therefore, and let us see who are they that stand there all a-row? Why, here is th' Araucana of Don Alonzo d' Hercilla; th' Austriada of John Ruffo, one of the Common-Council-men of Cerdova, and the Monferrat of Christopher de Verves, a Poet of Valencia. Those, quo the Curate, are the best heroic Verses that ever were composed in Spanish, and may compare with the choicest of the Italians. Preserve 'em therefore charily, as precious Monuments of the Excellency of our Poets.  
At length the Curate, weary of looking over so many Authors, concluded to throw all the rest into his bonfire, without farther Examination. But the Barber showing him one more that was already opened, and entitled, the Tears of Angelica: Truly, quo the person, I should have wept myself, had this Book miscarried, by my Order; for the Author was not only one of the best Poets of Spain, but in the whole World; and has been particularly successful in his Translation of several of Ovid's Fables.   

CHAP. VII.  
Of Don Quixote's second departure from his House.  
WHile they were thus employed, they heard Don Quixote making a most horrid noise, and crying out in his Bed, Here, here, Valiant Knights; Here it is that you ought to show the strength and vigour of your Arms, and not to let the Courtiers carry away the Honour of the Tournament. This hideous out-cry called away the Inquisitors from any farther examination of the Study; so 'tis very probable, that the rest of the Library being left to the mercy of the Maid and the Niece, they made havoc of all, without minding due forms of Law. And thus 'tis thought that La Carolea, lo of Spain, and the Acts of the Emperor, composed by Don Lewis D' Alvala, which could not choose but be in the same Catalogue, were all sacrificed to the Flames of Purgatory. A Fate, perhaps, which they might have avoided, had the Curate been there to have heard their Justifications.  
Don Quixote was just up, when his Library-Condemners came into the Chamber, where they found him making a heavy bustle, tearing his Throat, full of Anger, quarreling with the Air, and laying on upon the Walls back-stroke and fore-stroke; thereupon they altogether laid hold of him, and having disarmed him, put him to bed; where after he had reposed a while, and recovered his strength, turning to that side where the Curate sate, My good Lord Arch-Bishop Turpin, said he, 'tis the greatest piece of shane in the World, that the twelve Peers should so basely let the Courtiers go away with the Honour of the Tournament, after we the Knights Adventurers had carried it for three days together before. Patience is a virtue, an't like your Worship, replied the Curate: Fortune is fickle, and they that lose to day, may win to morrow. Therefore pray Sir, mind your Health at present; for of necessity you must be extremely tired, if not very much wounded. As for my being wounded, answered Don Quixote, there's no such thing; but that I am bruised and mortified 'tis very true: For when I was down, Rowland the Bastard fell a thrashing my bones with a huge Ok'n Plant, out of mere spleen, because I pretended to be more Valiant then He. But I will renounce the Name of Rinaldo of Montalban, if, maugre all his Enchantments, I do not quit scores with Him, so soon as I get well. And therefore let 'em bring me my Supper, 'tis that which I have most need of at present, and then let me alone to my Revenge. Accordingly they brought him some Victuals, which when he had eat'n, he fell asleep again, at what time they left him to his slumbers, partly wondering, partly smiling at his Follies. The same Night the Female Executioner burnt all the Books she could find in the House; and 'tis a hundred to one but that several suffered in the General Calamity that deserved a better Fate, according to the Proverb, That many times the Innocent perish with the Guilty.  
Among the rest of the Cures, which the Curate and Barber had found out, as most proper for their Friends Distemper, one was to stop up the Study-door, so that he might not be able to find it when he rose, hoping that the Effect would cease, when the Cause was taken away; and that if he enquired for the Key, they should tell him that a certain Enchanter had carried away Study, Books and all. Two days after, Don Quixote being got up, the first thing he did was to go visit his Books, but not finding the Study where he had left 'em, he sought about in every Room of the House for the door. At length, perceiving all his labour in vain, he asked the Maid-Servant where his Study of Books stood? What Study, Sir, replied the Maid, according to her Instructions? Here's neither Study nor Books, nor so much as a piece of Paper i' this House, for the Devil has carried all away. Not the Devil, cried the Niece, but something, or some body ten times worse, the Lord deliver me. For about a day or two after you were gone, in the Night time there came a Sorcerer as they call 'em, mounted upon a Dragon, and wrapped up in a Cloud instead of a Leaguer Cloak; who as soon as he came to the Door, alighting from the Dragon's back, entered the House, went up to the Study, and what he did there, the Lord of Oxford knows: But there he stayed a while, and when he went away, he left such a smoke and stench behind him, that we were almost choked. At length, we went to see what he had done; but looking for the Study, we could neither find Books nor Study, nor any sign of a Study that had been there. Only the Maid and I remember( and 'twas as much as we could do, being half scared out of our Wits) that as he was going away, the cursed old Miscreant cried out with a loud voice, I think I have plagued the owner of these Books for drubbing the giant my Friend. And then I think he called himself by the Name of Munnaton. Wheston you mean, answered Don Quixote. Ay, Ay, Wheston, or Whiston, cried the Maid, I am sure his Name ended in Ton. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote, he is a very famous Necromancer, and my Mortal Enemy; for he understands by his Art, that I am one day, in despite of all his magic, to vanquish in single Combat, a young Knight, whom he loves and protects, and therefore he works me all the mischief he can. But let him know, he does but fool himself, and that there's no avoiding what the Fates have ordained. There's no question to be made on't, replied his niece: But dear Uncle, said she, why do you thus engage yourself in all these Quarrels and Combats? Would it not be much better for you to live quiet at home, enjoy your Estate, and take the pleasure of Hunting, then to perplex and weary yourself with roving and rambling about the World like a Vagabond; and seeking for better Bread then is made of Wheat, not considering, that there's some People who gad a great way for Wool, that return home without Hair. Oh my dear niece, answered Don Quixote, thou art much mistak'n; for before I'll be shorn by any Man, I'll tear his Beard from the Chin of the proudest He that dares but to look upon the curls of one of my Locks. To which his niece made no reply, perceiving the Knight begin to be in wrath.  
Fifteen whole days did our Hero remain at home to repair his battered carcase, without the least sign of any Reformation; during which time, the Curate and the Barber had the most pleasant disputes in the World with him, while he maintained that there was nothing so beneficial to Mankind as Knight-Errantry, to which end he was resolved to re-establish the Order. In which disputes the Curate sometimes contradicted him, sometimes submitted; for had he not used that Policy, he might have been thrashed for a Necromancer.  
In the mean time, Don Quixote very privately, but very earnestly made it his business every day to solicit one of his Neighbours, a Labouring-man, and a good honest Fellow, if we may be permitted to call a poor man honest: for he was poor indeed; poor in Purse, and poor in Brains: Which Don Quixote considering, bestowed all his Rhetoric upon him,  told him out so many thousands of Promises, and gave him so many fair Arguments, that at length he prevailed with him to become his Squire. Among other motives this was one, that his prospect of Gain was great, but his Loss could be nothing: For that in Knight-Errantry there were oft-times those lucky hits, that in the time that a man may be taking up two straws, the Knight might take an iceland; and it might be his luck to make him governor of a whole Country. Thus Sancha Pancha( for that was the Name of the Labouring-man) vanquished by these invincible Reasons, forsook his Wife and Children to follow his Neighbour in the quality of a Squire, or Shield-Porter.  
And now Don Quixote assured of such a necessary Appurtenance, made it his business to furnish himself with Money: To which purpose, putting here to Sale, Mortgaging there, and all the while selling Robin Hood's Pennoth's, he got a good round Sum together. After that, he borrowed another Target of one of his Neighbours, and having repaired his Head-piece and Visor the best he could, he gave notice to his Squire of the day and hour that he intended to depart, to the end he might furnish himself with all things necessary; more especially he bid him be careful not to forget a Wallet. Sancha promised all Obedience, and moreover signified his desire to take his Ass along with him, which was strong and in good case. The mentioning of the Ass put Don Quixote into a brown study for a time, being in a great Quandary whether it were lawful for him to permit his Squire that privilege; not being able to call to mind that of all the Knights which he had red, ever any one carried along with him a Squire mounted upon an Ass. However at last he resolved to give Pancha his liberty, hoping in time to mount him more honourably, the first unmannerly Knight that he should happ'n to unhorsed. He also furnished himself with Shirts, and other Necessaries, according to the Inn-keepers Instructions. Which being done with all the secrecy imaginable, Sancha, without so much as kissing his Wife, or bidding his Children God-buy; and Don Quixote, leaving both his Maid and his Niece fast asleep, stolen out of the House one Night, and having got the Village upon their backs, they made such hast, that by break of day they were quiter out of the danger of being pursued. As for Sancha Pancha, he road like a Patriarch, with his Wallet and his Bottle, and with a strange impatience to see himself governor of the iceland which his Master had promised him.  
They took the same Road which Don Quixote had done the time before, that is to say, over the Plains of Montiel, through which they travelled with less annoyance, then when Don Quixote road alone, by reason it was very early in the Morning, at what time a brisk breeze of Wind cooled the fresh Air. And all this while they had not spok'n a word one to another; but Sancha Pancha, whose Tongue was never wont to lye still so long, at length breaking silence, Sir Knight-Errant, quo he to his Master, pray do not you forget the iceland which you have promised me. hark ye me, Friend Sancha, replied Don Quixote, you must know that in all Ages, this has been the constant practise of Knight-Errants, to give their Squires the Government of those Islands and Kingdoms which they conquer; which laudable Custom I am resolved to keep up to that degree, that whereas other Knights never rewarded their Squires, till they were grown old, and incapable of starving by Day, and watching a Nights, and then gave 'em only some little Province or other, with the Title of Count or marquis: For my part, should it be my hap, before we have lived six days together, to gain an Empire, to which many other Kingdoms were subject, I would cause thee to be crowned King of one of those Kingdoms. Nor do thou think this to be a strange thing: For such good Fortune oft-times befalls a Knight-Errant, and that by ways and means so un-foreseen and unexpected, that I may chance to give thee much more then I promised. If this should come to pass, replied Sancha Pancha, assuredly my Wife Joan Guthridge will be a Queen, and all my Children Infanta's and Dolphins. There's no doubt on't, replied Don Quixote. I do a little question it, answered Sancha; for I am persuaded, if it should rain Crowns, we should hardly meet with one that would fit my Wives Head: For to tell ye truth, Sir, she's no more fit to make a Queen, then a pickled Herring; I believe she would prove a better Countess, and yet, so God help me, if she be able to manage that Place well, I believe 'tis as much as she can do. Leave that to God a' mighty, replied Don Quixote, he will give thee what is most convenient for thee; and therefore pluck up a good Heart, and scorn to content thyself with less then a Vice-Roy-ship, or an Earldom at least. No more I will, replied Don Sancha; especially since I have so good and so discreet a Master, that knows what to give me, and what I am able to discharge.   

CHAP. VIII.  
Of Don Quixote's good Success in his dreadful and unheard-of Encounter with the Windmills.  
WHile they were thus familiarly talking together, Don Quixote and his Squire discovered at a distance some thirty or forty Windmills; which so soon as the Knight espied, Fortune now conducts us better then we can guide ourselves. See yonder( Friend Sancha) no less then thirty Giants of enormous stature; all which I am resolved not only to encounter, but to dis-embowel. 'twill be a good beginning to enrich ourselves with their Spoils; for the Quarrel is just, and the extirpation of this detested Race will be an acceptable piece of Service to God.  
What Giants? replied Sancha Pancha. Why those Giants which thou seest yonder, quo Don Quixote, with their hugeous Arms, of which Race there are some whose Arms will reach two Leagues in length. Mind what you say, replied Sancha; for an't like your Worship, those things which you suppose to be Giants, are no Giants, but Windmills; and the Arms you fancy, are only the Sails that turn about the Wheels when they grinned the Corn. I see, said Don Quixote, that thou art a ninnie in matters of Chivalry. They are Giants, Fool; and therefore if thou art afraid, go aside and say thy prayers: for my part, I am resolved to encounter 'em, tho as many more. And so saying, he spurred Rosinante forward, tho Sancha still swore himself to the Devil, that they were no Giants, but Windmills. But let him swear himself to his dam to boot, he so strongly fancied 'em to be Giants, that he never regarded the Oaths of his Squire; and the nearer he road, the more he was confirmed in his imagination. So that as soon as he came within hearing, he tore his Throat, crying out, Stand, Caitiffs; stand your Ground, vile Miscreants as ye are, and fly not basely from a single Knight, that fears not to encounter ye all in a heap together. By and by the Wind rising, made the Sweeps begin to move: But that made him ten times madder. Then he swore Nouns and Pronouns, what! defy him to his Teeth! But ye shall pay for your arrogance, quo he, tho ye had as many Arms as the Giant Briareus. After that, he most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her aid in that extremity of danger; and so covering himself with his Buckler, and couching his Lance in his Rest, he ran with all Rosinante's might against the first Windmill, pushing his Lance through one of the Winlow's, which with the swiftness of its motion whirling away the Lance, shivered it into several pieces; and then throwing Horse and Man after it, laid the poor Knight sprawling i' the Field, at the distance of more Yards, then would have measured Long Megg of Lincoln a Gown and Petticoat. Which Don Sancha perceiving, hastened with his Ass a Dog-trot; and finding his Master almost doz'd with the fall, Mercy save me, quo he, did I not worry your Worship to take care what ye did? and  told ye they were Windmills? Which no body but might have seen, that had not more Windmills in his Head. Peace, Friend Sancha, peace, replied Don Quixote, there is nothing so subject to Fortune as War, for it fluctuates in perpetual inconstancy. But let me tell thee what I think, and am certain 'tis true; that cursed Necromancer, Wheston, that carried away my Study and my Books, as sure as a Gun has changed the Giants into Windmills, on purpose to deprive me of the Honour which I intended, of grinding them to powder; such is his rage and malice against me: But all his Enchantments in the end must yield to the edge of my Sword. Pray God ye be John, replied Sancha; and so heaving him up again upon his legs, by the help of a Shrieve's Block, he mounted the unfortunate Rosinante once more, half Shoulder-sprain'd, poor Beast, with his fall.  
This achievement thus performed, they took the Road that leads to the Passage through the Mountains, and all the way the last Adventure was the subject of their Discourse; Don Quixote believing that he could not miss of Adventures in a Road so greatly frequented. However the loss of his Lance extremely tormented him, for which, after he had expressed his grief to Sancha, I remember, said the Knight, that I have red of a certain Cavalier, whose Name was Don Pedro de Vargas, who having brok'n his Lance, tore down a huge massy Arm of an Oak, and slay so many Moors, that he won to himself and his Posterity the surname of Machuca, or the Oak-render. I tell thee this, Sancha, because I intend to tear down from the next Oak I meet, an Arm as sturdy and as fit for the work as you can imagine that to be, with which I will perform such feats of Arms, that thou shalt bless thyself, that ever thou hadst the Honour to see me, and be the witness of Exploits almost surmounting belief. By the Ghost of St. Jago, replied Don Sancha, I believe 'tis true, because you say it. But pray, Sir, sit upright i' your Saddle, you ride upon one Buttock, as if you had a boil upon t' other. No boil, good Sancha, but a plaguy bruise upon the Crupper-bone: However, a Knight-Errant must never complain, tho his Guts were coming out of his Belly. Then I shall say no more, replied Don Sancha; and yet God knows my heart, I should be glad to hear you complain a little sometimes, when you have received a hurt. For my part, I am sure I shall cry like a sucking Calf if a Giant does but hold a Cudgel over my Pate, unless the Squires are under the same Law with their Masters. Don Quixote laughed at the simplicity of his Squire, and assured him he might cry as much as he would, and when he would, whether he had any cause or no; for that he had never found any thing to the contrary in all his reading. Pray, Sir, then, said Sancha, is it not high time to set our Teeth a going, for I find 'tis not Lawful for you to complain of Hunger? I do not find my stomach yet up, replied Don Quixote; but for thy own part, do as thy Belly requires. Sancha having thus obtained leave, opened his Wallet, as he sate upon his Ass, and having cut himself a good Lunchin of Bread and Cheese, fell a munching behind his Master, ever and anon lifting his Bottle to his Nose, as would have made a Dutch-man a-dry to have seen him. And thus as he sate cramming his Guts at ease, and drinking at leisure, he went his Asses place, minding neither Family at home, nor his Master's great Promises, but only to fortify himself against Hunger and drought.  
That Night they made their Beds under the Trees; from one of which Don Quixote pulled down a lusty, thumping long Branch, to serve him instead of a Lance, and fixed to it the head and steeling of his broken Weapon. After that, he composed himself to his Rest; but alas, he could not sleep a wink for thinking upon his dear Dulcinea, in imitation of what he had red in his Romances, where the Knights-Errant never shut their Eyes, but spend their Nights in deserts and Forests, contemplating upon the Beauty of their absent Mistresses. But Sancha, who was of a coarser Mettle, and more earthy substance, could not hold up so briskly against the Charms of Morpheus. For he, having filled his Paunch with something more then Wind, fell fast asleep, without the help of Succory-water, and made but one nap of it, from the time that he laid himself forth upon the Grass, till Sun-rise. Nor would the heat of the scorching Planet, nor the melody of the Birds that warbl'd on every side, have made him stir, had not his Master waked him with five or six huzza's, as loud as St. Pulcher's Tenor. However, being thus roused, he forgot not to wash his Eyes with a dram of the Bottle, where he took two or three long-winded swiggs, not a little pensive to find it then so light, and no possibility of a Recruit upon the Road they were to travail. As for Don Quixote, who had been feasting all Night upon the more delicate and savoury thoughts of his Mistress, he cared for no Breakfast; and therefore being mounted, they road directly toward the passage of the Mountains, which they discovered about Eight a Clock i' the Morning. Where being arrived, Here it is, cried Don Quixote, that we may have Opportunity to thrust our Arms up to the elbows in Adventures. But here by the way I must admonish thee never to draw thy Sword, tho thou seest me in the greatest danger i'the World, unless thou findest me assaulted by the Rabble, or any mean mechanic Fellows like thyself; for in such a case thou mayst assist me, otherwise the Laws of Chivalry will not permit thee to encounter a Knight, till thou art dubbed thyself. Never doubt, Sir, quo Don Sancha, but I shall obey your Worship most punctually in this; and so much the rather, because I am naturally of a very peaceable temper, and a sworn Enemy to Quarrels. On the other side, if any Knight offer to drubb me first, I am afraid I shall hardly observe your Laws; for all Law, both Divine and human, permits a Man to defend his own Skin. I agree to that, replied Don Quixote; but as to thy assisting me against Knights-Errant, I tell thee again, thou hast no more to do, then only to say thy Prayers; but as to other things, thou art to bridle thy natural Courage. Don't I tell ye, Sir, that I'll be sure to do it: ne'er trust me now, if I don't keep that Commandment more solemnly then any of the Ten.  
Concluding thus their Discourse, they espied coming toward 'em two friars, of the Order of St. Benedict, mounted upon Dromedaries, for they were a sort of strapping Mules, with their Umbrello's and Glasses before their Eyes. Behind appeared a Coach and five or six Gentlemen a' Horse-back, with two Men a foot that lead the Mules. In the Coach was a Lady of Biscay, going to meet her Husband at Sevil, where he stayed to take Shipping for the Indies, where he had obtained a considerable Employment. No sooner had Don Quixote descried the friars, who were not of the same Company, tho traveling the same Road, but he cried to his Squire, Either I am deceived, Friend Sancha, or yonder is one of the most famous Adventures that ever were known. For without all question, those Sable Apparitions that yonder appear, must be some Necromancers, that are carrying away some Princess in that Coach; and it is my Duty to use the utmost of my power to prevent so great an Injury. Oh! quo Don Sancha, shaking his Noddle, I fear me this will be more idle then the Adventure of the Wind mills.' Slife, Sir, y're under another mistake; these are Benedictine friars; and I'll be hanged if the Coach does not belong to the People that are traveling upon the Road: And therefore I say again, have a care of being deluded by the Temptations of the Devil. I have  told thee already, Sancha, replied Don Quixote, that thou art a mere Ninny-hammer in Adventures. What I say, is true, and thou shalt find it so to be presently. And having so said, he advanced, and posted himself just in the middle of the High-way where the Monks were to pass. And when they came within hearing, in a loud and haughty tone, anathemas and Devils in human shape, cried he, release those High-born Princesses that you are conveying away in that Coach, or else expect a speedy Death, as the just Reward of your impious deeds. Thereupon the Monks immediately stop d their Mules, no less astonished at the strange disguise of the speaker, then at his thundering expressions. We are neither Persons possessed, quo they, nor Excommunicated, but friars of the Order of St. Benedict, traveling upon the Road. I am not to be cajoled with fair words, replied Don Quixote; I know well enough what ye are, perfidious Infidels: And immediately, not admitting any reply, he ran so furiously with his Lance couched against the friars, that if one of 'em had not prudently thrown himself to the ground, his Soul must have been forced to seek another Habitation; while the other Monk, observing the discourteous usage of his Friend, clapped Spurs to his Mule, and flew for't with that speed, as if he had been running a Race with the Wind. Sancha no sooner perceived the friar sprawling upon the ground, but he skipp'd off his Ass, and presently fell to rifling the Religious Benedictine; at what time the two Lackeys that attended the friars on foot, coming up to the Squire, asked him what he meant to strip the Gentleman? Because they are my due, replied Sancha, as being the spoils which my Lord and Master has won in the field of battle. This was all Heathen Greek to the Lackeys; and therefore, to relieve their Master, seeing Don Quixote at a distance, who was then in a deep Discourse by the side of the Coach, they both fell upon Sancha, threw him down, and after they had trampled upon his Guts, as if they had been treading a Hay-mow, and torn above the best half of his Beard from his Chin, left him for dead. In the mean while the Benedictine, who was more scared then hurt, re-mounts his Mule, and all in a could sweat, as pale as a Ghost, spurs after his Companion, who stayed for him at a distance, expecting the issue of this unexpected Adventure; and then, both together, they pursued their Journey, making as many signs of the across, as if they had had the Devil at their backs.  
All this while Don Quixote was most busily employed at the Boot of the Coach, where after many Goodly Good Morrows to the Biscayner Lady, Madam, said he, your transcendent Beauty is now no longer under restraint; you are free and at liberty: This Arm of mine shall punish the bold attempers to enslave your Person. And that you may not be ignorant who was your Deliverer, know I am the valiant Don Quixote of the Mancha, Knight-Errant; the Slave and Captive that adores the fair and incomparable Dulcinea deal Toboso. Nor do I demand any other recompense for the Service I have done you, but that you will be pleased to return to Toboso, there to visit this Lady in my Name, and let her know how far you are beholding to me for your Liberty, and what I have done to obtain it.  
To all this riff-raff, a Biscayner Gentleman, who road along with the Coach, listened most attentively; and observing that Don Quixote not only stopped the Coach, but would make the Coach-man also drive back to Toboso, he bore briskly up to him, and taking hold of his Lance, Sir cadwalader, quo he, for Biscan Spanish is Welsh-English, i' the name of St. Taffee, what make her stand prating there? Her was as good get her gone, and that quickly too, else as Cott shall shudge her Soul, her will stick her to the Heart, Plood, and cuts. To which Don Quixote replied very sowrly, were't thou a Gentleman, as thou art not, but a Scoundrel, I had chastised thy Insolence long ere this. Splutrenailes, no Shentleman, cried the Biscayner; by Cott and St. Taffee, thou liest i' thy Throat: Her be as coat a Shentleman as a Christian. Throw away her Pike-staffs, and draw her Swords, and her shall find her a Shentleman py Land, a Shentleman py Sea, a Shentleman in spite of the Tevil, and her lies in her Liver, and Lights, and Lungs, if her tenies what her say. A match quo Momfort, replied Don Quixote; and with that, throwing down his Lance, drawing his Sword, and shouldering his Buckler, he made at the Biscayner, fully resolved upon nothing but Massacre. The Biscayner seeing him come on so furiously, would fain have alighted, confiding little in his Mule, that was but a hyr'd Beast. But all he had time to do, was only to draw his Sword, and snatch a Cushion out of the Coach, to serve him instead of a Shield. Which done, the two Champions encountered each other with all the signs of Mortal Antipathy. The standersby did all they could to pacify their fury; but 'twas a thing impossible. For the Biscayner's Welsh Blood was in such a boiling condition, that he swore by the Peek of Tenariff, he would Murder his Mistress, and all that opposed him, if they would not let him alone to kill the Knight.  
Upon this, the Lady, quaking and quivering, commanded the Coach-man to drive out of harms way, while the Biscayner at the same time let fall a driving blow upon his Adversary's shoulder with such a gigantic force, that but for his trusty Target, he had split the Knight from the Collar to the Wast, like a Chequer Talley. Thereupon Don Quixote feeling the blow like the fall of a Mountain, with a loud voice, Bright Flower of Beauty, dearest Dulcinea, Mistress of my Soul, cried he, assist your Champion in this extremity of danger, fighting to support your Honour.  
After which short Ejaculation, grasping his Sword, and shouldering his Target with a short-hand swiftness, and with a Tempestuous forehead, menacing nothing but Thunder and Destruction, he darted himself, Dragon-like upon his Enemy, as if he had resolved to venture the fortune of the Combat all upon one blow. On the other side, the Biscayner, guessing his design by his dreadful Countenance, guarded himself as well as he could with his Cushion, and breathing no less fury, with an undaunted bravery resolved to abide the shock of his merciless Foe, who with his Arm aloft came poudring on like a falling Meteor from the sky. And all the while the Spectators, ready to bewray their Breeches,& crumpl'd up with panic fear, attended the fatal issue of the Combat; while the Lady and her waiting Gentlewomen put up their Prayers to Heaven for the Biscayner, and vowed golden Mountains to all the Saints in Spain, upon condition of success.  
The mischief on't is, that the Author of this History gives us no farther account of this battle, but leaves it undecided, pretending that he finds nothing more mentioned concerning it in the Records of D. Quixote's achievements. However, the next Undertaker of this work, could not believe that so remarkable a story could be swallowed up in the Jaws of Oblivion; or that the Wits of Mancha could be such Sots, as not to preserve in their public Registers, or Private Scrutoirs some odd Papers to eternize the Ornament of their Village; and therefore he made a diligent enquiry, and after long search found what he sought, by an Accident that shall be related in the next Book.   
The End of the First Book.   

 Don Quixote fighting 
Don Quixot and the Carrier Fighting for the Inn keepers Maid. Pag: 35   
 Sancho Panza in a blanket 
Sancho Pancha toss't in a Blanket.   

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DELIGHTFUL HISTORY OF Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART I. BOOK II.  
CHAP. I.  
The Event of the dreadful Combat between the courageous Biscayner, and the valiant Don Quixote.  
IN the first Part of this History we left the brave Biscayner, and the famous Don Quixote brandishing their Swords over their Heads, and preparing to give each other those damnable chaps, that had their Weapons fallen perpendicular upon unarmed skulls, they had chyn'd one another to the very Saddle-Bows. But, as I said before, the Story remained imperfect, because the Author gave us no light where we should find Matter to continue the Relation. This perplexed me to the Soul; and the Pleasure which I took at the Beginning augmented my Grief, when I saw it so impossible to see the Conclusion. But Lord! thought I, how can it be? It is impossible, at least very unjust, that so famous a Champion should want some learned Person to complete the Story of his achievements, such as were never heard of before; a Misfortune that never befell any of his Predecessors in Knight-Errantry. And therefore not being able to imagine, that a Knight, so renowned as he, should be less beholding to famed, then Platir and others of the same Order, yet less worthy; I laid the Fault upon Time, who having a greedy Worm in his Maw, that devours all things, might have chopp'd up this History for a relishing Bit, or else maliciously buried it, to prevent Mankind from wasting and consuming those precious Hours, which are but Members of himself. On the other side, I could not believe the History of our Champion to be so ancient, but that his Neighbours and Friends might well remember the most considerable Passages. And this it was that engaged me to make a particular, and more exact Enquiry into the Life and Miracles of our renowned Spaniard, that blazing Star of La Mancha, and the first, who in this unfortunate Age renewed the neglected Profession of Knight-Errantry; devoting himself to relieve the Distressed, protect Widows and Orphans, and defend the Honour of young Damsels, such as gallop with their Whips and their Palfries from Mountain to Mountain, and Valley to Valley, with all their Virginity about 'em, as safe as if it were at home locked up i'their Trunks; and unless they happen to meet with some boisterous Clown, or lecherous Giant, at fourscore years of Age are laid i' their Graves as good Maids as their Mothers. But all my Labour and Industry had been fruitless, and the World had been deprived of this inestimable Treasure, had not kind Fortune been so propitious to throw it into my Hands by a lucky Accident, as you shall hear.  
Standing one day in the Mercers-Row at Toledo, I saw a young Lad offering certain loose Quires of Paper to a Grocer to sell; being therefore, as I am, very curious, to scrape together all the printed or written old pieces of Paper I could meet with, I took an occasion to bid the Boy let me see one of his Quires, and finding it to be in arabic, which I did not understand, I looked about to see whether I could find e're a Jew of a Moor, to be my Interpreter, a Conveniency easy to be had in a place where so many several Languages are spok'n. So that having met with a Person fit for my purpose, I desired him to tell me the meaning of that same arabic; who had not red many Lines before he began to laugh. I asked him what he laughed at? At a certain Remark here, said he, that I find in the Margin, in these Words. This same Dulcinea deal Toboso so often mentioned in this History, is said to have had the best hand in salting of Pork, of any Woman in Mancha.  
When I heard the Name of Dulcinea deal Toboso, I was both surprised and pleased. For, thought I to myself, those Papers must certainly contain the History of Don Quixote. Thereupon I desired the Jew to red me the Title of the Book, which he did in these Words: The History of Don Quixote of the Mancha, written by Cades Hamech Benengeli, an Arabian Historiographer. I was so overjoyed when I heard the Title, that I could not dissemble my Passion, but snatching the Papers out of the Grocer's hands, I agreed with the Boy to sell me that for Three-pence, which he would not have sold me for twenty times as much, had he known my mind. This Purchase thus made, I presently withdrew into the Cloister of the great Church, with my Moor, and bargained with him for fifty Pound of Raisins, and two Bushels of Wheat, to translate the whole into Spanish, charging him not to add or diminish, but to keep close to the Original. And for the more quick dispatch, I carried him home to my own House, where in six Weeks he completed his Work.  
Upon the first leaf of the Book was painted to the life the Combat between the Biscayner and Don Quixote, in the same Posture as we left 'em, with their Swords brandished over their Heads, the one guarding himself with his Target, and the other holding up his Cushion. The Biscayner's Mule was painted so exactly to the life, that you would have sworn it to have been a hired Mule, half a League off. Under the Biscayner was written, Don Sancho de Aspecia, and under Rosinante, Don Quixote. Rosinante was so admirably well done, so slim, so lean, so lank, so hid bound, with a rough Coat, a sharp Ridge-bone, and lolling Ears, that you would have sworn, at first sight, he had been taken out of a Dust-Cart. Not far off stood Sancho Pancha holding his Ass by the Halter. A pleasant Protraiture, tun bellied like a swisser, thick and short like a Sussex Dumplin, with a couple of gouty Legs, like two Collars of Brawn; and this is the reason why he is called in Story sometimes Pansa, or Gorbelly, sometimes Cansa, or Bandylegs. Whoever objects against the Truth of what is here said, can give no solid Reason, I am sure, for his incredulity, but only that it was written by an Arabian, who are generally as great liars as ever the Cretans could be. However, as they are our Enemies, I am apt to believe, that the Author rather studi'd to suppress the Truth, then to add to our Champion's famed, and the rather, because I find, where he ought to have enlarged upon his Praises, he passes many things over in silence. A great piece of Malice and Baseness in a Historian, whom it behoves to be punctual and faithful, free from Passion or Interest, detesting, either through Favour or Affection, to deviate from the Truth, which is the Mother of History, as History is the Feoffee in Trust for the Preservation of all great Actions; or rather, the Treasury of famed, where all the renowned Exploits of worthy Champions are deposited, as in a sacred and inviolable Sanctuary, as being the professed Enemy of Oblivion. And therefore I cannot but persuade myself, That all which is here written, is certainly true, since the Author might have so easily enlarged himself upon a Subject so copious, had he so pleased himself. Which argues, that he could not help what he writes, since he goes about to nimm, and filch from our Champion's achievements; tho I must tell ye the Theft cannot be much missed, where there is such a plentiful Heap. And so let us proceed according to our Translation.  
Such were the terrible Aspects, and incensed Countenances of those enraged and fiery Combatants, that with up-lifted Hands, and with remorceles Glaves, they seemed to threat'n the Heavens themselves, as well as the Earth, while the Spectators hung in an equal balance between Astonishment and Fear. The choleric Biscayner gave the first Blow, and that with such a willing Heart, and such a prodigious force, that had not his Sword turned in his hand, that funeral Stroke had determined the Combat, and put an end to all the rest of this History. But Fate, that had reserved our Champion for a more durable Immortality, so ordered it, that the Sword falling with the flat of the Blade upon his left Shoulder, did no other harm, but only disarm that side of his Head, carrying away along with it all that side of his Helmet, and half his Ear. Words cannot express the more then Dragon-like Rage and Transport of La Mancha's Hero, to see himself so coarsely handled. Immediately therefore raising himself upon his Stirrups, and grasping his Sword fast in his Fist( tremble ye Heavens!) he discharged so dreadful and hideous a Thunder-clap so full upon his Adversary's Noddle, that maugre the defence of his Cushion, the poor Biscayner fell a bleeding at the Nose, Mouth, and Ears; and tottering in his Saddle, he had certainly fallen to the Ground had he not caught hold of his Mule's Neck. At what time the dull Beast, scared with the Blow, and now Master of his Bridle, took a run as if the Devil had driven him; so that after two or three Frisks he shoke off his Rider, and threw him almost breathless to the Earth, where he lay gasping for Life, like a Game-cock, that has received a sparring Blow from his Enemy. Don Quixote beholded the Disaster of his Foe with great content and tranquillity of mind; and seeing him down, slipped from his Saddle, as nimbly as a tailor from his Shopboard, ran to him, and setting the point of his Sword to the Biscayner's Throat, bid him ask his life, vowing else to cut off his Head. But he had spoiled the Biscayner for a Speech-maker, who, insensible of the danger of his Neck, made no reply; so that Don Quixote had assuredly completed his Work, had not the Lady, trembling and screaming for the loss of her Squire, besought him to spare his life. But her Atonement having pacified the Hero's Fury; Fair Lady, said he, with a grave and stately demeanour, I grant your Request; but upon Condition, that this same Knight shall return to Toboso, and there present himself in my Name before the incomparable Dulcinea, to be at her absolute Disposal. The dismayed Lady, who at that time would have given him her Maiden-head, if she had had it, for half a words speaking, ne're stood to dispute his Commands, nor to inquire who Dulcinea was, but promised in her Squire's behalf, implicit Obedience to all his Injunctions. Let him live then, replied the Champion, upon your word, and in favour of your Beauty, let him enjoy that Pardon, of which his Arrogance had rendered him unworthy.   

CHAP. II.  
Containing the pleasant Discourse between Don Quixote and Sancho Pancha.  
LOng before this, Sancho Pancha had recovered himself, and was got again upon his Legs, after the rude Kicks and Buffets, which the Varlets belonging to the Benedictines, had so liberally bestowed upon his Nose and Mouth; and then beholding the Combat wherein his Master was engaged, he went to his Prayers, desiring of God to grant him Victory, and that he might win an iceland, in order to his being made a governor. At length perceiving the Combat to be at an end, and that Don Quixote was going to re-mount his Courser, he ran in all hast to help him; but before he put foot i'the Stirrup, Sancho first fell at his Knees, and kissing his hand; My dear Master, said he, if you think it convenient to bestow upon me the iceland which you have won, I find myself as able to govern it, as the best He that ever governed iceland in this World. Friend Sancho, replied Don Quixote, these are no Adventures of Islands, these are only Praeludium's and Trials of Valour, rencounters upon the High-way, where we win nothing but cracked skulls, and brok'n Noses, or the loss of an Ear; have patience therefore, and thou shalt see we shall meet with Opportunities a-now to prefer thee to a Government, if not to be an absolute Monarch. Sancho failed not to melt into Tears of Joy and Thanks for his new promises; and after he had once more kissed his Hand, and the skirts of his Coat of armor, setting his Shoulder to his Master's Buttocks, he heaved him again into his Saddle; and then mounting his Ass, followed his Master, who put on a good round Trot, after he had taken his leave of the Lady i'the Coach, and road into the next Wood which he met with upon the Road, there to retire and refresh himself for some time. But before they got thither, the Knight leading the way, and Sancho finding that Rosinante rid ground so fast, that he was like to be left behind, he cried out to his Master to stay for him. Whereupon the Knight put a stop to his Carcer, and changing his Gallop into a leisurely walking place; so soon as Sancho overtook him, Master, said he, me-thinks we should do well to take Sanctuary. For we left the Person with whom you fought, but in a scurvy dangerous Condition; so that if we should be apprehended and carried before a Justice of the Peace, what then? I fear me, before we got rid of his clutches, we should fairly swing for't. Thou talk'st like a Coxcomb, replied Don Quixote, where didst thou ever red or find, that ever any Knight-Errant was Indicted at a Session's-house for any Homicides that ever he committed? I know not what you mean by your Homicides, cried Sancho, nor have I ever heard of any such President 'tis true; but this I know, that many Men have been hanged for fighting duels; as for your Homicides, I know not what belongs to' em. Never disquiet thyself, Boy, for that, replied Don Quixote, he that has rescued thee out of the hands of the Tartars and Chaldeans, can as easily protect thee from a Commission of Oyer and Terminer, maugre all the strength and fury of the Giant Cul-prit to boot. For tell me now truly; Dost thou believe there is, or ever was a more courageous Champion in any Part or Corner of the whole World, then myself? Hast thou at any time red in History of any one that ever had more Resolution to undertake, more Vigour to attack, better Lungs to hold out, more defensive nimbleness, more offensive Dexterity, or more Art to unhorsed his Adversary? O' my Conscience, quo Don Sancho, 'tis very true; I never red the like i' my life; for I never could red or writ since I was born. But this I dare swear upon all the Bibles that ever were printed at Oxford, that I never served a more daring and bolder Master then yourself; pray God this Boldness of yours does not bring us both at length to the Gallows. But, Sir, what if we should dress your Ear? It drops like a breast of Mutton; and I have by good chance both Lint and the apostles Ointment here in my Wallet. All this trouble might have been saved, had I remembered, like a Godshead as I was to forget it, to have made but one small Gally-pot full of the balsam of Invulnerable; one drop of which precious Ointment would have saved us the expense both of Time and medicines. What balsam of Invulnerable d'ye mean, Sir, quo Don Sancho? A balsam, replied Don Quixote, which he that possesses may dally with all manner of Wounds, and fart at Death itself. I have the Receipt of it i' my head; so that when I have made it, I will give thee a Box full; and then if it be thy chance in any Combat to see me cleft in two i' the middle, do but thou take up the two halves, and join 'em exactly together again, before they be could, and give me but a Spoonful of that balsam to drink, and thou shalt see me as sound again as ever I was i' my life. If this be true, quo Sancho, I defy all the Preferments and Governments you have promised me; I desire no more then this Receipt to recompense all my past and future Services. For I am sure there is no part of the World where this balsam will not be worth at least half a Crown an Ounce; so that a man may get an Alderman's Estate presently. But, Sir, how much will it cost to make this balsam, quo Don Sancho? Why, you may make every day i' the Week three Pints for Eighteen pence, replied Don Quixote. Heavens bless me, Sir! why then don't you teach me how to make it immediately? God's-my-life, I'de make three Hogsheads a day, rather then fail. Soft and fair, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, I reserve thee for Secrets of far greater Importance, and more noble Rewards. In the mean time dress my Ear, for it pains me confoundedly, tho I am unwilling to show it. Whereupon Sancho took his Ointment and his Lint out of his Wallet. But when Don Quixote saw that the Vizor of his Helmet was brok'n, 'twas a thousand pound to a Nutshell, but that he had run stark staring mad. By the Bowels of my Father; by my Allegiance to Dulcinea; by the whole frame of Nature, cried he, here do I swear to led a life like the marquis of Mantua, when he vowed to revenge the Death of his Cousin Balduin, never to eat at Table, nor kiss my Mistress, till I have taken Vengeance upon him that did me this Injury. Sir, said Sancho, amazed to hear him swear so desperately, moderate your Passion; for if the Knight fulfil your Commands, and present himself at the Feet of the Lady Dulcinea, you have given him an Act of Oblivion, unless he commit a second Offence. 'tis well observed, replied the Hero, and therefore as to the point of Revenge, I revoke my Oath. But I confirm and renew it again, and solemnly vow to led the same life as before, till I have plucked from the Head and Jaws of some other Knight, a Helmet as good as ever that was. Nor do thou think, Sancho, that I make this Protestation rashly; I know who it is that I imitate exactly: for it was the very case of Mambrino's Helmet, which cost Sacripant so dear. For Heaven's-sake, Sir, cried Sancho, resign all your Oaths to the Devil. We are commanded not to swear, and you damn yourself here for a trifle. For suppose we should not meet with an armed Knight this Fortnight, what must we do i' the mean time? Will you keep your Oath all the while? will you sleep i' your Clothes a Month together? Never eat or drink in a good Town, with a thousand other idle Penances, which that doting old Fool the marquis of Mantua inflicted upon himself? Besides, Sir, we may ride these hundred years upon this Road, before we meet with an armed Knight to pick a quarrel withal; here are none but Carriers and wagoners, fellows so far from carrying Vizors upon their Noses, that they never so much as heard what a Vizor was i' their lives. Go, go, thou art a Fool, replied Don Quixote, I'll warrant thee we shall meet in time with more Knights with Vizors and Head-pieces, then fought to rescue the fair Angelica at the Siege of Albrasa. A blind Man would be glad to see it, cried Don Sancho, I could find i' my heart to fetch a Nap, an 'twere but to rise wi' my Bumm upward, for luck-sake; for I long to have this iceland won, which has cost me so dear, that I might die a governor. I have bid thee, Sancho, not trouble thy head about these things, replied Don Quixote, for if we miss of an iceland, there is either the Kingdom of Denmark, or the Empire of What d' ye call it, both upon the Continent, as fit for thy purpose, as a Ring to thy Finger. But setting aside these soaring Imaginations while, prithee what hast got to eat i' thy Wallet? Let's fill our Stomachs a little, then travail on in search of some Castle where to rest ourselves this Night, and make the balsam; for the Devil take me, if my Ear be'nt cursed sore. I have here an Onion, a piece of old Suffolk-Cheese, and two or three moldy Crusts of Bread, replied Sancho; but this is not a sort of Viands fit for such a valiant Champion as you are. Thou twattl'st like an Ignoramus, cried Don Quixote, for 'tis the custom of Knights-Errant not to eat sometimes in two or three Months together; and when they do, they fall upon what they meet with first, let it be never so homely; and this thy Blockhead-ship might have known, hadst thou but red half so many Stories as I ha' done. For to deal faithfully with thee, after all my poring and dozing upon Romances, I never could find, that ever Knights-Errant did eat, unless it were by accident, when they were invited to great Feasts and Royal Banquets; at other times they dieted only upon Whimms and chimeras. However, because it cannot be imagined, but that they were subject to Human Exigency, as being no more then mortal Men; 'tis very probable, that as they spent their time for the most part in Forests and deserts, where they had no French Cooks to make 'em pottages and Fricasees; no Fish-street Dinners to pamper their Appetites, that they were glad to leap at a Crust, and be content with such Country fare as they could get. Never then, Sancho, perplex thy little Brains about pleasing my Palate, nor think to make a new World, or to change the very Order and ancient Customs of Knight-Errantry. I beg your Worship's Pardon, replied Don Sancho, for I was never bread a Scholard, nor Book-learn'd, and therefore 'twas not to be expected I should so exactly understand the Laws of Chivalry. However, I shall take care for the future, that my Wallet shall not be so empty, but well furnished at one end with dried Sweetmeats, and Naples Biscuit, for you that are a Knight; and for myself that am none, I shall be no less careful to satisfy Colon with more solid and nourishing Food. I do not say, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, that a Knight-Errant is obliged to make a Comfit-maker's Shop of his Belly; for many times he may be glad of a salad without Meat or hard Eggs, and a good shift too, to those that know how to make choice of their Herbs, as I do. Truly, answered Don Sancho, 'tis an excellent thing to be a good Simpler; and I am plaguily afraid we shall have Occasion for this sort of Knowledge e're it be long, when we may be forced, like Beasts of the Field, to eat our Herbs without oil and Vinegar, or the more delicious way of being jumbled into a tansy. In the mean time, quo he, here's what God hath sent us; and so emtying his Wallet, they fell on without Napkin or Table-cloth, Hail-fellow well met. For the Master was in hast; and therefore as soon as they had snapp'd up their Philosophers Collation, the Champion and his Squire remounted, and away they put on, in search of a Castle. At length, just as the Sun was going down, they came to a place where certain Goat-herds had set up their huts in the open Field; so that Don Quixote perceiving no likelihood of finding a Castle, resolved to abide there that Night, not a little to Sancho's Grief, who was altogether for a good Town, where he might replenish his Wallet, tho his Master took it for a Blessing to sleep under the Canopy of Heaven, as believing it a thing that highly conduced to the Accomplishment of Knight-Errant Performances.   

CHAP. III.  
What happened to Don Quixote among the Goat-herds.  
DON Quixote was most courteously received by the Goat-herds; and as for Sancho, after he had accommodated Rosinante and his Mule, in the best manner that the place could afford, he found his Nostrils full of a most attractive Scent, which drew him to follow his Nose where the Shepherds were roasting certain pieces of Kids flesh for Supper. The Squire was as hungry as a Kite, and would fain have been reating the meat from the Spit; but good Manners enforced him to stay till the Shepherds had spread three or four Sheep and Goat-skins upon the Grass instead of a Table-cloth. Which done, and the Guests invited to take part, the Shepherds whelmed an old half Tub with the bottom upward for the Knight to sit in more State, while they themselves sate round about upon their Heels, like Turks or Tailors. Sancho stood behind to attend his Master, and give him Drink in a plain Cuckolds-point Horn. At what time Don Quixote taking Compassion of his Squire; That thou mayst understand the true worth of Knight-Errantry, said he, and how the meanest Retainers to it, are in the ready Road to Honour and Esteem; 'tis my pleasure that thou sit thee down here by me in the Company of these persons of Quality, that thou beest hail-fellow well met with thy Lord and Master; that thou eat upon the same Trencher, and drink in the same Cup. For, in short, we may say of Knight-Errantry, as they say of Love, That it renders all things equal. I humbly thank your Worship, replied Don Sancho, with an ugly Scrape; but if I had any Victuals to eat, I should rather like to feed by myself, and standing upright, then sitting by an Emperor; and should be better contented with a piece of Rye-bread and an Onion, without Fiddle faddle and Ceremony, then to diet with your great Folks upon Partridges and Turkies, where a man must sit chawing his meat, as if he were champing of Thistles, drink Thimble-fulls, be always wiping his Fingers, and not dare to sneeze or cough, tho his Lungs were ready to burst; and therefore, my dear Lord and Master, I beseech ye, change me these Favours for some others of less value, that may be more for Stomach-satisfaction; for as for these airy Grandeurs, I renounce 'em both now and for evermore. Talk no more, replied Don Quixote, but sit thee down, Sancho; for the humble must be exalted; and so pulling him by the Arm, he forced him to take his place, and to be Sides-man with his Master.  
All this while the Shepherds, who understood not a Tittle of all this Pedler's French, of Knight-Errants and Squires, fed like West-countrey Barge-men, without speaking a word; and yet they could not but cast an Eye now and then upon their Guests, who shovell'd whole Luncheons down their Throats as big as their Fists. At length the Bones being taken away, they brought in the second Course, consisting of Acorns, Nuts, and Cheese, as hard as any Mortar made of Cement. Nor was the Horn idle all this while, for they tippl'd like Gossips at a christening, filling and emptying, till one of two great Wine-bags was quiter exhausted. And now Don Quixote having satisfied the loud Cries of his Stomach, and perhaps elevated withal to the pitch of a modern Hero, he took a handful of Nuts and Acorns, and looking wistly upon 'em, with a grave and exalted Voice; O happy Age! cried he, which our first Parents called the Age of Gold; not for that Gold, so highly adored in this Iron Age, was then more common, or that they ransacked then the Bowels of the Earth with less Labour; but because at that time they were ignorant of those two destructive Words Mine and Thine, which have put all the World into Confusion. For all things in that holy Age were common; the Trees for Food afforded frank and free their pleasing Fruits; and the delicious Brooks and Fountains quenched their moderate Thirst; the painful Bees enriching the Clefts of Rocks and hollow Trees with their flowery Spoils, fearless erected their vigilant Common wealths, that men might reap the pleasant Harvest of their fertile Industry. Instead of lofty Palaces, they lived in mean and lowly Huts, which the Barks of Trees sheltered from the Injuries of Weather; and nothing but Union, Peace, and Plenty among all Mankind. Beauty was then no Advantage, nor dangerous to young Damsels, who never needed to conceal the Perfections which Nature had bestowed upon 'em, more then what the Modesty of all Ages required. Garlands and Flowers were all their Ornaments, and more becoming than all the Pomp of Gold or Tyrian Purple, or a Tire-woman's Shop, which Luxury has taught succeeding Pride. Love explained itself in plain and cordial Language, speaking without Guile or Flattery; and a native Sincerity, free from Deceit or Dissimulation, govern all the Actions of Men. Justice always hoodwinked, was unacquainted then with Favour or Interest. Long after that those Monsters came into the World; at what time a secret venom diffusing itself into the Hearts of Men, extinguished all that natural Equity that regulated the World: Then there were no longer Sanctuaries for Maiden-chastity, but foul Concupiscence ranged every where, corrupting the strictest Watches, and detecting the most secret Labyrinths of Art. So that now that primitive Innocency being lost, and Oppression every Day increasing, there was a necessity to withstand the Torrent of Violence: For which Reason the Order of Knight-Errantry was instituted, to defend the Honour of Virgins, protect Widows, succour Orphans, and relieve all the Distressed in general. Now, my most noble Friends, I myself am one of this Order, and it is to a Knight-Errant and his Squire that you have given this Liberal Entertainment. And tho all Persons whatever are obliged to be kind to Persons of our Profession, yet as you have done me this Kindness barely out of Civility, without understanding in the least who I was, it is but just, that I should aclowledge your Kindness; of which you may therefore assure yourselves, that I shall never lose the Remembrance.  
And thus you see the great virtue of Acorns, and how much our Story is beholding to 'em, for recalling to our knights Remembrance the Age of Gold, and causing him to make this learned Oration, to which the Shepherds listened like so many Sows i' the Beans, tho they understood not a Word he said. Sancho, indeed, said as little as they, but he was more prudent to stop his Belly, then to fill his Ears with airy Notions; so that he laboured at the Nuts and the Cheese, like a Slave at the Oar, not suffering his Grinders to work in vain, and withal, giving frequent Visits to the second Bottle.  
Supper thus ended, one of the Shepherds addressing himself to Don Quixote, That you may be assured, said he, of our real Intentions to omit nothing for your Satisfaction and Divertisement, we will show your Worship, Sir Knight, one of our Companions, who will be here presently, and who is a Person, whose Humour and Society will afford ye great Delight. He can red and writ as well as the best Schoolmaster; and more then that, he will ravish your Ears with his Voice and his Bandore. No sooner were the words out of the Shepherd's Mouth, but he heard the sound of the Instrument he spoken of; and immediately appeared a good comely young Lad of about two and twenty years of Age. The Shepherds asked him whether he had supped? to which, when answered, he had; Why then, dear Anthony, says the first Speaker, prithee do us the Kindness to sing a Song for the Entertainment of our Guest; and so let him see that Foresters and Mountaineers are not altogether ignorant of music. We have made the Knight acquainted with thy Abilities, and therefore to confirm what we have said, good now sing, the Madrigal which thy Uncle the Curate made upon thy Amours, so delightful to all the Neighbourhood. Most willingly, replied Anthony; and so sitting down at the foot of an Oak, after he had tuned his Instrument, he sang the following Song.  

The SONG.  

THY Love, Olalia, does surprise,  
Though not discerned from thine Eyes;  
The truest Mirrors can dispense  
Such hidden mysteries to my Sense:   

For they the Language do impart,  
Not of the Tongue, but of the Heart.  
Though I know thee a crafty Jilt,  
makest me believe what e're thou wilt;   

Yet still I'm happy in this Spell,  
To think my Labours taken well.  
To trace thee in thy Holbourn Tricks,  
Requires an Art beyond Old-Nicks.   

Since true I find it to my Woe,  
Thy Bosome's Flint, though it seems Snow.  
How am I bantered by thy shifts?  
entreaties move thee not, nor Gifts.   

My Summer's Hopes, I fear, betrayed;  
Thy Winter nips them in the Blade.  
Yet once my dearest sweetest Honey,  
( Whom I love more than Miser's Money)   

Let not thy Faith be at a stand,  
And thus by Prejudice trapan'd.  
Observe my Services, and see,  
By Frowns they can't diminished be;   

Or if they were ten thousand more,  
Thy Favours add not to their Score.  
Oft do I think, though oft in vain,  
In spite the Fancy will remain.   

If Love in't self has such a Scope,  
Whereon to build a future Hope;  
Then mine, though now in such distress,  
Will be at last crowned with Success.   

What things I did for thee collect,  
And but some Thoughts on them reflect;  
I dare be hanged up for a Sign,  
If thou consent'st not to be mine.   

What Eyes but thine, that e're had seen  
My modish Garb, and graceful mien,  
But would, transported at the Sight,  
Have cried, Come kiss me, my Delight.   

Nor was I to set-days confined  
To wear my Clothes, like labouring Hind;  
But wast thou willing to appear,  
'Twas holiday then all the year.   

For Love and Bravery do combine,  
And both have still the same Design:  
How could I then to thee resort,  
And not be spruce, as if at Court.   

Needless 't'will be for to repeat  
( Though some with less have done the feat)  
Those active Dances I have stepped,  
And such true time to music kept;   

No Monsieur A-la-mode Paree,  
performed e're half so well as me.  
Nor need I tell each Serenade,  
Which I for thee at Midnight made.   

An Irish Evidence might take  
His Oath( if thou wert then awake)  
And be believed, that in that Vein,  
Thou'rt ready for another Strain.   

What of thy Beauty I have said,  
And many large Encomiums made,  
I shall not at this time renew,  
Thy Enviers hate 'em, cause they'r true.   

Such were the Taunts of that Gill-flurt  
Teresa, Pox upon her fort:  
Quo she, my Ears are even tired  
To hear this monkey thus admired;   

Thanks to her Patches, Paint and Shade,  
And other Arts of the close Trade.  
She learns her Face for to bespatter  
With Piss, and stilled Puppy-dog Water;   

Did she not wear Perfumes in Flank,  
No lustful Goat would smell more rank:  
Yet, Bigott, thou these Cheats can't see,  
And still a Nickapoop wilt be.   

Such Language needs no soft Reply,  
'Twas Manners then to give the lie.  
Her Cousin heard, with Rage he burned,  
The same I gave, the same return'd.   

You know th' event well of our Swords,  
I madè that Rascal eat his Words.  
I'm not so hasty to obtain,  
But can my Passion so restrain,   

Till nicest Honour thinks it just,  
And then i'll venture a bold Thrust.  
The sacred Hymeneal Bands,  
Shall tie our Hearts as well as Hands:   

And when we're yoked in Gordian Noose,  
i'll be the Gander, thou the Goose.  
But if thou wilt not grant my suit,  
And at Love's Bar dost still stand mute;   

i'll seek me out some other Nurse,  
Be to thyself thy Plague and Curse.  
i'll beg no Favour, fear no Frown,  
Turn Capuchin and shave my Crown:  
Be free to range in every Ground,  
The Town-Bull ne'er is put i'th' Pound.    
The Shepherd having thus concluded his Song, Don Quixote desired him to begin something else; but Sancho Pansa forbid the Banes, having more desire to sleep, then to hear Ballads; telling his Master withal, that it was high time for him to betake himself to his Rest; besides, that he did ill to keep up the Shepherds all Night, with his fiddling, who laboured hard all the day long. I understand thee, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, and indeed I thought thy frequent visiting the Bottle would make thee drowsy. Bless me, dear Sir! cried Sancho, I hope you did not grudge me a draft of good Wine. By my Honour, not I, replied Don Quixote; therefore go sleep where thou wilt, and leave me to myself; for it better becomes men of my Profession to wake, then to lye sleeping like a Dog in a Chimney-corner. But stay a little before thou goest, dress my Ear; for now I think on't 'tis very sore. Thereupon, while Sancho was looking for his Ointment, one of the Shepherds beholding the Wound, desired Don Quixote not to trouble himself, for that he would cure him; and then fetching a few Rosemary-leaves, after he had bruised 'em with a little Salt, he laid the Medicine to his Ear, assuring him, that he needed no other Remedy; which in a little time proved very true.   

CHAP. IV.  
Being the Relation of a Story which one of the Goat-herds  told to those that were with Don Quixote.  
THE next Morning a certain Countryman, that brought 'em Provision from the next Village, arrived, and addressing himself to the Shepherds; hark ye Friends, said he, d' ye hear the News? How is't possible, replied another of the Company? Why then, said the Countryman, the courtly Shepherd, the Schollard ye call Chrysostome, is dead this Morning, and they say he died for love of that She-Devil, Marcella, the Daughter of William the rich Hunks, she that haunts these Hills and Dales in the Habit of a Shepherdess. For Marcella! cried one of the Shepherds, ye jest sure. I say, for Her; and more then that, 'tis reported, that he has ordered it in his Will to be buried in the middle of a Field, like a Mahometan, at the Foot of the Rock whence issues the Fountain of the Cork-tree, as being the place where he had the first sight of her Beauty. He has also appointed many other things of the same nature to be done, which the Church-wardens of the Parish refuse to perform, as being of ill example, and savouring of Paganism. But Ambrose, the t'other Scholar, and Friend of the deceased, will have the whole Will of the Testator fulfilled to a Tittle. All the Village is in an Uproar, but I believe Ambrose and his Friends will carry the Day; and to morrow he is to be buried in great State. For my part, I believe it will be a very fine Sight; however, I will not fail to be there. We'll all go, cried the Shepherds, and draw Lots who shall stay to look after the Goats. 'tis very well resolved, Peter, cried one of the Shepherds; nor shall you need to draw Lots, for I'll stay myself; not so much out of Kindness to you, or for want of Curiosity, but because of the Thorn i'my to, that will not permit me to put on my best Shoes. God-a-mercy, however, quo Peter, I'll run a Thorn i'my Foot for thee another time.  
Upon those Words Don Quixote desired Peter to tell him who the Person was that was dead, with a short account of the Shepherdess. To which Peter made answer, That he knew nothing more of the matter, but only that a young Gentleman, Heir to a fair Estate, was deceased, whose Father lived not far off at the Foot of the Mountains; that he had been a Student at Salamanca, after which, he return'd home again greatly improved in his Learning; more especially, that he was very exact in Astronomy, and understood the private Amours and Courtships that passed between the Sun and the Moon; and would often tell 'em strange Stories of the Eclipses of those two Planets. He could also tell when the Year would prove barren, and when fruitful: So that his Parents and Friends following his Advice, in a short time became very rich. For he would tell 'em when to sow Barley, when Wheat, when to sow Vetches instead of Oats; and whatever he said came to pass. This Art, replied Don Quixote very gravely, is called Astrology. I know not how ye call it, replied Peter, but I know that he knew this, and much more. For he composed all the Carols that we sung upon Christmas-day morning, and made all the Plays that the Children in our Neighbourhood acted upon Corpus Christi day, and that so wittily, that no body could mend' em. Some three or four Months after his return from Salamanca, we saw him in Shepherds Weeds, with his Scrip and Sheep-hook following his Flock, at what time his Friend Ambrose accompanied him in the same Habit, which caused a great Astonishment among us. For his Father being dead but a little before, had left him a fair Estate in cattle of all sorts, household-goods, and ready Money; all which he very well deserved, for he was a sweet natured person, extremely beloved, had a Face like an Angel, and was as charitable as Benediction itself. At length we found, that this unwonted Disguise was all for love of fair Marcella a rangeing dansel, that in the Dress of a Shepherdess, does nothing but ramble up and down these shady Mountains: And now I'll tell ye such a thing that you never heard i'your life, and never perhaps will hear the like, tho you were to live five hundred years.  
Know then, there lived in our Village, an old Cinque& Quater, whose Name was Gaffer Williams, more wealthy than Chrysostome's Father, and whom Heaven besides had blessed with a lovely Daughter, whose Mother died in Child bed after she was born. However, that Mother of hers was as good a Woman as ever I knew i' this World. Me-thinks I see the good Woman yet with her demure Saint-like Face, and her two Eyes like two bright Suns; and then I must tell ye, she was an excellent housewife beside, loved the Poor, and I dare say she is at this minute in Paradise. Her Death broken old Williams's Heart, who lived not long after her, leaving his Daughter a very young Heiress, to the care of her Uncle, who was Curate of our Parish. Nevertheless, her Infant-beauty increased to that degree, as she grew in years, that when she arrived at fourteen, all Men gave God Thanks for sending so beautiful a Creature into the World; and all Men became either enamoured or distracted that beholded her. All this while her Uncle kept her as charily, and as close as a Userer's Gold; but famed had made such a hideous Noise i' the World of her Beauty, and Report so loudly spread her Estate, that she might have had more Husbands then there are Sands i'the Sea: All the young Gallants, Dukes, Marquesses, Counts, Squires far and near came in Shoals to demand her in Marriage; nothing but continual Rap, Rap, at her Uncle's Door, that he might as well have slept in St. Sepulchre's Steeple upon a Coronation-day. For this Reason her Uncle would have been glad to have been rid of her, but being an honest true Trojan as ever pissed, he would not either advice or force her against her own Inclination. For I must tell ye, Sir Knight, busy Bodies may prate what they please. And some there are that have scandalized her Uncle, as how he should endeavour to keep her from marrying, to have the Benefit of her Estate. But that's a false lie, Sir errand, as we that are his Parishioners well know, and are ready to testify by Certificate under our Hands, when Occasion shall require. Alas! our Curate's no such Person, he's an honest Man, and a good Bowler, plays at Cards a Sundays, drinks a chirping Cup with his Neighbours; and this he may do without being beholding to his niece for her Means, I assure ye, Sir.  
I believe all this, honest Peter, replied Don Quixote, and therefore go on; for the Story is pleasant, and thou tell'st it with a Grace. I wish it were the Grace of God, quo Peter, for I want it I'm sure. But for the Curate, as I  told ye before, he made diligent Enquiry, and then  told his niece the Conditions and Qualities of her Suitors, with all the Fidelity imaginable, desiring her to make her own Choice. To which the dansel made no other Reply, but that hast made Waste; and that she was yet too young to have any Thoughts of Matrimony. By means of which rational Excuses, she freed her self from her Uncle's Importunities, who resolved from that time forth to stay till she thought her self of Age to choose for her self. For, said he,( and he spoken like an honest Man) 'tis not for Parents to put a force upon their Children, where Election ought to be free. And thus the disdainful Marcella, finding her self at Liberty, and beguiling even Suspicion itself, put on her Shepherdesses Trinkets, and away she went with the rest of the Shepherds, keeping her Flock by her self.  
But then, 'twas the Devil upon Dun, forty times worse; for no sooner did her dazzling Beauties display themselves abroad, but all the spruce young Gallants, Gentlemen, and rich Farmers Sons, Elder Brothers, full of Confidence; Younger Brothers, full of Hopes, from Dan to Beersheba, bought 'em Pipes and whistels, and followed her in green suits to the Plains and Forests, more Shepherds then Sheep, as if Bedlam had been broken loose, to discover their several Passions and languishing Amours. Among the rest this poor besotted Chrysostome was one, who, as they say, not only loved, but adored her. Nevertheless, you are not so much as to imagine, that Marcella, tho she gave her self this unwonted Liberty, ever practised the least Dishonesty, or ever committed any Act that could prejudice her virtue, so much as in Surmise; but rather she kept such a Guard upon her self, and governed all her Thoughts with such an exact Reserv'dness, that the most obsequious could never boast that she had given 'em the least Hopes. Nay, if any were so advent'rous to tell her a Story of their Passions in her Ear, tho never so innocent, as tending only to holy Wedlock, she never would give those Persons the Opportunity to do it again. And thus is this dansel a greater Plague to the Earth, then the Pestilence itself; murd'ring with her Rigour and Disdain those Thousands that she gains with her complaisant Humour and Beauty. And all the Remedy which they have, is only to exclaim against her, to call her Cruel and Ingrateful, with a Million of other Reproaches, which the proud Flebergebit well deserves. Were you but to stay here, Sir Knight, for some time, you should hear the Mountains and Valleys resound with the Groans and Lamentations of these enamoured Milk-sops; and in a Grove, not far from this place, where there grow about a hundred Beeches, there is not one single three upon the Bark of which there is room left for one more MARCELLA, tho it were to be engraved with a Pin's Point, from the knitting of the Branches above, to the Root below. Here one Shepherd sighs, there another is making woeful Complaints; here one is venting his Sorrows in a Sonnet, there another is tearing his Hair: Nor can they ever sleep, their Sorrows are so restless, their Pillows so hard, either the foot of an Oak, or the stump of a Rock, where they lye sighing, and sobbing, and howling, and groaning, without Intermission. And some there are that lye rolling and tumbling in the hot burning Sand, filling the Air with their loud Out-cries, and making most bitter Lamentations to Heaven. And all this while th' inexorable Marble-hearted Marcella laughed at their Miseries, and triumphs over the Misfortunes and Sufferings of these pitiful Wretches. Nor can we tell where her Cruelty will end, or who shall be the happy Man, that shall at length have the good Fortune to tame this savage Tiger. This is the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth, so help me God, Sir Knight; and therefore I would have you stay, and be at the Funeral, where you will be admitted, without a Ticket, to one of the most pleasant, lamentable, whimsical, delightful, mournful Sights that ever you saw in your Life. I do intend it, replied Don Quixote, and in the mean time I return thee a thousand Thanks for the Divertisement of a Story that pleases me above all that I ever heard in my Life. Alas! Sir Knight, replied the Shepherd, I have not  told ye half the Adventures and Misfortunes of this cursed Marcella's Lovers; but tomorrow I make no Question, but we shall meet with some Shepherd or other that will supply the rest. In the mean time it will not be amiss for ye to take a Nap in one of the Huts; for the open Air is not good for your Wound, tho if the Flies get not to it, you need fear nothing so long as that plaster is upon it. Sancho, who wished the Shepherd, and his Tale of a roasted Horse at the Devil, however, seconded the Goat-herd in his good Advice to his Master, whom he never left till he had got him into one of the Huts, where Don Quixote spent the remainder of the Night, not in sleeping, but in bewailing his dear Dulcinea's Disdain, in Imitation of Marcella's Lovers. While Sancho, ne're disturbed with any such Heart-breaking Thoughts, laid himself down between Rosinante and his Ass, and there fell a snoring, as safe as a Thief in a Mill.   

CHAP. V.  
A Continuation of the Story of Marcella.  
NO sooner did the bright Aurora appear in all her gaudy Pomp, upon the Balconies of the East, when the Shepherds arose, and coming to Don Quixote, asked him, If he intended to go to the Funeral, whither they were ready to bear him Company. Thereupon Don Quixote, who desired nothing more, presently got up, and rousing Sancho, gave him Order forthwith to saddle Rosinante, and get ready his Ass; which being done with all diligence, they set forward. But they had not road above a quarter of a League, before they saw advancing towards 'em six other Shepherds clad in black Jippo's, their Heads crowned with Garlands of Cypress and Coastmary, with long Holly-staves i' their Hands. After them followed two Gentlemen a' Horse-back, with three lackeys running by their sides; drawing near, they saluted each other very civilly, and after the usual Question, Which way d' ye travail? they found they had all together the same Design of going to the Funeral, so that they all joined Company. At what time, one of the Gentlemen addressing himself to the other, Master Vivaldo, said he, I do not believe we shall think our time misspent in going to see this Ceremony; which must of necessity be very remarkable, after so many strange Passages, which the Shepherds have recounted to us, concerning the Shepherd deceased, and the Shepherdess, that was the Cause of his Death. I am of the same Opinion, answered Vivaldo; and I am so far from grudging myself one, that I would rather spend four Days, then miss the Sight. Upon that, Don Quixote desirous to know what they hadheard farther concerning Chrysostome and Marcella, one of the Gentlemen made him answer, That having met that Morning with the Shepherds who came in their Company, and seeing 'em in such deep Mourning, they asked 'em the Occasion of their Funeral-dress; the Reason of which the Shepherds soon unfolded, by relating the Story of a certain Shepherdess named Marcella,, no less fantastical, then beautiful; and no less beautiful, than fantastical; who with a remorseless Disdain trampled upon all her Lovers, and had been the Death of that same Chrysostome, to whose Funeral they were going. In a Word, they repeated to Don Quixote all that Peter had  told him before; and after the Rehearsal was over, Vivaldo asked the Champion, wherefore he road so completely armed in a Country so quiet and peaceable as that was? 'tis my Profession obliges me to it, replied Don Quixote: Fine Clothes and Ease were invented for Courtiers; but Labour, Vigilancy, and ponderous suits of armor are the Portion of those that the World calls Knight-Errants; of which Number, I have the Honour to be one, tho the most unworthy, and the meanest in the Register. This was enough to satisfy the Gentleman, that our Champion was a Coxcomb; however, that they might the better understand under what Genus to reduce this particular Species of Folly, Vivaldo desired him to define what a Knight-Errant was. I perceive, replied Don Quixote, that you never have red the Annals of Britain, where such frequent mention is made of the famous King Arthur, who, as they say, never died, but was turned into a Crow by enchantment; and, as the same Story tells us, shall one day resume his former Shape, and recover his Kingdom again. In the time of this renowned King it was, that the Order of the Knights of the Round-Table was first instituted; and that we first hear of the Amours between Sir Lancelot du Lake, and Queen Guinever, carried on by that discreet and honourable Lady, Madam Quintaniana, which produced that Romance so celebrated among us castilians; and thus beginning: 
Never was Knight upon the Earth,  
By Ladies so caressed,  
As was Sir Lancelot, when he first  
Became a Spanish Guest.   
After that time the Order of Knight-Errantry extremely multiplied, and spread itself into all Parts of the World. Sir Amadis made himself famous by his wonderful achievements; and so did his Sons, and his Grandchildren to the fifth Generation. The brave Felixmart of Hircania has highly signalized himself in Feats of Arms; and that other Champion, Tyrant the White, can never be applauded to his worth. And not long before our time, the renowned D. Belianis of Greece got him a Name in History, besides several others, matchless for their Prowess. And this is that Order of Chivalry-Errant, into which, tho a great Sinner, I profess myself to be admitted, observing punctually the same Laws to which those valiant Knights were obliged; and for that Reason it is, that as they did, I make these Pilgrimages through deserts and Forests, devoting my Person, and the Strength of my Arm, to the most hazardous Perils and dangers that Fortune can study to my Damage, for the Relief of the weak and distressed.  
After this extravagant Bibble-babble, you may be sure the Travellers needed no farther Arguments to convince 'em of Don Quixote's Frenzy; and yet they could not choose but wonder, that so much insipid Folly should enter the Brains of a Rational Creature. However, Vivaldo being a Person of a frolic Humour, and lively Wit, had no sooner made the Discovery, but he resolved to make the best Advantage of it, that the shortness of the way would allow him, and to dispose Don Quixote for any Sport that should happen. Me-thinks, Sir Knight-Errant, said he, you have embraced one of the most happy Professions in the World; I would not change it for the Condition of a Carthusian. Tis true, replied Don Quixote, they may live a life more austere, but nothing so beneficial to the World, as we do. For those religious People have nothing to do but to say their Prayers in peace both of Body and Mind; but we Knights and Soldiers perform those Duties of Prayer in Action, and procure those Benefits to Mankind by our Valour, and the Edge of our Swords, for which they only intercede. We do what we do, exposed to Summer's scorching Heat, and Winter's parching could, while they only mumble a few Prayers i' their Cells, and their chapels, secure from all the Hardships of Weather. So that we may truly call ourselves God's Ministers upon Earth, the Instruments of his Justice; and therefore as the Labours of War are always accompanied with Toil and Sweat, so the religious Soldier must of necessity be preferred before the religious Monk, that only says a few Litanies under the Shelter and Accommodation of Ease and Plenty. However, after all this, God forbid that I should maintain, that the Profession of a Knight-Errant is so holy, nor so directly in the Road to Salvation, as that of a Carthusian; but I draw this Consequence from what I suffer, that without Question it is more laborious, more subject to Bastinado's, and the Martyrdom of Hunger and Thirst, and in a Word, more wretched and miserable. Or, if you find, that any of these Knights-Errant have advanced themselves to be Emperors by the force of their Arms, yet you may be sure it cost 'em dear, if Blood and Sweat be of any value; besides that, if they had not had the Assistance of Sorcerers, and Necromancers, they had failed in their Expectations.  
For my part, replied Vivaldo, I am of the same Opinion; but there is one Omission in Knight-Errantry that I cannot forgive, which is this; that when they are just upon the point to encounter the greatest Dangers in the World, with apparent Hazard of their Persons, they never apply themselves to Heaven, nor call upon God, as every good Christian is obliged to do at such times, but only recommend themselves to their Mistresses, and implore their Female-assistance, as if they worshipped no other Deities; which, in my judgement, smells strong of the garlic of Paganism. Sir, replied Don Quixote, there's no altering that Method, in regard that if a Knight-Errant should do otherwise, he would be despised and laughed at. For 'tis an established and most inviolable Custom among Knights-Errant, that when they are just entering the Lists of fatal Combat, they must of necessity, with their Eyes lifted up to heaven, invoke the favourable Assistance of their Ladies; or at least, if time will not otherwise permit, they are obliged to mutter between their Teeth certain Ejaculations to the Sovereignesses of their Affection: Not but that a Knight-Errant has leisure enough to recommend himself o God, and may do it in time of Fight.  
Why, that's a Scruple, replied Vivaldo, that very much troubles my Conscience; for I have observed in my frequent Readings, that your Knights-Errant only first discourse a little together, then that a few hot Words inflame their Choler, which is no sooner heated, but presently they turn their Horse-heads to gain room for the Career, and then fly one at another with that Fury, that immediately one of the two tumbles Topsy-turvy to the Earth, spitted through the Heart with a cursed Lance, while the t'other would show the same Christmas-gamble, but for catching hold of his Horse's Main. Now I cannot apprehended for my life, how the Person slain, should have time to recommend himself to God, when his Business is done in a minute. And therefore it would have been much more Christian-like to have employed those Ejaculations in the midst of his Career rather to Heaven, then to his Mistress. Besides, I do not find, that all Knights-Errants had Mistresses, nor that they were all in Love. That's impossible, replied Don Quixote, the Heaven may as well be without Stars, as a Knight-Errant without a Mistress. 'tis that which is the very Being of Chivalry, without which Knight-Errantry cannot subsist; and therefore show me any History that dares affirm the Contrary. More then that, I tell ye, and positively maintain, That a Knight without a Mistress, is no lawful Knight, but a Bastard, and a Thief of Honour, that got in at the Window of Knight-Errantry, and not at the Fore-door. What think ye, replied Vivaldo, of Don Galaor, the Brother of Amadis? For 'tis well known he was as lecherous as a Mackerel, and would never be tied to any certain Mistress, yet was he no less admired for his Valour and achievements then any of the rest. One Swallow never makes a Summer, replied Don Quixote. 'tis true, I know very well he loved a pretty Girl in a Corner; but if he  told the same Tale to all that he met, 'twas out of a natural proneness which he had to Swan-hopping, which he could not well govern; and without Prejudice to the Sovereign Empress of his Will, to whom he frequently recommended his Person in private; for he was a Man that always studied Prudence and Discretion.  
I submit, replied Vivaldo, and must suppose, that since it is so much the Being of Knight-Errantry to be in Love, that yourself, who are of the same Profession, cannot be without a Mistress. And therefore, not believing you to be so reserved as Don Galaor, I beseech ye, Sir, in the Name of all the Company, tell us the Name, the Quality, and Place of your Mistress's Birth. For doubtless all the World must needs aclowledge her to be the happiest Woman alive, as being the only Deity to whom a Knight, so accomplished as yourself, pays all his Devotions.  
With that Don Quixote, fetching a deep Sigh from the bottom of his Midriff, I know not, said he, whether this sweet Enemy of my Repose, take it well or ill at my Hands, that the World takes notice of my Familiarity with her; however, that shall never hinder me from giving you a civil Answer to your Question. Then list'n, and know, that her Name is Dulcinea, the Place of her Birth, Toboso, a Village of La Mancha; and that she is at least a Princess, as being the Sovereign Lady of my Thoughts. As for her Beauty, it is a Miracle, where all that the Poets have feigned of chimeras and Impossibilities, is to be found precisely writt'n in all the legible Characters of real Perfection. Her dishevelled Tresses are pure Gold; her Forehead, the Elysian Fields; her Brows are two Celestial Rainbows semi-circling her Eyes, that shine like two bright Suns in one Firmament: Her Cheeks, two Beds of Roses; her lips, two Coral Portals that guard her Teeth, which are so many Orient Pearls: Her Neck surpasses alabaster, and her Hands transcend the pollish'd Ivory, and the newfall'n Snow is no more then Soot, compared with the Whiteness of her bosom. Then for the Parts which Modesty conceals, you may guess at their Proportion, and their inestimable Value, by those recited Wonders already displayed to your Admiration.  
Here Vivaldo making a reverend Bow, for Heaven's-sake, said he, conceal not the Place of this Divine Lady's Nativity, nor her Parentage; for those two things made known complete her Story.  
Then Don Quixote: She is not descended from the ancient Roman Curius's, Caius's, nor Scipio's; nor from the more modern Colonna's, nor Ursini's; nor from the Moncada's, or Requesenes of Catalonia; or from the Rebella's, or Villanova's of Valencia; nor from the Polafones, Noça's, Rocaberti's, Corella's, Luna's, Alagone's, Utrea's, Foze's, or Gurrea's of Arragon; nor from the Cerda's, Montique's, Mendoza's, or Gusmans of Castile; nor from the Alencastro's, Palla's, or Meneses of Portugal: But she is a Branch of the Family of Toboso de la Mancha. So that altho her Pedigree be modern, yet is it sufficient to give a most noble Beginning to one of the most illustrious Progenies that ever flourished in succeeding Ages. And let no Man presume to contradict me in this, unless it be upon those Conditions, which Zerbin fixed at the foot of the Trophy which he erected after he had won Orlando's armor.  
Let no man dare to be so rash,  
These Arms from hence to pull,  
Unless he mean to try a Crash  
With him that cracked Orlando's skull.  
I confess, quo Vivaldo, I have heard of the Trugg-mouldies of Wapping, and the Pussocks of Lime-house, but dare not make any Comparisons with the Toboso's de la Mancha; tho, to say Truth, it is a Family that I never red of in any Book of Heraldry before. 'tis sufficient that you have heard of it now, replied Don Quixote.  
All the rest of the Company listened attentively to this Discourse, and were fully convinced, that Don Quixote was either a Fool or a Madman. Even Sancho himself, who believed every Word that dropped from his Master's Mouth to be Oracular Truth, as having known him from his Cradle, to be a Man of Sincerity, had many Scruples and Doubts, as to this Story of Dulcinea, for that he had never heard of any such Name, or of any such Princess, tho he had always lived in the Village; all which he could not choose but signify to the Travellers.  
But as they were arguing upon this Subject pro and con, upon the hollow Road between the two Mountains, they met some twenty more Shepherds accoutre'd in black Skins, with Garlands of Cypress and Lime-Tree. Of which number six carried a Bier covered over with several sorts of Boughs and Flowers. When they drew near, says one of the Company, these are they that are carrying the Body of Chrysostome to his Grave; for it was at the foot of this Mountain, that he ordered his Corps to be interred. This caused 'em all to quick'n their place, so that they arrived just as the Bearers were setting down the Coffin upon the Ground, and that four other men were beginning to op'n the Ground just by the side of the Rock. Where, after they had saluted each other, and in few words condoled the loss of their Friend and Acquaintance, Don Quixote and his Company went to view the Corps, a mournful Spectacle; a young man of about thirty years of Age, in his Pastoral Weeds all strewed over with Flowers. However, dead as he was, there appeared the ruins of a goodly Aspect and clever Proportion. Within the Coffin also lay some few Books, and several Papers, some open, others folded up. Which sad and mournful Spectacle caused a kind of general muteness among all the Company, till one of the Bearers breaking silence, Look, Ambrose, said he, whether that be the place which Chrysostome made choice of, since thou hast undertak'n to have his Will so exactly performed. 'tis the very same, replied Ambrose, and where I have heard my unfortunate Friend a hundred times repeat the doleful Story of his hard Fate. There it was that he had the first sight of that Mortal Enemy of Mankind; there it was that he made the first Discovery of his Passion, no less innocent then violent; and there it was that the pitiless Marcella, inexorable in her Disdain, concluded the Tragedy of his Life; and there it was, that he desired to be buried, to preserve the Memory of his many Misfortunes.  
Afterwards, addressing himself to Don Quixote, and the rest of the Travellers, This Body, said he, which here you now behold, doubtless not without Eyes of Sorrow and Compassion, was once enlivened by a Soul, which Heaven had adorned with the chiefest part of all its wealthy Graces. For this is the Corps of that Chrysostome, who was lately endued with a Wit most incomparable, with a matchless Sincerity, and an unshak'n Friendship. Liberal and magnificent, without Ostentation; prudent and serious, without Pride; modest without Affectation; pleasing and complaisant, without Flattery or low Submission. In a word, the first for Goodness in all these Parts, and second to none in Misfortune. He loved beyond Measure, and was hated to excess. He was a Slave to a Tyranness, made his moans to deaf Marble, wept to the Winds, sighed to the deserts; he was constant to Ingratitude, and for the recompense of his Fidelity, became a Prey to Death in the Flower of his Age, through the Cruelty of a Shepherdess, that he would have rendered by his Verse, Immortal to Posterity. The Truth of which these Papers would assuredly testify, had he not commanded me to sacrifice 'em to consuming Flames at the same time that his Body was committed to the Earth.  
In so doing, you would appear more cruel then the remorseless Shepherdess her self, replied Vivaldo, since it is not always just, so religiously to observe the last Commands of the deceased, when their last Orders are repugnant to Reason. For how many noble relics had been lost, had the last Will of the Dead been always punctually observed? And therefore, Mr. Ambrose, I beseech ye, pay such a small, tho the last Kindness to your Friend, as to preserve his Works from Oblivion; and what he ordained as a Person injured, forbear to accomplish for want of Consideration; rather suffer those Papers to live, as Testimonials of your Friend's virtue, and Marcella's Ingratitude; if for no other Reason, yet to be a Warning to others, and to preserve 'em from falling from the same Precipice. And so saying, without expecting an Answer, he went to the Coffin, and took out a small parcel of Papers which were next to his Hand. Well, Sir, said Ambrose, to recompense your Kindness in attending my Friend's hearse, I shall not desire you to restore those Papers which you have already; and your Will so far shall be my Friend's, provided you will suffer me to burn the rest. Vivaldo said no more, but impatient to see what one of his rescued Papers contained, he opened it immediately, and found it inscribed, Chrysostom's Rant, or, The Desperate Lover, which he spoken out aloud.  
That, said Ambrose, was the last Piece that ever my Friend made; and therefore that all the Company may hear to what a Condition his Misfortunes had reduced him, red it, I beseech ye, Sir, while the Grave is making. Most willingly, replied Vivaldo. And so the Company being gathered round about him, he red the following Lines.  

Chrysostom's Rant, or, The Amorous Despair.  

CRuel, and shameless too to boot!  
Dost thou not care, tho all the World should know't?  
Lend me thy rhetoric, Infernal Hell,  
For only Tongues of Devils can express  
Her cursed Scorn, and damned Hard-heartedness.   

Had she not been on Dung-hill born  
Of the World's Riff-raff, sure her Scorn  
Would ne'er ha' mounted her so high  
To do amiss, and justify.   

But the Corruption of the best, is worst,  
Woman corrupted is all over Devil;  
For else what Virgin durst,  
( That valves Reputation civil)  
When I shall threaten to disclose  
A thousand things, would shane her quiter,  
Have been so bold to tell me to my Nose,  
I care not what ye tell, go sh—   

Then Owls and Screech-owls hating Light,  
And you Death-boding Ravens, Terrors of the Night,  
Lend me your mournful dismal Throats;  
I know ye ne'er could sing like Madam Knight,  
Yet your Infernal Notes  
Will serve to give a Serenade  
To a far more Infernal Jade.   

Ye Tigers and ye Lions eke,  
I say with me come roar,  
While wretched I deplore  
The Rigours of a cursed Whore,  
That more deserves the to and Kick,  
Then ever any cursed Witch,  
That gave her Paramour the Itch,  
That set him deep upon the Surgeons Score.   

How many thousand Sonnets have I writ,  
At the expense of Brain and Wit?  
How many Pail-fulls have I wept?  
How many tedious Nights  
Have I consumed in bitter wo,  
Tumbling and tossing to and fro,  
With Eyes that never slept?  
How many Stockings Silk and Woosted  
Have I worn out at Knees, when kneeling I accosted  
The Flipperous Mynx, that in my Sorrows boasted?  
How have I throbb'd and sobbed,  
Lamented, sighed, and vowed in vain,  
And all to gain  
A coy, disdainful, proud, dissembling Quean?   

How many Tarts at Crowns a piece,  
With apricots, and early Cherries filled,  
And then perfumed with Ambergreese,  
At Cupid's and at dear Tart-hall,  
Has she the one half eat, the other spoiled,  
While still my Money paid for all?  
How many Bottles of Backragg  
Has she pissed out, that cost me dear?  
Yet then with reverence and with Fear,  
If I but offered to come near  
Her Cherry-Lips, she straightway stops  
My daring Boldness with a Flap o' th' chaps?   

Then home I went,  
And pondering well her sleights, and Money spent;  
Her Fell Ingratitude quiter dammed my Heart.  
But Oh! then to ha' seen  
The Pickle I was in,  
Now proud Marcella's Martyr,  
Would ha' drawn Pity from the bloody Tartar.  
In every Bowel Pain and Smart!  
And all at once  
The full Ten Persecutions in my Bones;  
My Mind— plagued with a thousand Agonies,  
Will let my fainting Body take no rest.  
Imprimis, Fears and Jealousies,  
Distraction, Anger, Love, and Fury,  
My Soul into a thousand Passions hurry;   

Till fainting, pining, languishing, at last  
I fall into Despair, and with Despair  
My Lungs, my Heart, my Spleen and Liver wast.  
Thus feel I my lost Minutes drawing on,  
O pity me, when I am dead and gone!  
Let Guilt-spur Street and Smithfield all be filled  
With Stories of my Death,  
And her disdain that robbed me of my Breath.   

And thou, my Song, fly swiftly, and proclaim  
To every Region proud Marcella's Name.  
My Sighs to Tartary convey;  
My Love to Swedleand, Poland, and to Persia.  
Let Groynland, covered all with Snow,  
Th' Unjustice of my Sufferings know:  
And to the Sun-burnt Ethiop tell  
The dire and mournful Cause by which I fell;  
That all the World may find  
What 't is to be thus plagued by Love and Woman-kind.     

CHAP. VI.  
The Verses of the despairing Shepherd repeated, with other unexpected Accidents.  
THESE Verses were well approved by all that heard 'em; only Vivaldo did not seem to like, that the despairing Shepherd should tax Marcella with Jealousies and Suspicions, which he said reflected upon her Honour, contrary to all the Reports he had heard of her untainted Modesty and Reserv'dness. But for his better Satisfaction, Ambrose, who had been always privy to the most secret Thoughts of his Friend, assured him, That the unfortunate Chrysostome, when he wrote those Verses, had absented himself from Marcella, in hopes that Absence might work its wonted Cure, by causing him to forget the Object of his Passion. But as there is nothing more frequent, then for absent Lovers still to torment themselves with a thousand Fancies and chimeras of their own Brain; so was it Chrysostom's mishap to complain of Jealousies and Suspicions formed in his own Imagination, as if they had been really true. And therefore whatever he said in that Condition, could never redound to the least Prejudice of Marcella's virtue. Upon whom, Envy itself, setting aside her extreme Cruelty, and unreasonable Disdain, could never fix the least Reproach.  
Vivaldo being thus convinced by Ambrose, as they were going to red another Paper, they were of a sudden prevented by an unexpected Apparition; for so it might well be called, the Vision pop't so unexpectly upon' em. It was Marcella in person, who shew'd her self from the top of the Rock, at the foot of which they were digging the Grave; but so amiable, and so beautiful, that they who had never seen her, beholded her with Admiration; and they that saw her every Day, were no less surprised then the others. But, notwithstanding all her fair Looks, no sooner did Ambrose spy her, but in Billings-gate rhetoric, he cried out, What makest thou there, cursed Monster of Cruelty, and Dragoness of these Mountains? Come'st thou to see whether the Wounds of this unfortunate Swain will bleed afresh at the Appearance of his Murdress? Or comest thou to triumph over his ruins, like flaming Rome, or to glory in the Effects of thy Ingratitude? Speak, Tom-boy, rig, Vixen, Ramp; speak Mrs. Thirty-Ribs, if thou hast any thing to say. Fair and softly, good Mr. Wine-porter, cried the Shepherdess, I come here to prove myself an honest Maid, and to show the Injustice of those Cow-babies, that lay their Heart breakings, and their Deaths to my Charge. 'tis true, I have the good luck to be handsome, as they say: Well! and what then? Am I therefore obli'gd to love every Finical Fop that admires me? For, tho I may please him, he may not please me so well; nay, he may seem deformed in my Eye. But suppose the Man were an Adonis, yet there is a great difference in the Inclinations both of Men and Women; neither do all sorts of Beauty enamour alike, while some affect the fair, some the brown, others the black, &c. for if all Men should dote upon one sort of Beauty, Heav'ns bless us! how should one poor Woman be able to serve so many roisters. Besides, if Love be to be left at Liberty, and not to be restrained, as all agree, is it not a great piece of Injustice to force me to love whether I will or no, when I have no more Inclination to the Sport, then to run my Head against the Wall? Then again, this Beauty of mine, that so many admire, is the Gift of Heaven, and not a thing of my seeking; if it does any Mischief, 'tis none of my Fault, no more then it is the Viper's Fault to carry poison about her, or of the Fire, or a sharp Sword, to burn or wound, if you approach too near the one, or cut yourself with the other. Chastity and virtue are the Ornaments of the Mind, without which, the Beauties of the Body are but Deformities. If then Chastity be so great a virtue, why should I part with the Beauty of my Soul, to gratify the heat of one that loves me only for his Pleasure? I was born free, and because I will not lose that Freedom, I have chosen this solitary way of living, where Trees are my Companions, the crystal Fountains are my Looking Glasses; and where I also to the Woods and purling Streams communicate my Thoughts. If you tell me that Chrysostom's Intentions were honest, and that he courted me not for a Miss, but for a Wife; What's that to the purpose? For I  told him a hundred times I had no mind to mary, and the Fool would ne'er be answered; so that 'twas his own obstinate Honing and Puling, not my Beauty that killed him; if he would sail against the Wind, and overturn his Vessel in the Waves of his own Despair, what was that to me? And therefore let them that call me Murdress, and Dragoness, Vixen, and Tigress, Disdainful, Ingrateful, and I know not what myself, keep out of my fight, and come when I sand for' em. In these Woods I intend to live, and in these Woods atlength to resign to Nature again those Beauties which she has lent me, without the Rumpling of Fornication, or Embezlement of Wedlock. And therefore for God's sake, all of ye set your Minds at rest, and let me have my Humour; or if you will needs be wooing where y' are never like to speed, whine your Hearts-out for me; for I have  told ye my Resolutions.  
Having so said, she threw her self into the thickest of the adjoining Wood, without staying for an Answer, leaving all that heard her astonished at her Wit, as well as her Beauty.  
However, there were some in the Company, who little regarding her Nun-ship's Vows and Protestations, had a great Desire to follow her. But Don Quixote perceiving their Design, and believing he had now a fit Opportunity offered him to show his Knight-Errantry, let no man dare, cried he, of what Quality or Condition soever he be, to follow the fair Marcella, under the Penalty of incurring my Indignation. She has made it appear by undeniable Reasons, That she was no way guilty of Chrysostom's Death; and moreover, that 'tis her Desire not to be troubled with any more Suitors, nor to have a Gang at her Tail; for which Reason she is to be the more esteemed and honoured by all good Men, as being the only Woman, for ought I know i' the World, that ever lived with so much Reserv'dness. Now, whether it were that the People were terrified by the Champion's Friends, or whether that Ambrose hastened the Interment of his Friend, not a Man budg'd from the Place till the Body was laid in the Grave, and the Papers were committed to the Fire. After which, they rolled a great ston upon the Grave, till the Marble Monument was finished, which Ambrose had bespoke, and upon which he had ordered these Verses to be engraved.  
HEre lies the Man that died a Maid,  
And for a Maid beside;  
He loved her, she loved not him,  
And so the poor Man died.  
Oh! for this Maid how he did roar,  
Lament, complain, and weep;  
Which she no more regarded, then  
The bleating of her Sheep.  
His Sighs and Groans they pitied All  
That his loud Sorrows heard;  
For with the Lather of his Eyes,  
You might have shaved his Beard.  
Himself to Death thus having cried,  
Entombed here he lies,  
But she still lives, a Thousand more  
Such Ninnies to despise.  
Take warning hence, O Young Men all,  
How you yourselves to Love enthrall;  
And have in Mouth this Proverb still,  
That if one w'ont, another will.  
The Ceremonies thus over, after mutual Condolements, the Shepherds departed to their several Stations: Vivaldo and his Friends took their leaves; and Don Quixote, who was not a Person to forget himself, was more prolix, in regard his compliments were of a higher Strain, and savoured much of the Grandeur of his Profession. Vivaldo would fain have importuned him to have gone to sevill, which he assured him was a place the most fertile in Adventures of any in the World; Where they grew in every Corner of the Streets. Don Quixote thanked Vivaldo for his kind Information, but  told him withal, That he neither could, nor durst go to sevill, till he had cleared the Mountains of all the Thieves and Robbers that infested the Roads adjoining. Thereupon the Travellers, unwilling to divert him from so pious a Design, pursued their Journey, while Don Quixote was contriving which Way to follow Marcella, with a Resolution to offer her his Services; but he was crossed in his Purposes, as you shall hear in the third Book.    

 Don Quixote and sheep 
page. 60.  
Don Quixots Encounter with the Flock of Sheep.   
 Don Quixote and galley slaves 
Don Quixot releases the galley-slaves.   

THE THIRD BOOK Of the most Ingenious Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART I. BOOK III.  
CHAP. I.  
Giving an Account of Don Quixote's unfortunate rencontre with certain Yanguesian Carriers  
THE Renowned Cid Hamet Venengeli, upon whose Authority depends the Truth of our History, relates, That so soon as Don Quixote had taken leave of the Shepherds, that had so kindly entertained him, and of the rest that he met at Chrysostom's Burial, made directly, both himself and his Squire, to the Wood, where he saw Marcella disappear; for the Champion was in Love; he had forgot his dear Dulcinea; and the Temptations of frail Mortality had almost thrown him out of the Saddle of his Constancy. But after he had sought her in vain for above two Hours together, the Heat of his Impatience cooling his Concupiscence, they came to a most delightful Meadow, fresh and green, as being watered with a clear and pleasant Stream. So that the murmuring Noise of the Rivulet, the Verdure and Beauty of the Place, inviting Don Quixote to Repose and Meditation, during the heat of the Day, they both alighted, and leaving Rosinante and the Ass to take their full swinge, where they paid nothing for their Ordinary, untied the Wallet, and what they found they fed upon lovingly both together, for fear the one should beguile the other. All this while Sancho had forgot to put on Rosinante's Fetters, believing him to have been a Horse of that Modesty and Chastity, that all the Mares in the Pasture-grounds of Hackney-marsh could not have raised him to think an ill Thought. But either ill Luck, or the Devil who never sleeps, so ordered it, That at the same time a great number of Galician Mares, that belonged to several Yanguesian Carriers, were feeding in the same Valley; it being the Custom of those Carriers to stop where they meet with Grass and Water to refresh their cattle. Rosinante was chast and Modest, as I said before, however he was Flesh and Blood; so that he no sooner smelled the Mares, but contrary to his natural Gravity and Reserv'dness, he felt an itching Desire to solace himself with a Galician Phillie; and therefore, without asking his Master's leave, away he trots, but very gently, to impart his Necessities to his new Kindred. But the hungry spitals having more mind to their Food, then to Chamb'ring and Wantonness, received his Courtship very rudely, or rather kept him off as one that would have ravished Mares of Honour in the op'n Field, drubbing him so severely with their Heels, that they caused him to break his Girts; so that naked Rosinante, now disrobed of all his Furniture, lay exposed to unmerciful Thumps on every side. And for an Addition to his Misery, the Carriers beholding Rosinante's Horse-play among their Mares, flew to the Relief of their four-footed Lucretia's, and with unmerciful Battoons so be-labour'd Bob-tail Tarquin's Chine, that for the Ease of his Back, now rendered unserviceable, he was forced to stretch himself forth upon the Ground, where he had leisure enough to reflect upon the Misfortunes of Whoring, e're he could rise again.  
Don Quixote perceiving at a distance the ill Usage of Rosinante, ran in all hast to his Rescue, and approaching half breathless to the Place: Friend Sancho, cried Don Quixote, as far as I can guess, these are no Knights, but paltry, mean Fellows, and therefore it is lawful for thee to assist me to revenge the Injury they have done me in abusing my Horse. What a Devil, d' ye talk of Revenge, quo Sancho? We are like to revenge ourselves, with a Pox, two against twenty; if, indeed, we may reck'n ourselves above one and a half. I'll deal with a hundred myself, quo Don Quixote; and without saying more, he flew with a surprising Fury upon the Carriers; at what time Sancho encouraged by his Master's Example, threw himself also into the thickest of his Enemies, with his Sword in his Hand. The first that Don Quixote met with, he cut through a thick leathern Doublet, and carried away a piece of his Shoulder, and was going to reck his Indignation upon the rest: when the Carriers, out of mere shane to have their Hides so curry'd by two to a Score, recovered Heart a-Grace, and betook themselves to their levers and Pike-staves, and then all at once surrounding the Knight and his Squire, they laid about him like Anchor-Smiths; and, as many Hands make quick Work, in a Trice there lay Sancho sprawling in one place, in another lay Don Quixote himself at the Feet of Rosinante. Neither his Courage, nor his Skill would avail against a Multitude. For if Hercules himself could not resist Two, how should our Champion withstand Twenty? So that the Carriers having got a complete Victory, or rather, fearing they had done more then they could answer, made all the hast they could to be gone, and were glad when they were got out of Harm's way.  
The first that recovered himself, after this dismal Tempest of Bastinado's, was Sancho Pancha, who rolling himself as near as he could to Don Quixote, Ah Master, Master! with a sad and languishing Voice, Master, dear Master! quo he; What dost want, Friend Sancho, replied the Knight, in the same effeminate and mournful Tone? I could wish, replied Sancho, that your Worship would give me some two or three good Draughts of your balsam of Invulnerable, if you have any to spare. For if it be good for Cuts i' the Flesh, I know not why it may not be as sovereign for inward Bruises. Dear Sancho, replied Don Quixote, I have not a Drop were it to save thy life, so precious to me; but by the Faith of a Knight-Errant, within these two Days I will make enough to save an Army, if no farther Disasters do not prevent me. Two Days! replied Sancho, we may be both rotten before that time; I don't expect to stir a Leg or an Arm this Fortnight. The Truth on't is, replied the pounded Knight, I know not what to think on't, as the Case stands; but 'tis no more then I deserve, and I may thank myself for having unsheathed my Sword against a Company of Scoundrels that were never dubbed Knights; therefore has the God of battle permitted this Punishment to befall me for transgressing the Laws of Chivalry. So then, Sancho, for the Future, upon the like Occasions, do thou draw thy Sword, and chastise such Riff-raff as this, thyself, after thy own Method; but if any true Knights come to take their parts, then thou shalt see how I will lay about me in thy Defence; and thou hast had sufficient Experience of my Courage, and the Strength of this invincible Arm; for the simplo Knight was still intoxicated with his Victory over the poor Biscayner. But Sancho, by no means pleased with his Admonitions, Sir Knight, said he, I am a Man of Peace, a Coward, God knows, and one that never cared for so many Quarrels i' my Life, as having a poor Wife to maintain, and Children to bring up; and therefore by way of Advice, I must tell your Worship( for I dare not presume to command your Worship) that from henceforth I will never draw my Sword against Knight or Peasant; for I forgive all Mankind, as my Prayers instruct me, of what Estate or Condition soever, High and Low, Rich and Poor, Lord and Beggar, all the Injuries they ever did, or ever shall do me, without Exception or mental Reservation. Which strange Resolution being heard by his Master, I wish, said he, I had Breath enough to answer thee; for if the Pain which I feel in one of my short ribs, would give me leave to speak, I would soon convince thee of thy Error; for thou talk'st no more Sense then a Jack-Daw. For, suppose now, silly Sinner as thou art, that Fortune, which has hitherto frowned upon us, should fo far favour us at length, as that I should conquer one of those Islands which I have promised thee, and were ready to make thee governor of it; what will become of thee after thou hast abjured all Knight-hood, all Thoughts of Honour, and all Intention to revenge Injuries, and defend thy own Dominion? For perhaps thy People will not be so willing to obey thee at first, as being impatient of foreign Subjection; but when the iceland is once thy own, he's a Fool that will not hold his own; which thou canst never do without Discretion and Valour; which two virtues, when thy Subjects behold brightly shining in thee their Prince, they will be afraid of rebelling and caballing against thee. I confess, Sir, I wish I had had this Discretion and Valour you talk of, replied Sancho, to have helped us in our last Encounter; but now, Sir, I must be free to tell ye, I have more need of a Surgeon, then a Preacher; and of plasters, then Remonstrances. In the mean time, Sir, see if you can rise to help me get up Rosinante, tho he little deserves it; for 'twas his confounded Lechery for which our Bones have suffered all this dismal Maceration. For my part, I never suspected such a Propensity in Rosinante; for I always took him for a sober and peaceable Horse, and durst have sworn for him, as well as for myself. Now who is there that a Man can trust? 'tis true as the Proverb says, A Man must eat a perk of Salt with his Friend, before he knows him. For who that saw the Wonders which you wrought the other Day against the Biscayner, would have thought that such a Tempest of Bastinado's could e're have showered upon our Bones?  
As for thy Shoulders, replied Don Quixote, they were made to endure such sorts of Tempests; but mine, that never were accustomed to bear a heavier Weight, then a Holland-Shirt, or a Tiffany-Ruff, I fear me, they will be longer sensible of this Misfortune. And were it not, but that I believe; believe, do I say! nay, were I not certain, that such Misfortunes as these, are, as it were, grappled to Knight-Errantry, I would never out-live this Disgrace, but cut my Throat for Madness upon this very Spot. But I beseech ye, Sir, cried Sancho, if these are the Blessings of a Knight-Errant, will they never have an End? Or, is there a prefixed time when they will cease? For if we meet with two such Harvests more, we shall never be able to reap the third, unless Miracles assist us.  
The Life of Knight-Errants, replied Don Quixote, is subject to a Thousand Inconstancies of Fortune; and sometimes they have good, sometimes bad Luck. Amadis de gall was bound to a Pillar by the necromancer Arcalaus, his mortal Enemy, and by him surcingl'd with the Girths of his own Saddle; and that so rudely, that the Sorcerer never left off, till he had given the miserable Knight a hundred cutting Strappado's at the same time.  
The Knight of the Sun being taken in a Trap in a certain Castle, was presently forcibly hurried naked into a deep Dungeon, where they gave him a glister of Snow-water and Sand, which had like to have killed him, but for a special Friend of his, a necromancer, that both rescued and cured him. And thus, Sancho, thou seest that Persons more famous then we, have suffered greater Affronts then we have done. Besides, Sancho, thou art to know, That those Wounds which are given by the Weapons which a Man has by accident in his Hand, are neither Affronts nor Disgraces. For thus you may red expressly in the Laws of Duels; That if a Shoe-maker strike another Man with the Last which he held in his Hand, tho it be of Wood like a Cudgel, yet the Shoe-maker shall not for that be said to have cudgelled the Man. I tell thee this, to show thee, that tho we were so bum-basted and banged as we were, yet that it was no Affront or Dishonour to us; for that the Weapons which they made use of, were no true Cudgels, but Pack-staves, such as Carriers never go without; nor do I remember that there was so much as a Tuck, or a Sword, or a Dagger, among the whole Company. I confess, said Sancho, they did not give me so much leisure to take Cognizance of the particular Shape and Name of their Weapons; but no sooner had I drawn my trusty Steel, but they blessed my Shoulders with such a wooden Benediction, that I lost both my Eyes and my Feet at the same time, and fell, without Sense or Motion, very near the place where you see me now. Nor do I perplex my Brains, whether it were an Affront to be cudgelled with an Oak'n Plant, or a Pack-staff; but let 'em be Pack-staves, or Cudgels, I am sorry to feel 'em so heavy upon my Bones: I am sure I shall never forget 'em as long as I live. However, Pansa, replied Don Quixote, there is no Resentment which time will not deface, nor no Pain that Death will not put an End to. Thank ye for nothing, quo Sancho, this is heavenly Comfort indeed: What can worse befall us? Were it such a Pain as a plaster or two would cure, a man might have some Patience, but for ought I see, all the Plaister-boxes and Ointments of an Hospital w'ont suffice us.  
Twittle-twattle, cried Don Quixote, what a Prating dost thou keep? prithee try if thou canst get up, and see how Rosinante does; poor Beast, he has had his share of this Adventure. No wonder at that, replied Sancho, seeing that he's a Knight-Errant as well as the rest; I rather wonder how my Ass has scaped so well, without the loss of one Hair. In our greatest Calamities, replied Don Quixote, Fortune always leaves us some Hole to creep out at; and thus it happ'ns, that this poor Beast at this time supplies the Want of Resinante, to carry me to some Castle where I may be cured. Nor am I ashamed to ride upon an Ass; for I remember, that Silenus the Father of Bacchus road upon an Ass, when he entered Memphis in Triumph. Ay, quo Sancho, t'would do well enough, could you sit upright upon your Ass, as he did; but alas! you must be laid across the panel, like a Sack of Wheat. Wounds received in Combat are no Dishonour, and therefore good Sancho, trouble me with no more Replies, but try to get upon thy Legs, and help me up upon thy Ass, that we may get out of this place before Night surprise us. Lord, Sir! quo Sancho, have I not heard you say, 'twas the most Knight Errant-like Fashion in the World to sleep in the Fields and Forests under a Canopy of green Boughs. That is to say, cried Don Quixote, when they can do no better; or else, when they are in Love. And thus Amadis de gall took up his Lodging under the poor Rock, all the while he went under the Name of the Lovely Obscure, which was either eight Years, or eight Months, I cannot well remember which; and all this for only some little Unkindness that Oriana shew'd him.  
But setting these Discourses aside, prithee let us make hast out of this unfortunate place, lest some Mischief befall thy Ass, as it has done Rosinante. That would be the Malice of the Devil indeed, replied Sancho: and so breathing out Thirty Lamentations, Sixty Sighs, and a Hundred and Twenty Plagues and Poxes upon those that betrayed him into that Condition, he made a shift to get up upon his Legs; yet not so, but that he went stooping all the way with his Body bent like a Tartar's Bow, not being able to stand upright. In which crooked Posture he crept along to catch his Ass, that having taken advantage of the Liberty which had been given him, was solacing himself in fat Pastures, free Cost, at a distance. The Ass being caught, and got ready, Sancho return'd to help up Rosinante, which was not done without great Difficulty and Trouble, as well to the Master as the Squire. Sancho sweat till he dropped again; and could the poor Beast but ha' spoken, he would ha' born a part in the sad Complaints of the Master and the Man. At length, after many bitter Oh's! and screwed Faces, Sancho laid Don Quixote across the Ass, tied Rosinante to the Ass's Tail, and then leading his Ass by the Halter, as if he had been going with his Grist to the Mill, he took the nearest Way that he could guess to the high Road. Which, at the end of three quarters of an Hour, they, by good Fortune, discovered, together with an Inn, which Don Quixote, notwithstanding the lewd Appearance of the Place, would needs have to be a Castle. Sancho swore bloodily 'twas an Inn; and the Knight as obstinately maintained that it was a Castle; nor did the Dispute end till they came to the Inn Door, where Sancho entered with his Cargo, never troubling himself whether he were in the right or the wrong, as to his Argument with his Master.   

CHAP II.  
What befell Don Quixote in the Inn, which he took for a Castle.  
THE Inn keeper seeing Don Quixote lying like an Essex-Calf quiter athwart the panel, asked Sancho, What was his Disease? To which Sancho answered, He had no Disease at all; but only that he had fallen from the top of a Rock, and bruised his Ribs a little. The Vintner had a Wife, not like the common sort of Hostesses, as being naturally very charitable, and very compassionate of her Neighbours Afflictions: So that she no sooner beholded Don Quixote in that lamentable Condition, but she resolved to set her helping Hand to his Cure; and to that purpose called her Daughter, a good pretty Girl, to assist her.  
There was also at the same time in the Inn, an Asturian Wench, broad-faced, flat-noddl'd, one Eye out, and t'other a-squint. However, the Activity of her Body supplied all Defects. For she was not above three Foot high, the weight of her Shoulders preventing her Growth. This gentle gipsy likewise assisted the Inn-keeper's Wife and Daughter to dress Don Quixote's Bruises. To which purpose they made him a sorry Bed, God wot, in an old musty Cock loft; at another Corner of which, was also lodged a Carrier upon a Bed, which, tho made of Hurdles only, and old Horse-cloths, had much the Advantage however of Don Quixote's, which consisted of no more then two or three Planks laid upon two trestles, one higher then t'other; and over them a Flock-bed, more like a Quilt, full of Knobs and Bunches, which had they not shown themselves to be of Wool, through the Holes that the Rats had eat'n, might well have been taken for Stones. The Sheets also were of Leather, made of the Coverings of old Targets; and the Coverlet such, that you might have numbered the Threads, and not have missed one in the Tale. In this same cursed Bed Don Quixote was laid to rest his Bones, where the Hostess and her Daughter hogg's greas'd and plastered him from Head to Foot, by the light of a Candle, which the beautiful Asturian, whose Name was Maritornes, held. The Hostess seeing him so battered; Truly, said she, these Bumps in this Man's Flesh look much more like a dry Basting, then a Fall. No, I'll assure ye, Mistress, replied Sancho, 'twas no dry Basting, but only the Rock was full of several pointed Stones, and craggy Stumps, which did Mischief every one i' their turns. By the way, Mistress, if you please, pray save a little of the Tow and the Ointment for me too; for I know not what's the matter, but I feel my Back-bone in a dismal Disorder. Why, didst thou fall too, replied the Hostess? I did not fall, answered Sancho; but the very Fright that I took to see my Master cap'ring the Gallop-Galliard down the Rock, has loosened my Bones in such a manner, as if I had protection a Mahometan Drubbing. That's no wonder, said the Inn-keeper's Daughter; for I have dreamed many times, that I have been falling from a steep Rock, and when I waked, my Bones have been as sore, as if I had fallen in earnest. 'tis my very Case, replied Sancho, only with this Difference, that I was not in a Dream, but as broad awake as I am at this Instant.  
Then Maritornes asked him his Master's Name: Don Quixote de la Mancha, replied Sancho, by Profession, a Knight-Errant, and one of the bravest and stoutest that ever the Sun shined on. A Knight-Errant! What's that, for the Lord's sake, cried the Asturian? Art thou such a Novice i' the World, replied Sancho? Why, a Knight-Errant is one that's every Minute as near to an Empire, as Four-pence to a Groat, one that you shall see well cudgelled this moment, the next a sultan. To day the most miserable Creature upon Earth, to morrow the Master of three or four Kingdoms to bestow upon his Squire. How comes it then to pass, quo the Hostess, that thou, being Squire to so great a parsonage, art not an Earl at least? Oh! said Sancho, the Business is not so soon accomplished neither. We ha' been but two Months in our Gears, so that we have not met with any Adventures as yet: besides that, many times we seek for Kingdoms and find a Flap with a Fox-tail. But if ever my Lord Don Quixote gets cured of his Bruises, and I scape knocking o' the Head, I will not exchange my Hopes for the best Conde-ship in Spain.  
Don Quixote having listened all the while to these Discourses with great Attention, could no longer hold; and therefore raising himself up in his Bed, and taking the Hostess in a most obliging manner by the Hand; Believe me, said he, fair Lady, 'tis not a Happiness to be despised, that you have here the Opportunity to entertain such a Guest as I am, in your Castle. I shall say no more, because it ill becomes a Man to be the Praiser of himself; but my Squire will tell you who I am. Only thus much let me say more, That I shall never blot out of my Remembrance the Kindnesses you have done me, but study all Occasions to testify my Gratitude. And I wish to Heaven, added he, casting a Sheep's-eye upon the Hostess's Daughter, That the God of Love had not already enslaved me to his Laws, and that the Eyes of that charming, tho disdainful She, that possesses all my Thoughts, had not already triumphed o'er my Liberty, which otherwise I would have sacrificed at the Feet of that Illustrious dansel.  
The Hostess, her Daughter, and the virtuous Maritornes, were ashonish'd to hear such high-flown Language as this, which they understood no more then if he had spok'n arabic; yet conceiving they were Words of Courtship and compliment, they looked upon him, and admired him, as a Man of another World; and after they had made him such Returns as Inn keepers Breeding would afford, they left him to his Rest. Only Maritornes stayed to rub down Sancho, who had no less need of a good Dressing and a warm Mesh, then Rosinante.  
Now you must know, that the Carrier and the Asturian had agreed to have a Love-skirmish together that Night, and she had pawned him her Honour, that as soon as her Master and Mistress were a bed, she would not fail to come to him, and be at his Service. And it is reported of that modest dansel, That whenever she had passed her Word in such Cases, she would have observed her Promise no less punctually, then if she had confirmed it by the Attestation of a public Notary; nay, tho she had made it in the midst of a Wood without any Witness at all.  
And here, for your better understanding, you must know, that the wretched, unfortunate, beggarly, scanty Bed whereon Don Quixote lay, was the first in that needy apartment. Next to that Sancho had made up his Kennel, containing a Mat of Bulrushes, with a piece of an old Sprit-sail for a Coverlet; and at a little distance lay the Carrier in his Furniture, such as has been already described: Thither the Carrier after he had fed his cattle, repaired, in Expectation of the punctual Maritornes. In the mean time Sancho did all he could to sleep, while his macerated Ribs did all they could to prevent him; and Don Quixote lay ruminating on his Mistress with his Eyes op'n, like a Hare. And now was every Soul in the Inn gone to bed, not so much as a Mouse stirring in the House, nor any Candle to be seen. Which general Silence, and silent Darkness, the Friend of Meditation, setting Don Quixote's Thoughts at work, recalled to his Remembrance one of the most ridiculous Follies that he had red in all the Romantick Authors of his ruin. For he fancied himself to be in a famous Castle, and that the Inn-keeper's Daughter, by Consequence, Daughter to the Lord of the Castle, enamoured of his goodly Presence and Deportment, had promised him the Pleasure of her Embraces, so soon as her Father and Mother were gone to rest. This Chimera disturbed him, as if it had been a real Truth; so that he was strangely disturbed to find his Loyalty exposed to the Hazard of such a Temptation. But at length he resolved an immovable Constancy to his dear Dulcinea, tho Queen Guinever, and the Lady Quintaniona, should solicit him themselves.  
In the midst of these wild Imaginations, the exact Asturian, bare-foot, and in her Smock, steals into the Chamber, and feels about for the Carrier's Bed. On the other side Don Quixote, whose Ears lay perdieu, perceiving something to enter the Chamber, raised himself in his Bed, notwithstanding his plasters, and the soreness of his Chine, and stretching out his Arm to receive his fancied dansel, caught hold of Maritornes Wrist, as she was feeling about for the Wall, pulled her to him, not daring to speak a Word, and made her sit down by his Bed-side. Neither could her Smock that was made of Sacking, prevail to undeceive the besotted Knight. Her Glass-Beads about her Wrist, he took for Oriental Pearl; her Hair as course as a Mare's Tail, he liken'd to the Gold'n Tresses of Juno; and her Breath that smelled like stale Salt-fish, he compared to the odours of Arabia. In short, he fancied this beautiful Nymph to be like those lovely Dames, which, as he had red in his Histories, were wont to visit incognito their enamoured Champions, when either sick or wounded. For the poor Gentleman was so obstinately infatuated with his Romantick Gim-cracks, that he was not sensible of the nasty Stinks of a filthy, dirty Puss, that would have made any but a Carrier, to have spewed up his Entrails. So that at length the courtly Champion, enamoured of so many nauseous Charms, and hugging his incomparable Maritornes, as the Devil hugged the Witch; What would I give, quo he, with a soft and amorous Whisper, What would I give, most lovely Lady, that I were in a Condition to aclowledge the Favours you have done me, and that I could acquit myself of those Reproaches of lewd Ingratitude, which you may justly throw upon me? It kills me when I think on't; but I have plighted my Faith to the matchless Dulcinea deal Toboso; she is the sole Sovereigness of my Heart, and the sole Mistress of my Thoughts, and I dare not purchase my Happiness with the Price of Perjury.  
All this while Maritornes sweat Assa foetida, to find her self locked up in the knights Embraces, and did her utmost Endeavour to free her self from her irksome Fetters. On the other side, the Carrier, whose Impatience prevented him from sleeping a Wink, having perceived his Landacrides, when she first entered the Room, and with a listening Ear, wond'ring at her Stay, at length over-heard a kind of whispering Noise where the Champion lay, and then suspecting that Maritornes designed to be served round, his Nose began to swell most prodigiously. Nor was that all, for such were the Transports of his jealousy, that he could not forbear creeping softly to Don Quixote's Bed, where, after he had listened a while, like a Sow i' the Beans, perceiving by the struggling of his Loyal Maritornes, that it was none of her Fault, as being kept in Durance by the salacious Knight, whether she would or no; he up with his brawny Arm, and measuring the Countenance of the disastrous Knight, gave him such a mauling Sisarara upon the Chaps, that the Blood ran from his Mouth like a little Stream; and Benengeli assures us, That at the same time he leaped upon his Body, and with his splay Feet and Sparables so be trampled him, as if he had been treading a Hay-mow. So that the Bed, the Foundations of which were none of the best, fell down to the Ground, with such a rattling Noise, that the Inn keeper waked, and suspecting it to be one of Maritornes whoring Pranks, struck a Light, and made to the Place where he heard the Combustion. The gipsy Asturian, seeing him coming in choleric hast, fled for shelter into Sancho's Kennel, who lay snoring like a Tapster, and there hide her self under his Coverlet, trussed up as round as an Egg. Presently the Master entering, and swearing like a Tinker, Where's this damned Whore, cried he? for I'm sure 'tis her doing. At the same time Sancho awaking, and feeling an unusual weight that almost over-laid him, which he believed to be the Night-Mare, laid about him with his Fists, and pummell'd Maritornes so severely, that at last having lost all her Patience, and forgetting the Danger she was in, she return'd him his Thumps with such a plentiful Interest, that Sancho's welsh Blood being moved, he bussl'd up in his Bed, and catching hold of Maritornes, began the most pleasant Skirmish in the World: For the Carrier seeing his Mistress so abused, cuff'd Sancho; Sancho mauled the Maid; the Maid be-labour'd the Squire, in return of his Kindnesses; and the Inn-keeper paid off his Servant; following their Blows so fast, as if they had been afraid of losing time. And the best Jest was, that in the heat of this hurly burly, the Candle went out; so that now being all i' the Dark, they laid on at a Venture, without any Compassion; so that of all the Combatants, not one that was there carried off so much as half a Shirt or a Smock; for Nails and Fists were all employed, and they took care neither to tear, nor strike in vain.  
There was at the same time a Constable lodged in the Inn, who being waked with the dismal Confusion, in a great Rage came poking out his way with his Staff; and being entered the Room, cried out, I charge ye i' the King's Name, to keep the Peace here, vowing else to sand 'em all to the Counter. The first he met with, was the mortified Knight, who lay upon his Back, stretched out at his full length, without any feeling, upon the ruins of his Bed. Him the Constable having caught i' the Dark by the Beard, cried out, Come away before the Justice. But perceiving no sign of Life, and therefore believing him dead, and murdered by the rest in the the Room, he commanded the Gates of the Inn to be shut; Here's a Man murdered, quo he, and therefore let no body make their Escape. Which alarmed the Combatants in such a manner, that notwithstanding their good Intentions, they were forced to leave the Argument undecided. The Inn-keeper stolen away into his Chamber; Maritornes to her Straw; the Carrier slunk under his Horse-cloaths; only the disconsolate Don Quixote and Sancho remained in their places, not able to stir a Limb; while the Constable let go the Champion's Beard, and went for a Candle to search for the Rioters. But the Inn-keeper having prudently put out the Lamp that hung over the Gate, the Constable was above an Hour puffing among the Embers i' the Kitchin-chimney, before he could light another.   

CHAP. III.  
A Continuation of the innumerable Hardships, that Don Quixote and his Squire sustained in the Inn.  
BY this time Don Quixote being recovered from his paroxysm, with the same weak and languishing Voice, as after he had been Carrier-drubb'd in the Meadow, called out, Friend Sancho, art a sleep? art asleep Friend Sancho? How the Devil should I sleep, replied Sancho, foaming with Rage and Passion, when all the Infernal Furies have been haunting me this Night? Thou hast Reason to say so, answered Don Quixote, for either I know nothing, or this Castle is enchanted. Hear what I say to thee, but first swear to me, that thou wilt not speak a Word of it, till after my Death. By my Wife and Children that now are a starving, I w'ont, quo Sancho. I desire thee to swear, quo Don Quixote, because I scorn to injure the Reputation of any Person. Why, I have sworn, and I do swear never to speak a Tittle of it, so long as your Worship lives; and I wish I might be at liberty to discover it to morrow. Have I done thee so much Harm, answered Don Quixote, that thou wishest my Death so soon? 'tis not for that, replied Sancho, but because I hate to keep a Secret so long, for fear it should grow moldy i' my Body. Think what thou wilt, answered Don Quixote, however I confided in thy Prudence and Affection. Know then, that above two Hours since, the Daughter of the Lord of this Castle, vouchsafed to come to my Bed-side; one of the most lovely and beautiful Ladies that were ever beholded i' the World. I cannot express the Charms of her Person, nor the Vivacity of her Wit; nor will I think more of 'em, that I may not revolt from my Allegiance to the fair Dulcinea of Toboso. I will only say this, That the Heav'ns envying the Happiness, which my fortunate Stars had thrown into my Lap; or rather, because this Castle is enchanted, it happened, That in the midst of the most tender, affectionate, and passionate Discourses that passed between us, a certain Hand that I could not see, or device from whence it came, at the end of a most enormous Giant's Arm, gave me such a down-right Blow upon the Jaws, that my Chaps gushed out a Bleeding like a Spout: After which, the traitor taking Advantage of my Feebleness, laid on so like a Thresher, that I feel myself worse now, then when we suffered for Rosinante's Incontinency. And therefore I believe some damned necromancer of a Moor defends this Treasure, allotted for some other, and not for me.  
Nor for me neither, quo Don Sancho, interrupting him, for above four hundred Moors have been exercising their Talents upon my Bones, that I may safely say, the Carriers Bastinado's were but Flea-bites and Ticklings of the Skin to this. But pray Sir, tell me, d' ye call this such a pleasing Adventure, for which you paid above fourteen i' the hundred in dry Blows? Tho indeed the Possession of such a rare Beauty all the while, might be a kind of Consolation to you; But for my part, that had no such Creature-Comfort, how d' ye think I was able to bear so many Wherrets and Thumps, and Buffetings, as fell to my share? Curse upon me, and my Mother that bore me; for I am no Knight-Errant, nor ever intend to be, and yet the Elder Brother's Portion of Plagues and Mischiefs falls still to my Lot. How! and hast thou been under the Paper-mills too, cried Don Quixote? Belly o' me, quo Sancho, What have I been telling ye all this while? Never let it trouble thee, quo Don Quixote, for I'll instantly go and make the balsam of Invulnerable, which will cure thee i' the Twinkling of an Eye.  
By this time the Constable having lighted his Candle, was coming to see who it was that was murdered. At what time Sancho spying him at a Distance in his Shirt with his Candle in his Hand, and a nasty Clout about his Head; Sir, quo he to his Master, I am afraid the enchanted Moor is coming again to see if there be any part of our Skins that remains unbruised, for another Exercise of his Arm. It cannot be the Moor, replied Don Quixote, for necromancers never suffer themselves to be seen. I know not whether they may be seen, or no, quo Sancho, but I'm sure they may be felt: and tho you tell me a thousand times the contrary, I'll believe my Shoulders before my Eyes in this particular. That my Shoulders can testify as well as thine, answered Don Quixote: However, 'tis no sign that thou seest the enchanted Moor.  
While they were thus confabulating, the Constable entered, astonished to hear men talking so friendly together in a place where he thought Murder had been committed. But seeing the miserable Posture wherein the Champion lay, stretched out like a Corps, and bruised into mummy; How fares it, honest Fellow, quo he, how d' ye feel yourself? I would answer ye in another sort of Language, replied Don Quixote, were I in your Skin. Ye Blockhead you, is that your rude way of approaching Knight-Errants in this Country? Upon which, the Constable, of a waspish and choleric Temper, not enduring such a Reprimand from a person that he hardly thought to be his Equal, threw the Candle-stick, Candle and all, as hard as he could ding it, at the Champion's Head; and believing that he had not only brok'n the Peace, but the knights skull, he presently stolen out of the Room, under the Protection of the Night. What think ye now, quo Sancho? d' ye think this was not the enchanted Moor, that guards the Treasure you talk of, for others, but reserves nothing for us, beside Kicks and Cuffs, and Candle stick Batteries? Suppose I allow thee thy Saying for once, replied Don Quixote, yet considering that necromancers can make themselves invisible when they please, we are not to be offended with Enchantments, since it is impossible we should revenge ourselves upon Persons we can never find, while they lye skulking in the Air, quiter out of our Reach. And therefore, Sancho, rise, if thou canst, and desire the governor of the Castle to sand me some Oil, Salt, Wine, and Rosemary, that I may make my balsam, which, in truth, I want very much, in regard of the great Flux of Blood, that I have lost, from the Wound which the Apparition gave me.  
Thereupon Sancho got up, variously expressing his Grief, as he appareled himself; sometimes with a devout Lord ha' mercy upon me! sometimes with a profane and full-mouth'd Zouns; byand by Cursing the enchanted Moor, and his Master to boot: and at length creeping along like an Old Alms-man, with an old Pox upon him, he went to seek for the Inn-keeper; and meeting with the Constable at the Inn-Gate, in a brown Study, whether he should go or tarry, considering the passionate Fact he had so lately committed: Sir, said Sancho, pray be so charitable, as to furnish me with a Measure of Oil, a Quart of Wine, a Handful of Salt, and two Handfuls of Rosemary, to make a medicine to cure one of the most renowned Knight-Errants that ever were i' the World, who lies here in the Inn, desperately wounded by the enchanted Moor. The Constable, tho he took him for a mad Man, was so kind however, as to call for the Inn-keeper, who furnished him with all his Ingredients in a short time. All which Sancho carried forthwith to his Master, whom he found holding his Head, and miserable complaining of the Hurt he had received by the Candlestick, tho by good luck it had done him no more harm, then only the raising of two Bunches about the bigness of two turkey Eggs; for that which he fancied to be Blood, was only the Oil of the Lamp, that had bedewed his Hair and his Beard. So that after he had mixed all the Ingredients together, he set 'em o'er a gentle Fire, and let 'em simper for about a full Hour, till he thought they were enough, and then put the whole into a Tin-pot, which the Inn-keeper out of his Liberality freely presented him. Then he muttered over the Pot a hundred have Maries, as many Pater Nosters, Salve's, and Creeds, and ever and anon making the Sign of the across, by way of Benediction; at which Ceremony the Inn-keeper, the Constable and Sancho, were present.  
When the medicine was could, Don Quixote resolved to make an immediate trial of it; and to that purpose, gulp'd down the Quantity of a good Beer glass brimful. But no sooner had he taken his Dose, but he fell a vomiting, as if he would ha' spewed up his Lungs; and his violent straining put him into such a Sweat, that he desired to be covered up warm, and left to his Repose. In which Condition he slept three whole Hours, and then waking, found himself in an excellent Temper, and so well at ease, that he made no Question, but he had found out the true balsam of Invulnerable; and that having such a medicine, he might undertake all the most perilous Adventures i'the World, without Fear or Wit. Sancho observing such a strange and sudden Operation of the Balfom, besought his Master, that he might drink up the Remainder in the Pot; to which, when Don Quixote had consented, Pancha quaff'd off the rest, with such a Gusto, as if it had been a Nuptial Restorative of Tent and Eggs. But it seems that Pancha's Stomach was not so nice as his Master's; for before he could vomit, he was afflicted with such terrible Reaching, such faint and painful Sweats and Swoonings, that he verily thought his last Hour had been come; and instead of repenting for his Sins, fell a cursing the balsam, and the Traitor that had recommended it to him. Friend Sancho, cried Don Quixote, I am the most mistak'n Man i' the World, if this Misery does not befall thee, because thou art no dubbed Knight; for I fear me, this balsam will not work kindly upon any but such as they are. The Devil take you and all your Generation, quo Sancho, why did ye let me take it, if you knew that before? Is this a Time to tell me of dubbed Knights, when my Guts are ready to burst? But at length, Nature being kind, and the physic strong and searching, forced its way upward and downward, insomuch that he fell a Squitt'ring and Spewing, as if the Devil had been turned Tom-turd-man to empty the Jakes of his carcase; and all the while he strained so hard before and behind, that the standards by still expected when his Soul-Errant would take a Career out of his Body; till at last, after the end of two Hours, that this Hurricane in his Guts lasted, instead of finding himself at ease, as his Master had done, he felt himself so feeble, and so far spent, that he was hardly able to breath. But for all that, D. Quixote was in hast, he felt himself as sound as a roche, and therefore would needs be jogging after new Adventures. All the while that he lay idle, he thought himself lost to the World; and all those that needed his Favour and Assistance, defying Wounds and Danger now, in Confidence of his balsam.  
In the midst of these impatient Thoughts, he  told Sancho he must be gone; and with those Resolutions he saddl'd Rosinante himself, putting the panel upon the Ass, and his Squire upon the panel, after he had helped him to get on his Clothes: Then spying a strong Javelin that hung up in the Hall of the Inn, he seized it for the use of the Lord of the Mannor, to serve him instead of a Lance; and so mounting his Courser, in the sight of above twenty People that were in the Inn, prepared to set forward.  
Among the rest of the Gazers, the Inn-keeper's Daughter observed him with a more curious Eye, as having never seen such a sight in her Life before: Which Don Quixote perceiving, and making a more favourable Interpretation of her Glances, beholded her with no less Admiration, tho of another sort, every foot fetching a deep Sigh from the very Foundations of his Heart, which they who saw him so mortified the Night before, ascribed to the Pain of his Wounds.  
But now being ready to depart, he stopped at the Inn-Door, and called for the Master of the House, in a grave and majestic Tone; Sir Constable, said he, I should be the most ingrateful Mongrel in the World, should I forget the Kindnesses I have received in your Castle. However, in return of your Favours, if there be a Caitiff under the Sun, on whom you desire to be revenged for any Injuries or Contumelies committed, know, it is my Profession to relieve the Oppressed, and punish Traitors. Rub up your Memory therefore, and if you can call any such to mind, by my Holy Order of Knighthood, I'll drag 'em with a Horse-pox to your Castle, to make you Satisfaction on their bended Knees. To which the Inn-keeper answering with the same Gravity, Sir Knight, said he, I have no need of your Revenge, for when any body does me an Injury, I can revenge myself. All the Satisfaction therefore that I desire, is, That you would pay your reckoning for Horse-meat and Man's-meat: For that is the Custom in all Inns. How! cried Don Quixote, is this an Inn? Yes, and one of the best upon the Road too, quo the Master. Then I beg your Pardon, quo Don Quixote, for I took it for a Castle, and that none of the meanest neither. However, 'tis all one; for tho it be an Inn, you must excuse me, Sir, from paying a Farthing; 'tis contrary to the Laws of Chivalry-Errant, which I am bound to observe, there being no Knight-Errant that ever paid in an Inn, that ever I red of. It being the only recompense that Custom has allowed 'em for their incessant Labour and travail Day and Night, Winter and Summer, for the General good of Mankind. This is nothing to my Business, pay me what ye owe me, and keep your Flim-flams and Stories to yourself; I must not give away my Goods. Thou art both a Fool and a Knave of an Inn-keeper, replied Don Quixote, and so couching his Javelin, and putting Spurs to his Horse, he road out of the Inn before any body could stop him, never minding whether his Squire followed him or no.  
The Inn-keeper having thus lost the Knight, demanded his reckoning of the Squire. But Sancho pleaded his Master's privilege, alleging, That the same Custom which exempted the Master, exempted the Squire. Upon this, the Inn-keeper growing into Passion, called Sancho a thousand Pimps and Rascals, threatening him withal, That if he did not pay him, to have his reckoning out of his Bones. On the other side, Sancho swore by his Master's Knighthood, That he would not pay a Farthing, tho they flayed him alive; protesting withal, that he would never give the least Occasion for the Squires in succeeding Ages, to upbraid him with the Infringement of their ancient Rights. But whether the Devil, or ill Luck owed Sancho a Spite, so it happened, that there were at the same time in the Inn, certain Clothiers of Segovia, and Embroiderers of Cordovia, all jolly Fellows, and Men of good Substance, who agreeing all in one Design, pulled Sancho off his Ass, and sent for a Blanket; into which, after they had put the poor condemned Sancho, four of the stoutest, taking every one his Corner, they made him dance the Carp-Galliard i' the Air for several times together, as your Bulls toss the Dogs at the Bear-garden. All the while Sancho roared, Sancho bellow'd, Sancho bleated, Sancho howled, and made such a doleful Noise, that at length his Lamentations reached his knights Ear; who hearing the Out cries of his beloved Pansa, galloped back to the Inn to relieve the Distressed; but finding the Gates shut, all that he could do, was to look over the Wall, where he saw Sancho frolicking and frisking in the Air, as if he had been rather a Squire-volant, then a Squire-Errant; sometimes with his Heels, sometimes with his Head uppermost, with so much Nimbleness and Agility, as if the Air had been his tumbling Element; insomuch that 'tis thought that the Knight could have laughed himself, if his Indignation would have suffered him. But in the scurvy Humour he was in, he did not like the Sport. He fumed, he foamed, he chafed, he looked over the Wall as he stood upon his Stirrups, and with a grim and menacing Countenance, called 'em a thousand Sons of Whores and Bitches, Villains, Caitiffs, Rogues, Traitors, Murderers, &c. swore Walsingham, banned like a Jailor, and threatened all the Torments of the Ten Persecutions. But the more he stormed, the more they tossed; nor did they leave off, till mere Weariness, nothing at all of Mercy, put an end to Sancho's Tribulation: and then it was, that like Men of Charity, they set him upon his Ass again, wrapped up in his Coat, as they found him. And the compassionate Maritornes, forgetting all Injury, was yet more kind; for she brought him a Jugg of could Water, which as he was going to put to his Mouth, his Master cried out to him, Hold— hold— drink no Water, Son Sancho, drink no Water— 'twill kill thee— Son Sancho— Have not I here the precious liquour of Life, that will cure thee with only smelling to it?— To whom Sancho replied, I fear me, Sir, you forget yourself, I am not yet a dubbed Knight, and so 'twill do me no good. Keep your Brewage for the Devil, and let me alone. And so saying, he set the Jugg to his Lips again; but finding it to be Water, he left off, and desired Maritornes to change it for Wine, which she did with a willing Heart, and paid for it out of her own Pocket. For 'twas said of her, That tho she were a Whore, yet she had something of Christianity in her.  
Sancho having thus refreshed himself, was honourably conducted out of the Inn, and departed very well satisfied, that he had bubbl'd the Inn-keeper, tho at the expense of his Kidneys and Shoulders, that were his usual Sureties. 'tis true, that the Inn-keeper kept his Wallet for the reckoning; but he was so transported with Joy, that he never missed it. And now Sancho being thus gone, the Inn-keeper would have locked up the Gates again, but the Tossers that cared not a rush for the Knight, had he been of the Round-Table, would not permit him; perhaps because they longed to have had the same Sport with the Master, as they had had with the Man.   

CHAP. IV.  
Of the Discourse between Don Quixote and Sancho Pansa, with several other remarkable Passages.  
SAncho had now over-tak'n his Master, who perceiving him in such a battered and languishing Condition, that he was hardly able to sit his Ass; My dear Sancho, said he, now I am fully convinced, that this Castle or Inn is enchanted; for what could they be that made themselves such cruel Sport with thy carcase, but Apparitions, and wicked Ghosts of the other World? And farther to confirm it, I must tell thee, that when I beholded thy fatal Tragedy, and would have got o'er the Wall to thy Relief, I found myself, as it were, nailed to my Saddle by Enchantment, so that I could not stir: and 'twas well I took that Course. For by my Honour, could I but have come at those Caitiffs, and Vagabonds, I would ha' swing'd 'em off so Inhumanly, that they should have remembered their playing at Shuttle-cock with Man's Flesh, not only in this, but in the World to come, tho for once I had brok'n the Laws of Chivalry. I would have clawed 'em off myself, you may be sure, quo Sancho, had I been able, whether Knight or no Knight. Tho I must tell ye, Sir, you talk like a Widgeon, to say, the Varlets that Tennis-ball'd my Bones, were Spirits and Apparitions; for they were Flesh and Blood, as we are, and had their Christian Names and surnames; but you never heard that Spirits and Hobgoblins were baptized i' this World. And therefore, I beseech ye, never let such a simplo Conceit harbour i' your Brains, that any enchantment hindered your getting over the Wall, or alighting from your Horse. In short, Sir, I see it as plain as the Nose i' your Face, that while we run scaper-loitring after I know not what fortunate Adventures, we are like to meet with nothing but Sorrow and Disaster. And therefore may I be pox'd, if I don't take it to be our wisest Course to return home again, and look after your Harvest, for here has been nothing hitherto, but leaping out of the Frying-pan into the Fire. Why, what a-Devil d' ye think, that we are bound to find Bones for all the Cudgels i' the Kingdom?  
Poor Sancho, I pity thy vulgar Ignorance in the grand Mysteries of Chivalry. Be patient a while, and thou shalt see what an honourable thing it is to follow this Employment. For can there be any thing more glorious, then for a Man to vanquish and triumph o'er his Enemy? Questionless, not any thing. It may be so, for ought I know, quo Sancho; but I understand nothing of the matter. However, this I am sure of, That ever since we have been a Knight-Erranting( for I enclude myself only as an Attendant upon your Worship) you have had but one single Victory over the Biscayner, and that dearly purchased too, with the loss of one Ear, and the Vizor of your Helmet; but the Fisty-cuffs, the Thumps, the Wherrets, the disgraceful Kicks o' the Arse, that we have received, have been numberless, like the Sands of the Sea, besides an additional Over-plus, curse upon me, that fell to my share of being tossed in a Blanket, and by Hobgoblins too, upon whom it is impossible for me to revenge myself, and so I must be deprived of those Victories and Pleasures you talk of. I find, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, that we are both sick of the same Disease; but within this little while, I will get me a Sword made with so much Art and Magick-skill, that whosoever shall wear it, no sort of Enchantment shall hurt him. And it may be, good Fortune may put into my hands that of Amadis de gall, when he called himself Knight of the burning Sword; which was one of the best Weapons that ever Knight-Errant wore i' this World; for it would cut like a Razor, and enter the strongest armor that ever was tempered, like Venison Crust. I'll be hanged, quo Sancho, when y' have found this Sword, if it will be serviceable to any but your dubbed Knights, like your balsam; and so all the mischief shall fall upon the poor Squire. That can never be, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, when I ha' got a Sword that will kill the Devil himself.  
This was the Discourse of the two Adventurers, when Don Quixote beholded a thick Cloud of Wind-driven Dust upon his Right Hand; at what time turning to his Squire, Sancho, cried he, the Day is come, that thou shalt see the favours Fortune has reserved for her beloved Darling. This day such matchless Performances shall signalise the strength of my Arm, that shall deserve an eternal Register in the Book of famed, for the imitation of succeeding Ages. Seest thou that Cloud of Dust, Sancho? It only hides an innumerable Army, marching this way, and consisting of several Nations, that has raised it. Why then, quo Sancho, there must be two Armies, for yonder's as great a dust o' the other side; which Don Quixote perceiving, you cannot imagine the transports of his Joy, out of a firm belief, that two vast Armies were going to join battle in that Plain. Whereas the dust was only raised by two numerous Flocks of Sheep, in continual motion; some a' one side, some a t' other side the Downs. However, Don Quixote was so positive that they were two Armies, that Sancho believing his Master, I pray, Sir, then, quo he, what are we two to do? What dost think, good-man Block-head, replied Don Quixote, but assist the weaker side? For know, Sancho, continued he, that the Army which marches towards us, is Commanded by the Great Alifanfaron, Emperour of the Isle of Taprobana: The other that advances behind us, is his Enemy, the King of the Garamants, Pentapolin with the naked Arm; so called, because he always fights with his Arm bare. And what's the Quarrel between these two Potent Princes, quo Sancho? Why, quo Don Quixote, the reason is plain: For Alifanfaron is in Love with Pentapolin's Daughter, who, in my Opinion, is one of the most lovely Women i' the World, and a Christian. But Alifanfaron being a Pagan, her Father will not consent to the Marriage, unless her Sweet-heart will renounce Mahomet, and embrace the Christian Religion. May I never see Toboso again, quo Sancho, if I don't believe this Pentapolin to be a Man of Piety and virtue; and I'll assist him to the utmost of my Power. That thou mayst Lawfully do, replied Don Quixote; for upon such occasions as these there is no such necessity to be a dubbed Knight.' Slife, and is it so, quo Sancho? Then let me alone for one. But where shall I secure my Ass, that I may find him again when the battle's over? For I ne'er heard of any Man that ever charged upon such a Beast as this. Let him e'en go where he pleases, quo Don Quixote; for after the Victory's won, we shall have such choice of Horses, that even Rosinante himself is in great danger of being exchanged for another.  
Then mounting to the top of a Hillock, Look thee, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, from hence will I show thee all the Chief Knights that Command these two vast Armies, that thou mayst be able to know 'em again, when thou seest' em. He yonder i' the Gilded Arms, bearing in his Shield a crowned Lion Couchant at the feet of a young Lady, is the Valiant Laurcalin, the Knight of the Silver Bridge. He in the armor tinsell'd with Flowers of Gold, bearing three Silver Crowns in a Field Azure, is the Famous Micocolembo, Grand Duke of Quirocia. That other, that marches upon his Right Hand, as big and as tall as a Giant, is the undaunted Brandabarbaran, of Boliche, Lord of the three Arabia's; armed with a Serpents Skin, and instead of a Shield, carrying a huge Gate, which is said to be one of those that belonged to the Temple that samson pulled down, when he revenged himself upon the Philistines, at the expense of his own Life.  
Now turn about, and at the Head of t' other Army see yonder the Invincible Timonel of Carcasson, Prince of New Biscay, whose armor is of several colours, as Azure, Vert, Or, and Argent; bearing in his Shield a Puss-Cat Or, in a Field Gules; with these four Letters M. i. e. u. which compose the first syllable of his Mistresses Name, which Report avers to be the matchless Mieulina, Daughter to Duke Alpheniquen, of Algarva. That other Monstrous Load upon the back of yonder wild Horse, in white armor, with a white Shield, without any Impress, is a French Knight, called Peter Papin, Lord of the Barony of Utrich. He that sits galling his Courser's flanks with his heels like a Sea-man, is the Potent Duke of Nervia, otherwise called the Pinner of Wakefield; bearing in his Shield a Field sowed with Asparagus, with this Motto, Fortune rakes me. And thus he went on, naming a hundred more in the same manner, in both Armies: And then proceeding; That vast Multitude which thou seest yonder, is composed of several Nations. There march they that drink the pleasant Streams of the Famous Xanthus. There the Mountaineers, that Till the fertile Fields of Massilia. Yonder, they that sift the fine Gold of the Happy Arabia. Yonder, they that inhabit the Renowned Banks of Thermodon. They that fish in the Golden streams of Pactolus; The Perfidious Numidians; The Persians, Famous Archers. The Medes and Parthians, most dangerous when they fly. The wandring Arabs, the Savage and Cruel Scythians, the Ethiopians, that bore their Lips and Nostrils; with a thousand other Nations, which I see, and of which I know the Countenances, tho I have forgot their Names. All these Nations, I say, compose that Army, ranged under their peculiar Ensigns.  
On the other side are they that drink the Crystal streams of Betis, shaded with Olive-Trees. They that cleanse the wealthy Oar of Tagus. They that enjoy the enriching Current of the Divine Genile. They that mow the Tartesian Meadows. They that live so happily among the delightful Pastures of Xeres; the wealthy Mancheguesians, crowned with Wheat-sheaves. The Ancient Off-spring of the Goths, that delve for Iron. And they that quiver with apennine could, and Pyrenean Snow. In a word, all that Europe contains within its vast extent.  
Sancho was so astonished to hear such an Inundation of words, that he had not a word to say. All that he could do, was to stare with his Goggles, and to turn his Jobber-nose as his Master pointed with his finger, to see if he could discover the Knights and Giants which his Master shew'd him. But at length, not being able to discern the least sign, or so much as the Tail of a Horse, of all the long Muster-Roll that the Champion had fancied in his Imagination. Nouns, quo he, either I am blind, or the Devil has carried away all your Knights and Giants; for as I'm a sinner to heaven, the Devil a bit of Mortal Man can I see. I think the fellow's turned Fool, cried Don Quixote; why, dost not hear their Horses Neighie, the Trumpets sound, and the Drums rattle? May I perish, quo Sancho, if I hear any thing but the bleating of a few Sheep. Then I ha' found it out, quo Don Quixote, for thy fears disturb thy Senses; thou neither seest with thy Eyes, nor hearest with thy Ears. But 'tis no matter, I need not the Assistance of a Coward, I'll have the Honour of the Victory myself. And so saying, he couched his Lance, and putting Spurs to Rosinante, flew like Lightning into the Plain. Sancho bawled after him as loud as he could yaul; called heaven to witness, that they were only Sheep; then banned him to the bottonles Pit; Curse o' my Father that begot me, quo Sancho, that I should be so unfortunate to serve such a Mad-man as this! Sir,— Sir,— Master Don Quixote,— Bent out o' your Wits, Sir,— There are no Giants, no Knights, no Asparagus Gardens, no Shields either broken or whole; but only a few Sheep, which you are going to kill before you have Money to pay for them.— But Don Quixote, deaf to all his Squire's Imprecations, with a Voice louder then his Dwarf, crying out to himself, Courage, courage, brave Knights, that fight under the Standard of valiant Pentapolin, with the naked Arm; Follow but me, and we will soon be avenged of that Traitor Alifanfaron of Taprobana, and presently flung himself and his Horse among the poor Sheep with that Gallantry and Resolution, that he soon laid some of his mortal Enemies wallowing in their Blood.  
The Shepherds seeing their Sheep go to rack in such a manner, at first called out to him, to know what he meant, and what harm the poor Sheep had done him; but finding fair means so little availed, they plied him with Stones as big as their Fists, out of their Slings; and that so nimbly, that one ston never stayed for another. But the Champion disdaining that sort of Skirmishing at a Distance, ne'er minded the Stones, being altogether for meeting with Alifanfaron, crying out, Where art a', Traitor, Alifanfaron? Appear to him that here expects thee hand to hand, to try the mettle of thy keen Kilzadog, and to chastise thee for making War unjustly upon the valiant Pentapolin. At length among such a shower of Stones as flew about the Champion's Ears, there was one that lit upon his Ribs, and forced its way through two of the shortest. Don Quixote thought himself slain, or at least, dangerously wounded; but then calling to mind his balsam, and pulling out his Tin-pot, he began to set the precious liquour to his Mouth. At what time, before he could finish his draft, another ston, of a sudden, struck the Pot out of his Hand, carried away three or four of his Teeth, and maimed almost all his Fingers. These two Blows were so violent, that the poor Knight falling from his Horse, lay stretched out upon the Ground as quiet as a Lamb. So that the Shepherds believing him slain, took up their dead Sheep, to the number of six or seven, besides what were wounded; and rallying their disordered Flocks, made what hast they could out of the way.  
Whilst the Combat lasted, Sancho stood upon the Hill, Cursing and Swearing and tearing his Beard for Madness; but when the Shepherds were gone, down he came to behold the ruins of his Lord; for only such he thought 'em to be, when he saw in what a Posture he lay. However, finding that he had some Sense remaining; Ah, Master, Master! quo he, did I not beg you to return? Did I not tell ye, 'twas only a Flock of Sheep, and no Army? Sancho, replied Don Quixote, th' art a Cuckow-brains; necromancers can change the Shapes of Men and Beasts as they please themselves: and thus that thief of a necromancer, who is my mortal Enemy, to deprive me of the Honour of that Victory which I had i' my Hands, immediately turned the whole Squadron of the Enemy into Sheep. And now to convince thee, that this is a Truth, do but take thy Ass, at my Request, and follow those pretended Shepherds at a Distance; I'll pawn my Knighthood, that before thou hast rid a Mile, thou shalt see 'em all changed into Men again, such as I described 'em to be. But before thou goest, come hither and see how many Teeth I want; for I feel my Gums, as if I had not one left i' my Mouth. Ill luck again for poor Sancho; for as he was gaping to tell his Master's Grinders, with his Nose almost in his Chaps, the balsam began to work; so that with the same Swiftness that the Powder flies out of a Pistol, the physic discharged itself all upon the Beard, Face, and Eyes of the charitable Squire. By the Bowels of St. Francis, quo Sancho, my Master is a dead Man, for he vomits nothing but clear Blood, tho the Colour, Smell, and Taste, soon undeceived him; for the two latter turning the Squires queasy Stomach, caused such a sudden Rumbling in his Guizard, that before he could turn his Head, he unladed the whole Cargo of his Entrails upon his Master's Nose, so that you would have sworn there was not a Secret in both their Hearts, which they had not opened one to another. In this nasty Pickle Sancho ran for a Towel to wipe himself, and his Master; but missing his Wallet, he was ready to run quiter out of his Wits. He bestowed a thousand Maledictions more upon himself, and was sometimes resolving with himself to let his Master go to the Devil, and return home, tho he lost all the recompense of his Service, and the Government of twenty Islands.  
It was high time then for Don Quixote to get up, which with much ado he did; and then clapping his left Hand before his Mouth, to keep the rest of his loose Teeth from dropping out, with his right he lead Rosinante by the Bridle( the faithful and good-natured Rosinante, that had not stirred an Inch from the Place where his Master fell) and in that Posture he crept along to his Friend Sancho, whom he found lolling upon his Ass, with his Face in the hollow of both Hands, like a Man buried in profound Sorrow. Don Quixote perceiving him in that Condition; Friend Sancho, said he, one man is no more then another, if he do no more then what another does. These Disasters are but Arguments of our better Success. Calms always follow Storms, and fair Weather, foul. Good and bad Fortune have their Vicissitudes. Besides, 'tis a Maxim, That nothing violent can last long. And therefore never grieve at these Misfortunes, of which I have still the greatest Share. How can that be, quo Sancho? Was not he that was tossed in a Blanket yesterday, the Son of my Father? And was not the Wallet which I have lost, with all that was in it, his Loss? How! quo Don Quixote, Hast lost the Wallet? I know not whether it be lost, replied Sancho, but I cannot find it, where I used to hang it. Why, then I find we must fast to day, quo Don Quixote. 'tis surely so, replied Sancho, unless you can meet with such Herbs, as are wont to supply the Necessities of such unfortunate Knights, as yourself. For all that, quo Don Quixote, at this time, I had rather have a good Luncheon of Bread and two Pilchards Heads, then all the salads in Gerrhard's Herbal. And therefore bestride thy Ass, and follow me once more. God's Providence, that provides for the Flies i' the Air, and the Worms i' the Earth, will also provide for us; especially if we continue to serve him, as we do in this laborious Profession. Sir, quo Sancho, interrupting him, I believe you would make a better Preacher, then a Knight-Errant, God pardon me for saying so. Knight-Errants, replied Don Quixote, ought to know all things; and there have been such in former Ages, that were wont to preach at the Head of an Army, as if they had taken their Degrees at Salamanca, according to the Proverb, Tàm Marti, quàm Mercurio. In good Faith, Sir, quo Sancho, it shall be even as you please, for me: In the mean time, good now, let us remove from hence, and seek out a Lodging; but let it be such a one, for the Lord's-sake, where there are no Blankets, nor Blanket-heavers; no Apparitions, nor enchanted Moors. For if I meet with any more of your Hobthrushes, old Satan himself be your Squire, for Sancho. Rather pray to God to direct us, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, and so for once go thine own way; for I leave it wholly to thy Discretion to provide us a Lodging. But first feel here how many Teeth I have i' my upper Jaw, o' the right side; for there I find my Pain lies most. Thereupon Sancho feeling with his Finger both above and below; Pray, Sir, quo he, how many Teeth should ye have i' this place? Four sound entire Teeth, quo Don Quixote, besides the Eye-tooth. Take heed what you say, quo Sancho. I say four, replied Don Quixote, if there ben't five. How strangely you mistake, now, replied Sancho; you have just two and a Stump i' the neither Jaw; but for your upper Jaw, 'tis all as smooth as a Child's Coral. How! said Don Quixote, I had rather ha' lost an Arm, provided it were not my Sword-arm; for a Mouth without Teeth, is like a Mill without a Mill-stone; every Tooth in a Man's Head, is worth a Diamond. But we that profess the strict Laws of Chivalry, are subject to these Disasters; and therefore since it can't be helped, go thine own place, and I'll follow thee. Thereupon Sancho lead the way, still keeping the High-road, as most like to bring him soonest to a Lodging. Now you must know, they road very softly, for Don Quixote's Gums would not suffer him to trot; and therefore Sancho, compassionating his Master's Condition, resolved to divertise him with some of the merriest Conceits he had in his Budget, as you shall hear i' the next Chapter.   

CHAP. V.  
Of the pleasant Discourse between Don Quixote and his Squire; and of the Adventure of the dead Corps.  
GOD forgive me for thinking so, said Sancho, but it will not out of my Head, but that all our late Disasters are the just Judgments of heaven upon us, for your transgressing the known Laws of your Order, and violating the Oath which you made, not to eat at a Table, nor lye in an Inn, till you had won What-d'-ye-call-him's armor, for I have forgot the Name of the Moor. Very well remembered, quo Don Quixote, 'twas quiter and clean slid out of my Memory; and I believe too, that thou were't tossed in a Blanket, because thou didst not put me in mind of it▪ But I can soon make amends for my Omission; for Knight-Errantry is a Profession very ready to smother Iniquity. Why, did I ever swear to mind you of your Vow, replied Sancho—? Whether thou sworest, or no, answered Don Quixote, that's not the Business, thou art accessary however, both before and after. Then take notice, that I now fore-warn ye, said Sancho, not to forget your Amendment, as you did your Oath, lest Robin Good-fellow plague us again, for being incorrigible.  
In the midst of this Discourse, Night surprised 'em, not knowing where to shelter themselves. And, which was worse, they were ready to eat one another for Hunger, having lost the Wallet, where was all their Provant. But to relieve 'em in this Extremity, there happened an Adventure, which I shall faithfully relate, without Addition or Diminution of the Matter of Fact; which was thus.  
'twas now pitch-dark Night; however, they travelled on, Sancho believing that since they were in such a beaten Road, it could not be long before they met with an Inn, or a Farrier's Hovel where they sold Drink. With these Hopes jogging on, the Squire half starved, the Knight no less desirous to eat, they saw at a distance a great number of Lights, that appeared like so many Wisp-Williams. At which sudden Apparition Sancho was ready to swoon, and they say, the Knight himself began to smell very strong. Thereupon they made a stop, and observed that the Lights advanced toward 'em, and the nearer they came, the bigger they seemed: Which redoubled their Fears; Sancho let fly, and Don Quixote's Hair stood an end: but at last recov'ring his wonted Courage; Friend Sancho, said he, this certainly must be some prodigious Adventure, that will require the whole stock of my Strength and Courage. Grant, kind heaven, quo Sancho, that it be not another Adventure of Goblins; for if it be, where the Devil shall we find Ribs to endure it? Come all the Goblins in Hell, quo Don Quixote, they shall not touch a Hair o' thy Head. For tho I could not get over the Wall; we are now i' the op'n Field, where I shall have liberty to make use of my Sword. Alas! quo Sancho, what signifies the op'n Field, should they enchant ye as they did before? Puh!— quo Don Quixote, do but look on, and thou shalt see what I'll do. So I intend, God willing, quo Sancho, for if I stir a foot, I'll gi'e my Ears. By and by they discovered a great number of Men all in White. Nay then, quo Sancho, quiv'ring and quaking, mercy o' my Soul; What-a-Devil! quo he, no less then twenty Giants in their Shirts, with every one a Torch in his Hand, and murmuring from their Lips the sorrowful Complaints of Grief and Discontent. After them followed a Litter, attended by six Horse-men in Mourning down to their Horses Heels. Which doleful Spectacle at such at time of Night, and in the midst of a desert, as they thought themselves, was enough to have shipwrakt the Courage of a stouter Squire then Sancho. But fearless Don Quixote, full of his Fegaries, fancied there must be in the Litter the Body of some Knight either slain or wounded, the Revenge of whose Misfortunes was only reserved for him. And so couching his Lance, he posted himself just in the middle of the Road, where the Company were to pass. So soon as they drew near, Stand, quo he, whoever ye be, and tell me in short, who ye are, whence ye came, whither ye go, and what ye carry i' that Litter? For you seem to be such as either have done, or received a great deal of Mischief; and I must have an Account either to punish the Offenders, or relieve the Distressed. Sir, replied one of the Horse men, we are in hast, the Inn is a great way off, and we cannot stay to tell ye the Particulars; and so spurring his Mule, he pressed forward. But Don Quixote, dissatisfied with the Answer, laid hold of the Reins of his Bridle, and with a stern Voice, Sir, said he, are you weary of your Life? either give me a better Account, or I defy thee to mortal Combat. But so it happened, that the Mule being skittish and frightful, fell a cap'ring and rearing at such a rate, that she threw her Rider to the Ground. Upon which, one of the Foot-boys calling him a thousand Rogues and Sons o' Whores, put him into such a Chafe, that he flew like a Dragon upon another of the Persons in Mourning, and threw him to the Ground with a Prowess altogether extraordinary; then spurred away to a second, and so to a Third, with that Vigour and Activity, that you would have sworn Rosinante had been Pegasus himself at that time.  
It was not for Men of Peace, that were never accustomed to bear Arms, to withstand such a rapid Fury as this; so that the People in White, fled immediately some one way, some another, crossing the Fields with their lighted Torches, that you would have taken 'em for Masqueraders upon a bonfire Night. As for the Mourners, they were so muffled up i' their sable Weeds, that not being able to defend themselves, they were forced to receive his Bastinado's, without being able to repay him for his Kindness: So that the Renowned Champion in a short time got a complete, easy, and cheap Victory; the Mourners and Assistants believing the Devil was come to fetch away the dead Body, before they could bury it.  
All this while Sancho admired the daring Valour of his heroic Master, and now concluded him what he had always boasted himself to be.  
And now the Combat being over, Don Quixote perceiving by the Light of a Torch, that lay burning in the High-way, the poor Man who was thrown by his Mule, he road up to him, and setting his Lance to his Throat, commanded him to yield, and beg his Life. For yielding, quo the other, I think I'm safe enough already; for I think I have brok'n one of my Legs. And I beseech ye, Sir, if y' are a Christian, not to kill me, for you know 'tis a piece of sacrilege to kill a Person in Holy Orders. If y' are in Orders, quo Don Quixote, What a-pox brought ye hither? Bad Fortune, Sir, quo the Curate, as you may plainly see. And worse it may be yet, quo Don Quixote, unless you answer me directly to my Questions. In short, Sir, then quo the Curate, we were all a Company of Priests, and some few Gentlemen, and some few Friends of the deceased Gentleman that lies in that Litter, going to lay his Bones in Segovia, the Place of his Nativity. Well,— but who killed him, quo Don Quixote? Death, Sir, quo the Curate, by the means of a pestilential fever. If it be so, replied Don Quixote, I am discharged of revenging his Death, if any other Person had slain him; but if God-a-mighty has done it, there's no more to be said; for had he done as much to me, I could not have helped it. And now know, Mr. Curate, that I am that Renowned Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose Profession it is to visit all Parts of the World, for the Relief of the Afflicted, and Punishment of Oppressors. I wish, Sir, quo the Curate, I could have had the Honour to have confirmed your Titles, which now I cannot well do with a safe Conscience, as being beholding to your Charity for nothing but a brok'n Leg: So that I may say, The Prowler about for Adventures to do others good, has done me the greatest Injury i' the World. Why truly, Mr. Curate, quo Don Quixote, this World is full of Crosses, and Mischances, and therefore all that I can say to ye, is this; That you must have a care next time how ye play the Fool i' the Night-time with your Torches, and your white Surplices, like Mummers, or rather Hobgoblins, that went about to fright People out o' their Wits. For I am not to endure such Fooleries as these, to the scaring of Nurses and Children, and creating of Stories and Fables, of which there are too many i' the World already.  
The Curate durst not contradict him, only desired his Assistance, as a Knight-Errant, and a Reliever of the Oppressed; for that his Mule lay so heavy upon him, that he could not get his Foot out of the Stirrup. Why did ye not tell me your Grievance sooner, quo Don Quixote? Did ye take me for a Conjurer? With that, he called Sancho, who made no great hast, for he was as busy as one of St. Nicholas's clerks, rifling a Wallet, and would not stir till he had filled one of the Priests Cassocks, which he tied up like a Sack, and laid upon his Ass. And that being secured, away he ran to his Master; to whom, before George, Sir, quo he, I can't be at the Oven and the Mill too, both at the same time. But Don Quixote taking no notice of his Drollery, bid him go help the Curate, which he did; and after he had set him upon his Mule, and given him his Taper again, Don Sancho bid him follow his Company; and to excuse him for his Mistake, tho as they appeared, it was not in his power to do otherwise. And, Sir, quo Sancho, if the Gentlemen ask who 'twas that so well thrum'd their Jackets, tell 'em, 'twas the famous Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise the Knight of the ill-favoured Face.  
When the Curate was gone, Don Quixote asked Sancho wherefore he called him the Knight of the ill-favoured Face? Because, said Sancho, I ha' been staring upon it this good while, by the Light of the Priest's Torch, and i' my Conscience I never beholded such a Swine's Countenance i' my life. The Cause of which, I take to be either your extreme Weariness, or the Loss of your Teeth. No, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, thou art quiter beside the Cushion; 'tis because my Historiographer thinks 〈◇〉 convenient that I should have a surname, as well as other ancient Knights. For one was called The Knight of the Burning Pestle, another of the Unicorn, a third of the Phoenix; whose Employment it was to combat the whole Element of Fire. Another, of the damsels; another, of the Gryphon; and another, the Knight of Death. By which Additions they were known all over the World. 'twas this same learned Scholar therefore that inspired thy Noddle with this witty Conceit; for I'm sure thou hadst not Brains enough of thyself to find it out. And therefore I intend to be called by this Name, and to have some strange Device painted i' my Shield, answerable to it. In good faith, replied Sancho, you may spare that expense; 'tis but only showing your own Death's Head. For the Grave's i' your Cheeks, your hollow Eyes, and your Winter John-apple Skin, have so strangely transmogrify'd your Countenance, that I'll forfeit my stomach, if any Painter of Saracens Heads i' the Kingdom can draw a Face so ugly as yours. This made his Worship smile; for the Knight was such a Nick-a-poop, that he could not choose but to laugh, to hear himself so wittily abused by his Squire. However, a new Qualm coming over his Conscience, Sancho, said he, what shall I do? I have laid violent Hands upon a Clergy-man, and I am afraid of being Excommunicated; according to that same Decree i' the Spiritual Court, If any one, through the Temptation of the Devil, &c. Yet now I think on't, I never touched him with my Hands, but only with my Lance. Besides, I do not believe they were Priests, or Men that any way belonged to the Church, but mere Hobgoblings and Ghosts. That's no Bread and Butter o' mine, replied Sancho, I'm sure I struck no body, nor no body struck me, which makes me believe they were Priests, and not Ghosts nor Apparitions. Well— quo Don Quixote, let the worst come to the worst, I remember what befell the valiant Cid-Ruy-Dias, who hacked in pieces the Embassador's chair, in the Presence of the Pope; for which he was Excommunicated, and thrust into Hell-Counter; but upon the paying of fourteen Shillings and a Groat, he was presently released again. For in the Spiritual Court there is Law against Spirits as well as other People.  
This said, Don Quixote would have examined the Bier, to have seen whether the Corps in the Litter were only dead Bones, or dead pieces of Eight. But Sancho would not suffer him; for, said he, Sir, you have accomplished this Adventure without so much as a cut-Finger; but should these Fellows consider how they had been baffled by one single Person, and return in a rallied Body to revenge themselves, who knows but that you may lose a whole Hand; and therefore our safest way will be to get out of this place, as fast as we can: and so saying, he put on a Dog-trot with his Ass; nor was it long before Don Quixote, finding, after a short Meditation, that Sancho spake Reason, galloped after him.  
Now, after they had rid some three or four Miles, 'twas broad day; and the light of the Sun directing 'em to a Valley, that lay skulking between two Hills, fit for their purpose; there they alighted: There Sancho, opening his Cassock, found that your Men in Orders were not the worst Stewards for their bellies. And therefore spreading the Cassock upon the green Grass, they fell on, and eat their Break-fast, Dinner, Afternoon's Luncheon, and Supper, all at one time. Sancho took the Crust, and his Master took the crumb: Sancho dispatched what was hard and tough, and his Master what was delicate and tender: And, as stolen Goods, no doubt but they would have gone down much the sweeter, had they not wanted Drink; but Drink they want●● to that degree, that ne'er was Barnaby ever drier in a Morning. For Sancho had forgot to plunder the Bottles as well as the Victuals; nor would the Valley afford a drop of Water that they could find. However, considering they were in a place where the Grass was fresh and green, Sancho gave his Master that Advice, which seemed Rational, tho it did not answer their Expectations, as we shall find i' the next Chapter.   

CHAP. VI.  
Of the most wonderful Adventure that ever happened to Knight-Errant, which Don Quixote accomplished without any danger.  
SAncho, ready to choke for Thirst, as we said before, and summoning his Wits together for relief; quo he to his Master, This Grass looks so fresh and green, that of necessity there must be some Spring or Rivulet that waters these Grounds: And therefore my Opinion is, that if we do but make diligent search, we shall find some liquour or other to appease this intolerable drought, which Plagues us more then our Hunger did before. Thereupon Don Quixote, leading Rosinante by the Bridle, and Sancho his Ass by the Halter, they went feeling about for a Well, or a Fountain, or any thing that had Water in it( for tho I said before 'twas broad day, I must eat my words, it being as yet so dark, they could not see their Hands;) and therefore I say they felt their way, because they could not see it. Now, they had not gone above two hundred Paces before they heard a noise that rejoiced the Cockles of their Hearts, as being the noise of a great fall of Waters. But going a little farther, they heard another noise no less terrible, of redoubled Blows and Bastinado's, with the rattling of Chains and Fetters, which together with the roaring of the Waters made such a dismal Din i' the dark, that had Sancho's Break-fast been Concocted, he had not kept it long in his Belly. Neither could Don Quixote himself tell what to think on't: He had not one Maggot in all his Readings that could compare with it. Besides that, Fortune at the same time brought 'em under a great Tuft of Trees, where the rustling of the Leaves, and the whistling of the Wind augmented their Dismay; especially not knowing where they were.  
But then it was that the undaunted Don Quixote, mounting his Rosinante, and shouldering his Target, Know, Sancho, said he, that I was born in this Iron Age, to restore the Age of Gold. 'tis for me that Heaven has reserved the most Famous achievements, and the accomplishment of these Tragical Adventures. 'tis I that must deface the Remembrance of the Knights of the Round Table, the Twelve Peers of France, the Nine Worthies, of the Olivants, Belianis's, and Knights of the Sun, and of all the Knight-Errants of former Ages, by Eclipsing the Renown of all their most Glorious Actions. What an assemblage of Terrors is here? Darkness, rattling of Chains, redoubled Stripes, rustling of Leaves, and the noise of Cataracts, that seem to fall from the Mountains of the Moon, of which the least were enough to make Mars himself creep into an Auger-hole. Nevertheless these are but Incentives of my Courage, and I feel my Heart leap i' my Belly, when I go to encounter the most dreadful dangers i' the World; like a Spaniel when he see's his Master take down his Fowling-Piece. And therefore take up my Girts three holes higher, and tarry here under heaven's Protection; and if I do not return in four days, get thee home, and tell the Matchless Dulcinea, that her Champion, and the Slave of her Beauty, fell a Sacrifice to Renown and endless Immortality for her sake. When Sancho heard these words, he fell a weeping like a Woman at her Husband's Funeral; and whining out his Grief, Sir, said he, I do not understand why you should undertake this desperate Adventure. 'tis dark, and no body sees us; we may very well sneak away, and avoid the danger, tho we should not drink these three days. I have often heard our Curate repeat an Old Proverb, Harm watch, Harm catch. And therefore forbear, Sir, to tempt God, by undertaking an Adventure which you cannot accomplish without a Miracle. Is it not sufficient that Heaven preserved ye from being tossed in a Blanket, and gave you such a Remarkable Victory over the Goblings that attended the dead Corps? But if this will not prevail, consider when you have left me, in what a condition I shall be; ready to surrender my Soul to the first that asks me. I have forsak'n Home, Wife, and Children, to follow you, in hopes to get, and not to lose; but, as Covetousness is the Root of all Evil, so all my Expectations vanish, while I lie gaping after Islands and Castles i' the Air. Dear Master, for the love of God, be not so Cruel. Or if you are resolved to undertake this damned Adventure, stay till you can see: 'tis but three hours to Morning; for according to my little Skill, the Muzzle of the Lesser Bear is just over our Heads. ye silly Hog, quo Don Quixote, how canst thou see the Muzzle of the Bear, when there is not a Star to be seen in the Sky? That's very true, replied Sancho; but Fear is sharp-sighted, and sees farther into a Mill ston then other People.  
Let Day come, or never come, 'tis all one to me, cried Don Quixote; t' shall never be said, that the tears of a snivelling Cow-baby kept me from doing the Duty of a Knight. And therefore thy business is only to gird Rosinante, and tarry here for me; no question, but in a short time I shall return either dead or alive.  
Sancho finding his Master so positively bent; and that neither Tears, nor good Advice could divert him from his determinations, resolved to try a trick of Policy, tho it were but to keep him till Morning in spite of his teeth; and to that purpose, instead of girting Rosinante, he tied the Horses two hinder legs to his Asses Halter; so that when Don Quixote spurred him forward, the Spittle did nothing but fall a rearing before. Which Sancho observing, Look ye, Sir, said he, the Heavens are o' my side, and will not suffer Rosinante to move; and therefore all your spurring the poor Creature is but like striving against the stream, and for ought I know, may put Fortune out of Humour. Don Quixote raged like a Mad-man at first; but finding that the more he galled his sides, the more Rosinante bounced and caper'd, he resolved to tarry till 'twas light. Well— quo he, since it so pleases Rosinante, I must tarry till Morning, tho it were upon Life and Death. What matter is it, replied Sancho? I'll undertake to find ye Stories anow, if your Worship will but be pleased to alight, and take a nap upon the green Grass, after the Custom of Knight-Errants. Alight and sleep! quo Don Quixote: Am I one of those that want to sleep, when they are to fight? Sleep thou, that wert born to sleep, or do what thou wilt; I know what I have to do myself.  
Be not so hasty, Sir, replied Sancho, I spoken it only in jest: And having so said, laying one hand upon the Pummel, and the other upon the Crupper of the Saddle, he stood embracing his Master's knees, not daring to budge an inch for fear of the stripes that sounded continually in his Ears.  
And now his Master's Passion being allayed; Come, said he, Sancho, tell us a Tale to pass away the time till Morning. Troth, Sir, quo Sancho, and may I perish if I lie, I am afraid at my very Heart; and I ha' no more mind to tell Tales, then to hang myself. But I'll try what I can do to pleasure your Worship, and thus I begin.  
There was— hold— I am sure 'tis one of the best Stories i' the World, if my Fears will let me tell it— In former times, when it was as it was— Good betid us all, and Harm be to them that seek it— And here, Sir, you must take notice by the by, that the Ancients did not begin their Stories, as we do now, but with a Proverb of a certain wise Man, whom they called Cato; who said, That Evil was for him, that Evil thought; which is as pat to your purpose, as a Pudding for a Frier's Mouth; by which you are adviz'd not to wake a sleeping Lion, and that we ought to take another Road, since no body forces us to keep this, where all the Devils in Hell seem to tarry for us. prithee go on with thy Story, cried Don Quixote, and for the Road, leave that to my Discretion.  
I say then, quo Sancho, that in a certain part of Estremadura, there lived a certain Shepherd, or rather, Goat-herd, in regard he kept Goats: Which Shepherd, or rather Goat-herd, as the Story goes, was called Lopez Ruyz; and this Shepherd Lopez Ruyz was in love with a fair Shepherdess, whose Name was La Toralva; which Shepherdess, whose Name was La Toralva, was the Daughter of a certain wealthy Shepherd; which wealthy Shepherd had a great number of Sheep— If thou tell'st thy Tale, quo Don Quixote, interrupting him, and makest so many Repetitions of the same thing, thou't not ha' done this Fortnight: prithee tell thy Story like a Man o' Sense, or let it alone. Why, replied Sancho, they always tell their Stories o' this Fashion in our country; nor do I know how to tell it otherwise, neither am I willing to introduce new Customs. prithee then tell it how thou wilt, replied Don Quixote. Know then, my dear Master, continued Sancho, that this Shepherd was enamoured of the Shepherdess Toralva, who was a young Girl, well trussed, wild and froppish, and partaking somewhat of the Masculine Gender, having a kind of a Beard upon her upper Lip; for me-thinks I see her now as perfectly, as if she were here before me. Why then it seems thou knewest her, quo Don Quixote. Not so neither, but he that  told me the Story, affirmed it for so great a Truth, that he assured me, when I  told it again, I might safely swear I had seen her— Well— Sir, but you know Days go and come; and so it happened, that after several Days coming and going, the Devil, who never sleeps, but will have a Finger in every Pie, so brought it about, that the Shepherd fell out with his Sweet-heart, insomuch that he changed his Love into mortal Hatred: And the Reason of it was, by the Relation of certain scandalous Tale-bearers, that bare no good Will to either Party, because the Shepherd thought the Shepherdess no better then she should be; or as we say, that is, she was one, that if ye give her an Inch, would take an Ell. Thereupon the Shepherd being immeasurably grieved and discontented, resolved to abandon his Shepherdess for ever; and that he might by his Absence quiter extirpate her out of his Memory, he farther determined to go into another country, where his Eyes might never see her more. On the other side, Toralva finding her self forsak'n by the Shepherd, began to love the Person, which before she had with so much Cruelty despised, and that with a more then ordinary Passion.  
That's the Nature of Women, quo Don Quixote, interrupting him, to scorn those that love 'em, and to love those that contemn' em. Proceed, Sancho— With these Resolutions then, quo Sancho, the Shepherd driving his Goats before him, directed his Course toward the Kingdom of Portugal. Toralva having a long Nose, smelled his Design, and followed him bare-foot and bare-legg'd, with her Shoes in one Hand, a Pilgrim's Staff i' the other, and a little Wallet at her Back, wherein she carried a piece of a Looking glass, half a Comb, a Box of Paint, and some other baubles to prank up her self. But let her carry what she pleased, that's nothing to me. This is certain, that at length the Shepherd Lopez Ruyz arrived at the Banks of the River Guadiana, when the Waters were up so high that there was no passing: which was so much the greater Vexation to him, because he perceived Toralva at his Heels, and feared to be plagued with her Tears and Lamentations. At length he descried a Fisher-man in a little Boat, but so little, that it would carry no more then one Man, and one Goat at a time. But Necessity has no Law, and therefore he was forced to give the Fisher-man his own Rates to carry him, and his three-hundred Goats over the River. The Bargain being struck, the Fisher-man came with his Boat, and carried over one Goat, there was one; then he came again, and fetched another, there was two; then he return'd and fetched another, there was three. And now, Sir, quo Sancho to his Master, be sure you keep a just account how many Goats the Fisher-man carrys over; for unless you are very exact in your Tale, my Tale will be at an end, and the Devil a word can I say more. Now the landing-place on the other side of the River was very slippery and muddy, which was the Reason that the Fisher-man was a long time before he could go and come. But for all that, he first carried over one Goat, then another, and then another.  
prithee, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, why canst thou not say in few words, the Fisher-man carried 'em all over, and so go on with thy Story?  
Pray Sir, let me alone, quo Sancho, how many has the Fisher-man carried over already? Nay, who the Devil knows, quo Don Quixote, dost think I took an account? Why there's the Mischief on't, your Negligence has put an end to my Story, and now you may go hang yourself for the rest. Hey-day, quo Don Quixote, is it so essential to the Story, that you can't go on, if one of the Goats be missing? 'tis very true, replied Sancho, for between my Answer and your Question, the Story slipped quiter and clean out of my Memory; and by my Faith 'twas a thousand Pities, for 'twas an incomparable one, if I have any Skill. Why, and must the Story end here then, quo Don Quixote? No more to be fetched to life again, then my Mother, quo Sancho. By my troth, quo Don Quixote, a most learned Story, and as learnedly  told. However, 'twas no more then I expected from such a Block-head as thou art. But why do I fret myself about thy Follies? Let's see whether Rosinante be in humour, or no; that's more to our purpose. With that he gave Rosinante two spurs, and the high-mettl'd Jade answered with one Bound, and no more, having his Hind-legs still shackl'd to Sancho's Ass.  
At the same time, whether it were the Coolness of the Night, or that Sancho had eat'n any laxative Food at Supper, or whether it were the Indulgence of Nature, always kind to Sancho; a Necessity encroached upon him of doing that which no body could do for him; but such were his Fears, that he durst not stir a Straw's breadth from his Master. In this miserable Exigency he took his right Hand from the Crupper of the Saddle, and untying his Codpiece-point, let fall his Breeches, and exposed his broad Buttocks to the Air; but the main business was how to do his Business gently without making a Noise; to which purpose he tried the various Ways of clutching his Teeth close, shrinking up his Shoulders, and holding his Breath. But alas! the Air that could not find passage one way, finding the other op'n, burst forth with a Thunder-clap, quiter different from all the Noises they had yet heard. Hark, quo Don Quixote, what more Noises yet? Some new Adventure I'll warrant ye, cried Don Quixote, for the Devil has always five Acts to his Play. With that, Sancho tried t'other Strain, which succeeded so well, that without the least rumbling or grumbling at all, he discharged his whole Cargo, to the Ease both of Mind and Body.  
'tis true, Don Quixote's Hearing was better then his Smelling; beside that, Sancho stood between him and Danger. Nevertheless, certain Fumes that ascended perpendicularly, failed not to inform him of Sancho's Unmannerliness. No sooner were his Nostrils filled, but holding his Nose with his Finger, as his Parents had taught him before; Sancho, said he, most assuredly thou art in great bodily Fears. 'tis very true, replied Sancho; but pray, Sir, whence is this Discovery more now, then all this while? Because, quo Don Quixote, thou didst not smell so strong, as now thou dost. You may thank yourself for it, quo Sancho, for 'tis my Attendance upon your Worship that disorders my Body, and causes me to catch could. prithee, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, keep a little farther off, three or four Yards at least; and for the future take more care, and know your distance; for I find my too much Liberty has bread Contempt. I warrant, quo Sancho, your Worship believes I ha' done something, which I ought not to ha' done. I care not what y' have done, replied Don Quixote, but I bid thee once more keep at a distance.  
This Discourse was none of the cleanliest, you'l say, however it served i' the Dark, nor did it longer continue; for Sancho perceiving the approach of down, presently untied Rosinante, who finding himself at liberty▪ paw'd the Ground with his fore Feet, which Don Quixote took for a good Omen.  
And now the bright Aurora displaying her purple Mantle o'er the Face of the Sky, Don Quixote found himself in a Chest-nut Grove, not able as yet however, to guess the meaning of that wicked Noise that still perplexed his Ears. And therefore being fully determined to find it out, he took a second last leave of his dear Sancho, with the same Orders as before, as well in Reference to himself, as the matchless Dulcinea; adding withal, that he should not trouble himself about the recompense of his Services, for that, before he left home, he had made his Will, where he should find himself proportionably considered with the rest of his Relations; but if he succeeded in his Adventure, that then he should not need to take any farther care for Happiness i' this World.  
Sancho could not refrain blubbering to hear the tender Expressions of his Master, and at length melting into a shower of Tears, he swore to accompany him in the enterprise, tho he were sure never to return. From which laudable Resolution of his the Historian gathers, That the Squire was something of a Gentleman born, or at least an old Christian: And he wrought wonderfully upon Don Quixote's good Nature, tho he durst not show it at a time, when it behoved him to banish all Thoughts of Tenderness and Effeminacy. For now he road directly where the Noise of the terrible Thumps and Blows lead him, while Sancho followed close at his Heels, leading by the Halter the faithful Companion of his bad and good Fortune.  
In this posture they kept on for some time, under a delightful Coverture of Chest-nut Trees; till at length they came into a Meadow joining to certain Rocks, from the top of which there was a great fall of Waters, that made out one part of the Discovery. At the foot of those Rocks they discovered certain old Cottages, or rather, the ruins of Cottages; and thence it was, that those frightful Sounds of Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, were first observed to break the Air. A Noise so terrible, that it frighted both Man and Beast. For Rosinante, patient Rosinante himself, could not bear it, but began to snort and prick up his Ears, till Don Quixote hearten'd him on by clapping him o' the Neck, and giving him good Words; So, so— So, so— Rosinante— So, so—; and having by that means pacified the best natured Horse i' the World, by degrees he drew nearer and nearer to the Cause of their Terror, recommending himself all the way to his matchless Dulcinea; and imploring her Protection in this perilous Adventure, with now and then a short Lord ha' mercy upon me, by the bye. When of a sudden coming to double the Point of a Rock, he discovered the fatal Original of all his own Anxieties, and Sancho's Tribulation that Night; for behold, six huge Fulling-mill Hammers, interchangeably thumping the the poor Cloth, that it was a lamentable Sight to see.  
Don Quixote at the first sight of such an unexpected Spectacle, sate like a mere Statue, ready to drop from his Horse. Sancho likewise beholded him hanging his Head like a Daffa-down-dilly, and drooping like a Man o'rewhelm'd with Grief and Despair. On the other side Don Quixote looked upon Sancho, and observing in his Blubber Cheeks, a vehement Inclination to laughter, he could not forbear smiling himself, notwithstanding the Extremity of his Vexation. So that Sancho, overjoyed to find himself at Liberty, let loose the Reins of his Mirth, and exercised his Spleen with so much Violence, that he was forced to hold his aching Sides, for fear his Kidneys should drop out.  
But nothing made Don Quixote so mad, as Sancho's Audaciousness, who staring him i' the Face, began to repeat with great Formality, the Beginning of his Master's Speech, preparative to this Adventure; Know, Friend Sancho, that I was born to restore the Golden Age, &c. But Don Quixote in a damned dogged Humour already, not brooking the Sauciness of his Squire, resolved to correct him, and with his Lance gave him two such Remembrances upon the Shoulders, that had they litt upon his Pate, they had discharged his Master of all his Island-promises, unless obliged to his Heirs, and Executors. Thereupon Sancho, finding his Drollery would not take, begged his Master's Pardon, with all Submission; adding farther, That what he did, was only to make his Worship merry. I like no such Jesting, replied Don Quixote— And now pray come hither, good Mr. Jack-pudding, I would fain know, whether I did not show as much Courage upon this false Alarum, as if it had been a real Adventure? Am I bound to understand all the Sounds I hear, or to distinguish between the Thumps of a Fulling-mill, and the Justing of two Knights in Combat? But suppose the Fulling-mills had been as many Giants, and that they had set upon me either single or altogether, I had not much valued it; if I had not delivered 'em all headless into thy Hands, then I would have given thee leave to have flouted me into a Needle-case?  
Sir, quo Sancho, I confess I have been too gamesome, and I aclowledge my Offence. But I beseech ye, Sir, since we are reconciled, tell me in sober Sadness, as you hope that heaven shall preserve you in other Adventures, as in this; Do you not believe but that the Fright that we were in, I mean that I was in, would be a pleasant Subject for a merry Ballad, or so; or for half a dozen Knight-Errants to sport with over their Cups? I grant, replied Don Quixote, that the Accident would make a good Scene of Mirth, but I do not think it fit to be made too public in Farces and Rhyme-Doggerels; for all People are not so discreet as to make a right use of things.' Fore-George, Sir, that cannot be said of you, for you understand how to make use of your Lance the best of any Man i' the World, only that when you aim at the Head, you hit the Shoulders; but that was none of your Fault: for had I not ducked a little o' one side, I know what had become of me. But let that pass: A good Master may be choleric sometimes, but the next Day after a Basting, he always gives his Man an old Pair of cast Breeches; and I cannot imagine, that a Knight-Errant, after the chastising of a Squire, can give him less then a Cast iceland, or an old-fashioned Kingdom upon the Continent.  
Hark thee, quo Don Quixote, Fortune may so bring it to pass that thou mayst have thy Desire. In the mean time, pardon my Severity; for thou knowst that a Man is not always Master of his own Passions. On the other side, I advice thee for the future, not to be saucy, and to allow thyself that Freedom, which I must not, nor cannot endure. I never red in any Romance of any Squire that ever talked so impudently to his Master, as thou dost. So that Gandalin, who was Amadis de Gaul's Squire, tho Earl of the Firm-Island, never spoken to his Master, but with his Hat in his Hand, his Chin in his Breast, and his Body half bent, after the Turkish Fashion. But what shall we say of Gasabal, Don Galaor's Squire, who was a Man of that Silence, that he gives the Author Occasion to name him but once in all that long Story. And this I speak, Sancho, to let thee know, that there ought to be a Difference between the Master and the Man. As for the Rewards I promised thee, they will come in due time; or if they never come, thou hast no reason to question thy Salary.  
'tis very true what you say, replied Don Sancho, and I thank your Worship. But now, Sir, suppose no Rewards should come, and that a Squire should be forced to stick to his Salary, pray, Sir, be so kind as to tell me, how much a Knight-Errant's Squire did get in former times? And whether they agreed by the Month or the Day? I do not believe, quo Don Quixote, that ever they came to any Agreement, but that they stood to their Masters courtesy. And if I have allowed thee Wages in my Will, 'twas only because I knew not what Success Chivalry mght have in these Times; and I would not have my Soul suffer in Purgatory for such a small Trifle as thy Wages. For the Life of a Knight-Errant is such as subjects him to continual Terrors and Dangers. So it seems, quo Don Sancho, when the Hammers of a Fulling mill are sufficient to disturb and dismay the Heart of such a valiant Champion as yourself. But be assured, Sir, for the future, I shall never open my Lips to droll upon your Actions, but always speak honourably and respectfully of your Person, as being my Lord and Master. That's the way to live long and happily upon the Earth, replied the Champion, for next our Parents, we ought to respect and obey our Masters.   

CHAP. VII.  
Of the winning of Mambrino's Helmet.  
WHile they were thus confabulating, there fell a smart Shower of Rain; upon which Sancho would fain have retired under one of the Fulling-houses. But Don Quixote had conceived such a mortal Antipathy against Fulling-mills, for the shane they had put upon him, that you might as well persuade some Men to eat Cheese, or handle a Cat, as reconcile Don Quixote to a Fulling-mill. And therefore turning into a High-way upon the right-hand, he had not ridd'n far, before he descried a Horse-man that wore upon his Head something that glister'd like Gold. Immediately Don Quixote, turning to his Squire, Friend Sancho, said he, dost thou not know, that there is nothing so true, as the Truth of Proverbs; for instance, that of, One Door shuts, and another opens. And thus, if we were last Night deceived by the Noise of that confounded Fulling-mill, here is now a more certain Adventure offers itself, the Gaining of which, will be double the Profit, and double the Honour. In a word, in all probability, yonder comes the present Possessor of Mambrino's Helmet; and thou know'st the Vow which I have made. Sir, answered Sancho, mind what ye say, and take heed what ye do: For I would willingly preserve my Ribs, and the Seat of my Understanding from Fulling-hammers. The Devil take thee with thy Fulling-mills, quo D. Quixote, as if there were no difference between a Fulling-mill and a Helmet. I don't deny it, quo Sancho, and yet if I durst speak as freely as I was wont to do, I would undertake to prove your Worship under a great Mistake. Scrupulous Traitor, as thou art, How can I be deceived in what I say? Why, prithee look with thine own Eyes— Can there be any thing more plain then yonder Knight that comes riding up directly toward us upon a dapple grey stead, with a glist'ring Helmet of Gold upon his Head? I see him over and over, replied Sancho; and I see him to be a kind of plain Fellow upon a grey Ass, such another as mine; and it is as true that he carries something upon his Head that shines, but no more like a Helmet, then a Shoeing-horn. I tell thee, that's Mambrino's Helmet, replied Don Quixote; and therefore stand thou at a distance, thou shalt see, that without trifling away time in vain Discourse, I'll finish this Adventure, and win this famous Helmet, e're a Cat can lick her Ear. I am easily persuaded to stand at a distance, replied Sancho, but I wish to Heaven, you may not meet with another sort of Fulling-mills. I have warned ye already, Mr. Sauce-box, replied Don Quixote, in a confounded Rage, let me hear no more of the Fulling-mills; for if I do, may I never prosper, if I do not break thy Pate, and trample thy very Soul out of thy Body. Thereupon, Sancho, unwilling his Master should fulfil his Vows upon his carcase, put a Padlock upon his Lips.  
Now the Truth of the Story was this: There were two little Villages in that Corner of the Province, of which the one had neither Barber nor cobbler in it: So that the Barber of the larger Village, who was also a Blood-letter, and a Tooth-drawer, supplied all those Parts. Now it happened, that in the lesser Village there were two Persons, the one that wanted the breathing of a Vein, and another that had Occasion to be trimmed. Thither therefore the Barber was going, and being overtak'n by the Rain, clapped his new-scour'd basin upon his new Hat to preserve it from the wet; and for hast also he road upon a grey Mule. All which proved fatal for the Barber, as having heightened Don Quixote's Fancy to take him for a Knight upon a dapple-grey Horse, with a Helmet of Gold. So soon therefore as the supposed Knight drew near, away he flew like a bide, with his Lance couched upon his Thigh, resolving to spit the poor Barber through the Heart, Lungs and all; crying out in the midst of his Career, Caitiff, Wretch, defend thyself, or yield me that which is so justly my Due. The Barber, who saw him come thundering upon him at such a rate, like an Apparition, not knowing why, nor wherefore, had no other way to avoid the fatal Stroke, but by throwing himself off from his Ass to the Ground; and being as soon up as down, away he run o'er the Fields as swift as a new-started Hare, leaving his Ass and his basin behind. Don Quixote being thus Lord of the basin, had his Heart's Desire, and turning about to his Squire, The Pagan, quo he, has shew'd himself to be very discreet, following the Example of the Beaver, who finding himself hotly pursued by the Hunters, nips off his Civet-Box, which they seek for, to save his Life. Alight therefore, and fetch me the Helmet. By my Soul, quo Sancho, viewing the supposed Helmet, this is no inconsiderable basin, being as well worth a Crown, as four Farthings. And so saying, he gave it to his Master, who immediately put it upon his Head, and turning it round and round to find out the Vizor; By the Mass, quo he, the Pagan that wore this Helmet had a plaguy Jolt-head of his own; and which is worse, there is one half of it wanting. Sancho could not forbear smiling to hear his Master call the Barber's basin a Helmet, and had laughed out-right, but that he was afraid of his Shoulders. What does the Fool twitter at, quo Don Quixote? I cannot but smile, replied Sancho, to see what a Saracen's-Head without Newgate, the Owner of that Helmet had, which is as like a Barber's basin, as ever I saw two Drops of Water one like another. My Thoughts are, replied Don Quixote, that this enchanted Helmet has fallen into the Hands of some ignorant Sots, that did not know the value of it; but finding it to be of pure Gold, they melted the one half and sold it, and of the other half they made this Scull-piece to go a Training upon Artillery-daies. But however it were, to me that know the worth of it, the Alteration of it signifies little; I'll have a Vizor fixed to it, and then I will not leave it for the Head-piece which Vulcan forged for the God of War. In the mean time I'll wear it as it is, 'tis better then nothing, tho it be only to keep off a shower of Stones. That 'twill certainly, quo Sancho, if they be not hurled out of a Sling, as when your Worship lost your Cheek-teeth, and had your Balsom-pot struck out of your Fist. That signifies nothing, quo Don Quixote, so long as I have the Receipt: So have I too, quo Sancho, but if ever I make it, much less take it again, may my Guts burst like the Idols of Bell, and the Dragon. In good troth, I intend henceforward to employ all my five Senses to prevent my being wounded. As for my being tossed in a Blanket, 'twas an Accident I could not help; and if it befall me again, I know how to shrink up my Shoulders, hold my Breath, and shut my Eyes, and then Happy-be-lucky, let the Blanket and Fortune deal by me as they see good. Certainly, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou art no good Christian, thou art so apt to remember injuries. 'tis below a generous Soul to mind such Trifles. prithee, where art lame? Which of thy Ribs is brok'n, or where is thy skull bruised, that thou canst never think upon that same Jest, without Malice? For to say Truth, 'twas no more then a piece of Pastime; for had I looked upon it otherwise, I had return'd and made more bloody Work in revenge of the Abuse, then ever the Grecians made before Troy for Helena's sake. But alas! quo he, fetching a deep Sigh, she had never had that Reputation for Beauty, had she been alive in this Age, or if my Dulcinea had lived in hers. Well then, said Sancho, let it pass for a Jest, since no body will revenge it in earnest. And now, Sir, a little of your Directions to know what we shall do with this Dapple-grey Nag, so like an Ass, which the dismounted Fugitive has here left behind him, with as little Right, for ought I know, to the Horse, as he had to the Helmet; and by my Beard, the Grey Horse is the better Ass.  
'tis not my Custom, replied Don Quixote, to plunder those that I vanquish; nor do the Laws of Chivalry permit it, unless the Victor hath lost his own Horse i'the Combat. And therefore, Sancho, leave the Horse, or the Ass, which thou wilt; he that has lost it, will be sure to look after it, when he finds the cost clear. But should I only exchange it for my own, which is not so good, what then, quo Sancho? What-a-pox! are the Laws of Chivalry so severe, that a Man must not exchange one Ass for another? or at least, let me exchange the Furniture? In that Case I will not be so confident, answered Don Quixote; and therefore( till I am better informed) I give thee leave to change the Furniture, especially if thy Wants be very urgent. So urgent, replied Sancho, that as it is for my own proper Person, they cannot be greater. Thus Sancho, doubly authorized by his Master's leave, and the Proverb of Exchange is no Robbery, took all the Bona mobilia of the Prize-Ass ( praeter ipsum corpus) and trimmed up his own Beast, that was now grown so fine, that she hardly knew her self, nor her Master, so disdainfully she carried her self.  
This done, they breakfasted upon what they left at Supper; and having made quick dispatch, up they got again, and like true Knights-Errant, never minding their way, left it to Rosinante's Discretion to make choice of his own way; who in a short time brought 'em into the High-road again, where they kept on a slow place at a venture, as having no farther Design i' their Pates at present.  
Being thus at leisure, quo Sancho, to his Master, may not you and I have a little Discourse together? for since you laid upon me that severe Injunction of Silence, I have had three or four excellent Conceits, that have putrify'd i' my Stomach, and now I have one at my Tongue's end, that I would fain preserve from such an untimely Disaster. Out with it, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, but in few words, for tedious Hum-drum cloys the Ear.  
Why then, Sir, quo Sancho, I have been considering how vainly we spend our time, while we search up and down through Forests and deserts for Adventures, which if it be your fortune successfully to accomplish, you gain neither Honour nor Profit by all your good Designs or valiant Exploits, as being unseen and unknown to the World. And therefore I should think it much better( with Submission to your better judgement) that we should put ourselves into the Service of some Emperor, or other potent Prince, in War with their Neighbours, where you might meet with public Opportunities to signalise your Valour, and your Conduct. So shall we both be rewarded in time according to our Merit, and you shall have a shoal of Historians that will kiss your back-side for leave to transmit your Renowned achievements to Posterity. I speak not of my own Acts; for I know they are not to be measured with the same Yard as yours; nor is it for the Snail to creep out of it's shell: Tho I make no question, but that my Name will now and then be inserted by the bye, as the Names of other Squires have been.  
This is not ill offered of thee, quo Don Quixote: But first of all, it behoves us to spend some time in compassing the World, as Probationers, in search of Adventures, thereby to spread abroad the Renown of our Invincible achievements. For then those Harbingers of famed will gain us such Reputation and Reception in the Courts of Great Princes, that we shall hardly be able to pass the Streets for the crowds of Boys and Children, pointing and crying out, There Rides the Knight of the Sun, or the Serpent, or the ill-favoured Countenance; or what ever other Title it be that the Knight takes upon him. This is he, they'l cry, that vanquished in single Combat the Giant Brocambruno, surnamed the Invincible. This is he that freed the great Mammaluke of Persia from the Enchantment, which had kept him in durance for Nine hundred Years together. So that upon this Noise and Tumult in the Street, the King will be sure to look out of his Window, and knowing the Knight by the Colour of his armor, or the Device upon his Shield, he'l presently sand the chiefest of his Nobles to receive the Flower of Chivalry, that is come to wait upon him. Away they go and bring him in, and the King meets him half way the Stairs, where he embraces his valiant Guest, and kisses his Cheek. Then taking him by the Hand, he leads him directly to the Queens Chamber, where at the same time he sees the Infanta her Daughter; who ought to be the fairest and most perfect Creature i' the World. At the same time it will so fall out( by the inevitable Appointment of Fate, that never loves to spoil a good Story) that the Knight and the Princess shall cast an Eye one upon the other, admire one another as Persons rather Divine then human; and all of a sudden, not knowing any Reason why or wherefore, shall fall most desperately in Love one with another, and be both almost out of their wits for want of an Opportunity to discover their Passions one to another.  
Then they shall attend the Knight to his Chamber, one of the fairest apartments in all the Palace, and furnished with the richest Furniture the King has: Where after they have helped him off with his armor, they will bring him a costly Vestment of Scarlet, embroidered by the Infanta's own Hands; and if he looked so majestic in his armor, how lovely will he appear in the Habit of a Courtier?  
Night being come, he shall Sup with the Family-Royal, and shall always have his Eyes fixed upon the Infanta; yet so, as no body shall take notice of it.  
After Supper another strange Spectacle shall surprise him. Enter first, a little Dwarf, and after him a Lady of matchless Beauty, between two Giants, with a certain Adventure so contrived by an old Sorcerer, and so difficult to be performed, that he who carries away the Bell, shall be accounted the best Knight in the World. Then it is the King's pleasure that all his Courtiers shall try their Prowess: But they had as good throw their Caps against the Wind; for the Honour is reserved for the Valiant Stranger, who does the business with a jerk. And then the Infanta shall be overjoyed, and deem her self the most happy Creature upon Earth, for having so discreetly placed her Affections. Then comes the Cream o' the Jest; for this King, or this Emperor is in War with one of his Neighbours, as Powerful as himself: Which the Knight understanding, offers to serve him in his Wars; to which the King condescends with Heart and Good will; and the Knight bows, and kisses his Hand, in acknowledgement of so great a Favour.  
That Night the Champion takes leave of the Infanta at the Iron grace before her Chamber Window looking into the Garden, by means of a Confident of the Infanta's, that carries on the Intrigue between' em. The Knight weeps, the Lady swoons, the Confident runs for could Water to dash in her Face. Then she comes to Life again, and gives out her lily white Hand for the Knight to kiss, which he does a thousand and a thousand times over, bathing it all the while in his Tears. Then exchanging Hearts, the Knight shall take hers, and the Infanta shall take his; for her Heart shall do well enough in his breast: But the Infanta will want his, considering the Sorrows and Afflictions which she is to endure for his sake.  
Then they shall part in time; for if the meeting should be known, 'tis as much as the Lady Confident's place is worth, and the forfeiture beside of the Infanta and the knights Lives. Then the Infanta shall desire the Knight not to miss a Post, but to writ to her as often as he can; which the Knight shall swear to perform.  
Then the Knight shall retire to his Chamber, and throw himself upon his Bed, where it shall be impossible for him to close his Eyes. So soon as it is day, he goes to take his leave of the Queen, and desires to kiss the Infanta's Hands too; but she sends him word that she is indisposed: However, the Knight and she understand one another, and so that passes for nothing.  
And now the Knight being absent for some time, Challenges the Kings Enemies; fights, vanquishes, subdues, takes I know not how many Cities, wins I know not how many Battels, returns to Court, and appears before his Mistress laden with Honour. He visits her at the window-Grate, as before; and there they agree together that the Knight shall demand her in Marriage, as the recompense of his Service. The King will by no means hear with that Ear, not knowing but that the Knight may be the Son of a Costermonger, for ought he knows. However, whether the Knight steal her, or how he comes by her, I know not, the Infanta and he go to Dukes Place, and are there privately married. The King fumes; the King is pleased; for by and by he discovers him to be the Son of as great a Prince, no Disparagement to him, as himself. Then Feastings and Triumphs, Tournaments and Tiltings, and the new-marry'd Knight carries the day from all the rest. Sometime after, the King dies, the Infanta is Heiress; and thus the Knight comes to be a King. Then the Knight begins to think of rewarding his Squire, by Marrying him to the Infanta's Confident, who had been privy to his Amours, and proves the Daughter of one of the most considerable Dukes i' the Kingdom.  
Godsniggers, quo Sancho, that's the thing I ha' been looking for all this while— Give me but the Infanta's Gentlewoman, and let the World go which way it will. O' my Soul, Sir, you have red your own Destiny; every thing will happen to ye step by step, as you have stated the matter, would you but take upon ye the Name of the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance.  
No question of it, Boy, replied Don Quixote; for this is the direct Road of Knight-Errantry, as strait as ye can lay a line, to Empires and Kingdoms. And therefore we have nothing more to do, but to find out some Potent Prince, that is at War with his Neighbours, and has a fair Daughter. But there is one thing that troubles me more then that, which is a Secret between thee and me; that is to say, when I have found out a Prince and an Infanta, how the Devil I shall make myself out to be of an Illustrious Descent, if it were but the Natural Son of some Emperor. For unless I make out one of these two things, the King will as soon give me a Halter, as his Daughter, tho I should out-do Hercules himself; and is it not great pity a man should lose such vast Advantages for such a Trifle as this? That I am a Gentleman, and of an Ancient Pedigree, is well known; and there are Heralds, if a Man could meet with 'em, that for a small Sum of Money would soon make me the fifth or sixth at least in Descent from a King. For, Sancho, there are two sorts of Originals. Some there are who Descended at first from the loins of Princes, whose Families by Conquest, loss of their Territories, and other Malignities of Fortune, became obscure, till at last they end in a point like a Pyramid. Others there are, who from mean and low Descents, still mount and mount, till at length they come to sit upon the highest pinnacles of Grandeur. That is to say, some were what they are not; and others are not what they were. And thus, tho I am not what I was, yet if I am what I was not, it might be sufficient to content any Father-in-law i' the World. And what if I were the Son of a Tankard-Bearer, if the Infanta be so desperately in Love with me, that she Marries me in spite of her Fathers teeth? Or if she stand upon her Punctilio's, 'tis but hurrying away in a Coach and Six, and carrying her out of reach, till Time or Death shall put an end to the Persecutions of my Father-in-law.  
In good soothe, Sir, replied Sancho, you speak like a Man of Sense; Possession is nine Points o' the Law: And it is a Proverb among your Bully-Rocks, Never seek that by fair means, which thou canst get by foul. Nor is it Prudence for a Man to stay, till his Breech lies upon the ground between two Stools. So that if the King your Father-in-law refuse to let ye have his Daughter with free consent, as your Lordship observes very well, you ought in plain English to run away with her. All the mischief that I fear is only this, that while you are making your Peace with your Father-in-law, or expecting his death, the poor Squire shall be at a loss how to set his Grinders at work; and perhaps shall be forced to starve in the midst of his vast Expectations. And yet, if the Lady-Confident will but be so kind as to run away with the Infanta, I know no reason but the Knight may make up the Match without any more ado. There's no doubt on't, replied Don Quixote. Why then let the Bowl run, who knows but that it may hit the Jack, quo Sancho. Why then, quo Don Quixote, let me ha' my wishes, and thou thy desires, and hang up all tender Consciences. Why truly, quo Sancho, I am a wet Christian, and is not that enough for a Lord? And more then enough too, quo Don Quixote; for suppose thou wert no Christian at all, being a King, I could make thee a Lord when I please; and then Men must call thee Right Honourable with their Lips, what ere they think i' their Hearts. Well, Sir, quo Sancho, then I beseech ye get you to be a King, and make me a Lord, and you shall see I'll shave my Beard, and become my Place as well as the proudest Upstart of 'em all.  
At the end of this Discourse, Don Quixote casting up his Eyes, beholded a sight, which produced the following Adventure.   

CHAP. VIII.  
How Don Quixote released a great number of miserable Wretches which their Masters were driving to a place against their wills.  
THE Great Cid Hamet Benengeli, the Famous Arabian and Manchegan Author, reports in his grave, lofty, pleasant, merry-conceited Story, that after the long and learned Discourse between Sancho and his Master, Don Quixote lifting up his Eyes, saw to the number of about twenty Persons, all in a row one behind another, like Beads upon a string, who being linked together, with every one a Sausage of Iron about his Neck, and manacl'd to boot, came saunter, saunter along, till they met each other full butt. They were also guarded by two arquebusiers a Horse-back, and two Men armed with Swords and Javelins. So soon as Sancho spied 'em, What have we got here, quo he? o' my Life, a company of Rogues condemned and forced to the Gallies. How, forced, quo Don Quixote? Can the King offer violence to any Man? I mean, Sir, quo Sancho, Fellows condemned for their Crimes to serve the King in his Gallies. However, quo Don Quixote, in that sense they are forced, because they do not go of their own free-Will. That, I dare swear they don't, quo Sancho. If it be so, quo Don Quixote, then they come within the Verge of my Profession, which is, to prevent Violence, and succour the Miserable. What then, Sir, quo Sancho, you cannot reckon these Fellows to be oppressed, that are condemned by the Law and Justice.  
By that time the Chain drew near, and then Don Quixote in very civil Language desired the Guards to inform him, why the poor People were so severely chained and fettered? Sir, answered one of the Horse-men, these are Criminals going to serve the King in his Gallies; which is all I know, nor do I think it proper for you to know any more. However, replied Don Quixote, I think you will highly oblige me, to let me inform myself from every particular Person, of the cause of his Misfortune. Why, Sir, quo t' other Horse-man, if you think fit to Examine 'em yourself, you'l find they'l give ye Satisfaction; for they are such honest People, they are not ashamed to boast of their Rogueries.  
With this good leave, which Don Quixote would have taken of himself, had they denied him, he road up to the Chain, and asked the first, Wherefore he was so severely loaded? To whom the Fellow made answer, 'twas for being in Love. In Love! quo Don Quixote— and is that all? Bodikins! if all that were in Love, were to be thus punished, I had rowed i' the Gallies long before this. I do not mean, quo the prisoner, as you mean. 'twas for being in love with a Hamper of linen; with which I was so in love, that had not the Judges of the Sessions taken it from me, I had hugged it i' my Embraces to this hour. In short, I was taken in the Fact; there was no need of Proofs: I was condemned, had my shoulders powdered with Whip-cord Spots, and when I have mowed the great Meadow for three Years together, then my Work's done What d' ye mean by mowing the great Meadow? Why, that's rowing i' the Gallies, replied the Slave, who was a young Rogue of about four and twenty Years of Age.  
Then Don Quixote put the same Question to the Second, who was so melancholy, that he would not make any Answer. But the first Slip-string undertaking to be his Spokesman, to spare him a Labour; This, said he, is a Canary-Mere-maid, that goes to the Gallies for having sung too much. How! quo Don Quixote— What do they sand Musicians to the Gallies too? Yes, Sir, answered the Slave, because there is nothing more dangerous, then to sing in Affliction. How! quo Don Quixote, that's contrary to the Proverb, And some for Sorrow sing. Oh, Sir! quo the Slave, 'tis quiter otherwise with us; he that sings, shall weep all his life-time afterwards. I profess, quo Don Quixote, I do not understand ye. Sir, said one of the Guards, singing among these Newgate-birds, is taken for confessing at the Rack. This fellow was put to the Rack, and confessed his Crime, which was nothing but Horse stealing; and because he sung, that is confessed, he is condemned to the Gallies for six years, besides a hundred Lashes paid him down upon the Nail in ready Cash. And the reason why you see that Fellow so melancholy, and cast down, is only because his Companions will never let him be at rest, but jeer and laugh at him continually for his want of Resolution to suffer and deny; as if it had not been as easy for him to have said No, as Yes: Or, as if a Criminal were not a happy Man that could depend upon his own Tongue to save his Life, without being beholding to Counter-proofs and Witnesses for the Prisoner.  
Thence Don Quixote passing to the Third; and You, said he, What have you done? Who, without much Entreaty, and no less merry in his Answer; I, Sir, go to the Gallies for want of ten Guinies. I would give twenty with all my Heart, quo Don Quixote, to see thee well discharged. 'tis too late, Gaffer, quo the Slave, 'tis just like the Proverb, After Meat comes Mustard. Had I had the twenty Guinies you offer me, when I was in Prison, to have greas'd the Keeper of Newgate's Fist, I might have been walking now upon the Change as free as a Turky-Merchant, and ne're ha' come to have been lead along in a String like an Irish-Grey-hound. But Patience; every thing has its Season.  
From him Don Quixote turned to the Fourth, and put him the same Interrogatory. But he was sullen, and would give him no Answer; so that the next behind him was forced to lend him his Tongue. This venerable Monsieur Grey-beard, said he, is condemned to the Gallies for four Years, having already stood at Westminster, Temple-bar, and Cheapside, with a wooden Ruff about his Neck. He was the chief Ranger of Whetston's-Park; besides that, he had a smack of Conjuring and Fortune-telling, which he abused to the loss of many a Maiden-head. For that I have nothing to say, quo Don Quixote; but had he been only a private Conveyer of Billet-Doux's, he ought not to go to the Gallies, unless it were to be General of the Fleet. For to be a Messenger of Billet-Doux's requires a great deal of Prudence and Sagacity; o' my word, 'tis a weighty Employment, not to be committed to idle Huswives, lackeys, and rascally People; as being an Employment of Trust and Weight, then which there can be nothing more necessary in a well-regulated Common-wealth. So that I should have been hearty sorry to see this venerable Seer in such Distress, for being a Pimp only, had it not been for criminal Additions of Conjurer, and Fortune-teller; tho I do not believe that Charms and Spells have any Power to alter the Will, whatever a Company of silly ignorant People think; for Man has a Liberty of Determination, no way to be controlled by the force of Herbs or Enchantments.  
'tis very true, replied the Old Man, and as to my Charge of being a Witch or Sorcerer, I am as innocent as the Child unborn; but as for the Business of Pimping, I do not deny it; but I never took it to be a Crime, for my Intention was, that People should enjoy each other's Society, and live in Friendship one with another. But my harmless Design has served me to no other Purpose, then to sand me to a Place from whence I shall never return, considering my Age; besides that, I am tormented with the Strangury to boot. And having so said, the poor Old Man fell o' weeping; which melted Sancho's Heart in such a manner, that he out with his Pouch, and gave him a Harry-Groat.  
Then Don Quixote examined the Fifth, who seemed to be nothing at all concerned. I go to serve his Majesty, said he, for my Kindness only to two of my Cousin-germans, and two other Maidens that were both Sisters. By which means I have increased my Stock, and so intrigu'd my Issue, that I have puzl'd all the Casuists about the Town. The Fact was proved upon me, and therefore having neither Friends nor Money, I am condemned to the Gallies for six Years. If your Worship pleases to bestow something upon poor Sinners, the Lord, we hope, will reward ye in heaven; besides that, when do pray, we shall be sure to pray for your long Life and Health.  
Behind there came a young Fellow of about thirty Years of Age, well proportioned, and well-favour'd, only that he squinted with one Eye. He was cruelly hampered with Fetters upon his Feet, Manacles about his Wrists, and a Collar, but not of SS's, about his Neck. This was a Rogue, that no Goal, no Fetters would hold. For a Wager he would anoint his Heel with a Candle's End, and slip off his Shackles with as much ease as person Slip-stockin's Boy pulled off his Father's Hose; and besides that, he goes by more Names, then the Great Turk has Titles. What's his Crime all this while, quo Don Quixote? Sir Knight, quo the young Rogue, if you have any mind to give us any thing, do it quickly, and God have ye in his Protection; for this Curiosity of yours does but hinder us. prithee, Friend, What's thy Name, quo Don Quixote? Name, Sir! why, don't they tell you I have twenty? Sometimes Dangerfield, sometimes Willoughby, sometimes Monmouth, as the Design will bear. If you desire to know more, you may red my Life, 'tis printed legible enough to be red; and I think it sheeps Lazarillo de Tormes, or Gusman either. Thou seek'st to be a witty Rogue, quo Don Quixote: You should have said, unfortunate also, replied the Slave; for Misfortune always persecutes the Ingenious. You mean such Rogues as yourself, quo the Jailor. Fair and softly, quo the Slave to the Jailor, the Law did not give you Authority over us to abuse us, but only to guard us where the King has occasion for us. Come, come, be not so haughty; for by the Life of Pharaoh, the time may come, when your Pranks may come to light, that— you know what I mean. Upon which the Jailor held up his Cane to have thrashed the Slave, but Don Quixote interposing, would by no means permit him; telling the Jailor, that he could not blame the Slave for making use of his Tongue, since he had ne're another Member at liberty. And then addressing himself to all the Slaves in general:  
Dearly beloved Brethren, said he, by what I gather from your own Words, I clearly find, that tho you are justly condemned to deserved Punishment for the several Crimes you have committed; however that you suffer Execution of the Sentence by Constraint, and because you cannot help it: That is to say, by your good Wills you had rather eat Partridges, drink Pontack, lye warm, and kiss a handsome Girl in a Corner, then row i' the Gallies; why, then know, That you fall under my Protection; for as I am a professed Knight-Errant, it is my Duty to relieve the Distressed, and set at Liberty the Oppressed. But because it is the part of a prudent Man to shun Violence, where things may be carried by fair means, I desire ye, good Mr. Jailor, and you Gentlemen o' the Guard, to release these poor Creatures, there being enough to serve his Majesty in their Rooms; for I must tell ye, my Masters, 'tis a hard case to make Slaves of Men that were born free. And I the rather desire this courtesy of ye, Mr. Bumms, in the behalf of these poor Fellows, because they are such as I dare say, never did you any wrong i' their lives. And therefore let 'em go and do Penance themselves for their own Sins. 'tis sufficient that heaven takes care to punish the Wicked; and therefore, besides that it is needless, it is unchristian-like for Men to be the Butchers and Tormentors one of another. Gentlemen, you see I make you this Request with all the mildness and Lenity i' the World, and I shall aclowledge your Kindness, if you will grant it. But if you provoke me by Refusal, this Lance, this Sword, and this Arm of mine, shall force ye to a Compliance.  
Hoh, hoh, hoh, a very good Jest y' faith, quo the Jailor, as if we had Power to set at liberty the King's Prisoners, when the King's Justice commands 'em to condign Punishment! March on, Sir, about your Business, and set your basin right upon your empty Pate; 'tis no Business of yours to mind whether the Cat has three Feet or no.  
Y'e are a Cat, and a Rat, and a Dog to boot, quo Don Quixote, and at the same time attacked the Jailor with such a sudden, and unlook'd-for Impetuosity, before he had any time to put himself into a Posture of Defence, that he over-threw him to the Ground, dangerously wounded with his Lance.  
The Guards, astonished at an Action so smart and unexpected, fell all in a Cluster upon D. Quixote, with their Swords and their Javelins; which might have proved somewhat fatal to him, had not the Slaves, finding so fit an Opportunity to regain their liberty, resolved to make use of it. This put the Guards into a dreadful Confusion, being ferreted o' th' one side, without Intermission, by Don Quixote, and no less perplexed o' t' other Hand, to prevent the Prisoners from getting loose. In the midst of this hurly burly, the Master-Crack-rope having knocked off his Gives by Sancho's Assistance, seized upon the Jailor's Sword, and his Harquebuse, and laid about him so courageously, that the rest, disdaining to be mere Spectators, let fly such volleys of Stone-shot at the Heads of their Convoy, as forced 'em at length to be take themselves to their Heels, not liking the Honour of a Brick-bat Monument. True it is, that Sancho was right-glad of the Victory, but having more Wit in his Anger, then his Master, and fearing lest the Bailiffs should raise a Posse come. upon the victorious Champion, his Joy turned into Melancholy, and his Melancholy inspiring him with Prudence, he advised his Master to get out of the way as fast as he could, and hid himself in the Mountains adjoining— For, said he, as sure as we live, those Sons o' Whores, Bailiffs, will be at our Tails again in a short time, with a Hue and Cry, and then our next Adventure will be to hold up our Hands at the Bar, and be sent to the Gallies ourselves. Thy Advice is wholesome, quo Don Quixote. But for the present, Business of Consequence is first to be dispatched; and at the same instant, calling to him all the Slaves, who by this time had stripped the Jailor to his Skin, and now made a Ring about the Knight to know his Pleasure,  
It is the part of Persons well bread, and endued with virtue, quo he, to aclowledge the Benefits they receive; Ingratitude being the blackest of all Vices. You see how far I have hazarded my Person for your Sakes; and you cannot but understand how much you are beholding to me for what I have done. The thing therefore that I require from you, in return of my Kindness, is only this, That you take that same Chain, from which I have set your Heels at liberty, and carry it upon your Shoulders to the City of Toboso; where you must in that Posture present yourselves before the matchless Madam Dulcinea, and tell her, That her Slave, the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance presents her his most humble Service; and recount to her, word for word, the whole Story of this famous achievement, by which you have, through my Valour, obtained your Freedom.  
To which the Master-Rogue, as Spokesman for all the rest, returning Answer; Sir Knight, and sovereign Deliverer, said he, it is a thing impossible for us to obey your Commands. For we dare not appear in that Condition, as you require us, altogether, for fear of being known again; rather we must part several Ways, and study to disguise ourselves, with all the Ingenuity that may be, to avoid the Pursuit of Hue and Cries, well knowing the Danger of being re-tak'n. And therefore it would be more just and safe in you, to change the Form of the Tribute, which we owe to the Lady Dulcinea, into an Imposition upon our Consciences of so many have Maries, Creeds, and other Prayers, which we shall be ready most willingly, and with Ease to discharge, in return of the Obligation you have laid upon us. And this may be done by Night or by Day, sleeping or waking, in Flight, or out of Danger, in Peace, or in War. But to think we will return to Egyptian Diet, and carry our Chains to Toboso, you may as well believe, that we can gather Pears from an Elm-Tree. By the Beauty of my Mother, Sir Son of a Whore, quo Don Quixote, you shall go alone and carry that Chain upon your noble Shoulders, with all the Shackles and Furniture belonging to it, or else I'll make ye eat the Chain.  
The Slave, who had not learnt much Christian Patience by his Sufferings, and began to smell Don Quixote's want of Wit, could not choose but smile at the Champion's idle Threats; and therefore tipping the Wink upon his Companions, presently, like Men that understood Signs, they hurled whole Quarries at a time at Don Quixote's Pate, and pelted him so severely, that he could neither secure himself with his Shield, nor entreat Rosinante so much as to wag a Limb, no more then if he had been only the Statue of a Horse; insomuch that about five or six hard Flints, lighting upon his Reins, threw him out of his Saddle to the Ground. At what time one of the ingrateful Slaves among the rest, took off the basin from his Head, knocked him with it about the Shoulders, and then gave it so many Knocks against the Stones, that he almost broken it in pieces. This done, they stripped the poor Knight of the Coat which he wore over his armor, and had robbed him of his Breeches, had not his Greaves and Pully-pieces prevented' em. And to the end they might not do their business by halves, they eased Sancho of his Parson's Cassock, which he had turned into a Wallet, and uncas'd him to his Shirt. Which done, and the Spoils all justly and honestly divided, they shifted every one for himself, more careful to avoid the Constable's Clutches, then of their Duty to Madam Dulcinea.  
As for the Ass, Rosinante, Sancho, and Don Quixote, 'tis true, they remained Masters of the Field, but in an ill Condition; the Ass hanging his head, and shaking his Ears, as if Brick-bats had still buzzed about his Noddle: Rosinante lying at his full length i' the Dust, and ready to make his Will: Sancho in deadly fear of pursuing Black-bills and Pitch-forks: and Don Quixote biting his Nails to see himself so villainously abused by Rogues and Thieves, for whom he had so villainously ventured his Neck.   

CHAP. IX.  
What befell the famous Don Quixote in the Mountain of Sierra Morena, which was one of the strangest Adventures in all this Real History.  
DOn Quixote finding himself so ill repaid, quo he to his Squire, I have often heard say, Sancho, Save a Thief from the Gallows, and he'l be the first that shall hang his Benefactor, if he can. Had I followed thy Advice, I had avoided this Misfortune; but 'tis done, and there's no Remedy but Patience, and let's be wiser for the future. That is to say, replied Sancho, when I turn Turk— But since you repent for not following my Counsel, pray believe me once more; for in one word as well as in a thousand, I must tell ye, your Quorum Justices care no more for all the Knights-Errant i' the World, then for a dead Sprat. Hark— me-thinks I hear the Halberdeers, and the Crewel-fring'd Pike-staves at my heels already. Thou art a Coward by Nature, replied Don Quixote; however, because thou shalt not say I am always obstinate, I will avoid this terrible Hue and Cry for once; but upon this Condition, That thou never tell any person, that I avoided Danger, out of Fear, but only at thy Request, and merely to do thee a Kindness. If thou sayst otherwise, thou liest; and from this time forth to that time forth, and from that time forth to the World's end, I give thee the lie, and thou liest and shalt lie i' thy Throat, if ever thou sayst the Contrary. For did I believe thou thought'st that I withdrew myself out of Danger, or fearing the Fraternity of the Quorum Justices, as thou call'st 'em, I would abide here till the Day of judgement, in Defiance, not only of them, but of the Twelve Heads of the Tribes of Israel, the Seven Macchabees, Castor and Pollux, and all the Brotherhoods and Fraternities i' the World.  
Having so said, Don Quixote remounted his Rosinante( who had always that good Faculty, that he was not long before he came to himself, whatever Misfortune befell him) and Sancho bestriding his Ass, led the way to the Black Mountain, called Sierra Morena, through the Crafty Squire's Design, to lurk in the craggy, and inaccessible Retreats of that Mountain, till the heat of Pursuit were over; which he was the rather inclined to do, as finding all his Belly-timber safe; a Miracle to be admired, considering how exact those Caitiffs were in their privy Searches.  
By Midnight our Advecturers got to the middle, and most desert part of Sierra Morena, where Sancho advised his Master to stay for some time, at least, so long as their Provisions lasted; and so that Night they took up their Lodging between two Rocks over-spread with Cork-trees. But Fatal Fortune, who, according to the Opinion of those that walk not according to to the light within 'em, governs all things by their own Humour, so ordered it, That that same Master-Thief, Ring-leader to all the rest, who had been so grateful to the Knight for their Liberty, having made choice of those Covertures to escape the Hands of Justice, happened just into the place where Sancho and his Master had taken up their Lodgings; and knowing 'em by their Tongues, was so civil as not to disturb their rest by no means: But finding Sancho's Ass opportunely pannell'd and halter'd for his Convenience, ill Nature, a Roguish Disposition, and Necessity together, so wrought upon him, that he very honestly spirited away the Ass, and made such hast, that before day he was got quiter out of the Reach of Rosinante's Pursuit.  
But no sooner had the fair Aurora begun to smile upon the Hills, and with her refreshing Beams to bless the Surface of the Earth, when Sancho, to his unspeakable grief, missed the Delight of his Soul, and Comfort of his Life, his beloved Ass. He made such doleful Complaints, and such pitiful Moans, that Don Quixote waking, heard him thus expressing his unsupportable Woes.  
Dear Off spring of my Bowels! quo he, born and bread under my Roof, my Childrens only Play-fellow, the Delight of my Wife, the Envy of my Neighbours, and the Staff of my laborious Life! In a word, the Maintainer of half my Family; for with Ten-pence which thou earned'st me every day, didst thou defray the half of my expenses. Don Quixote, divining by his Lamentations at the Cause of Sancho's Sorrow, endeavoured to comfort him with soft and tender Expressions, and learned Discourses upon the Misfortunes of this World. But nothing wrought so kindly with Sancho, as a Bill of Exchange, which his Master promised him, for his Wife to take three Asses out of five, which he had at home. Sancho not being able to withstand an Argument so powerful, dried up his Tears, put a Stop to his Sighs and sobs, and return'd his Master a thousand Thanks for so generous a Favour.  
On the other side, Don Quixote being not a little refreshed with the Sleep he had got, and calling to mind the strange Adventures which Knights-Errants had met with in deserts and Solitudes, was over joyed to find himself in the midst of those Mountains, believing they would afford him sufficient Occasions to exercise his Prowess. But Sancho's Thoughts were otherwise employed; for now believing himself quiter out of Danger, made frequent Visits to the Wallet, which Rosinante now was forced to carry, and following his Master, set his Grinders a walking much faster then his Feet.  
As thus they leisurely paced it along, Sancho observed that his Master stooped in his Saddle to take up something with the end of his Javelin; which he not being able readily to do in his Saddle, Sancho ran with great Diligence to help him. Upon which, his Master commanding him to take it up, they found it to be a Portmanteau, in a very ill plight by reason of the Weather, but somewhat weighty withal. Having opened it, they found within it four Holland-Shirts, with other Linen, clean and fashionable, and in another Handkerchief, a considerable quantity of Gold. blessed by the whole Frame of heaven, quo Sancho, for sending us some good Luck once in our Lives. Searching farther, they found a Table-book richly bound; presently, quo Don Quixote, this is my share, take thee the Gold, Sancho, for thyself. The Lord reward ye, dear Master, quo Sancho, at the same time cramming all his Booty into his Wallet. Certainly, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, it cannot be, but that some person, having lost his way in these Mountains, has been here murdered, and thrown into some hole among these Rocks. That cannot be, replied Sancho, for had they been Highway Men, they would ne're ha' left so much Booty behind. Thou speakest Reason, quo Don Quixote, and therefore must see if we can discover any thing out of these Papers. Thereupon, after a small Search, he found the following Verses, which he red aloud for Sancho to hear.  
OR Love's a Blockhead, or a cruel Jew;  
Or else I feel less pain then is my Due;  
For if my Pains were equal to the Cause,  
They would be worse then toothache in the Jaws.  
But if Love be a God, I dare to swear,  
He then can be no Fool, and 'tis as clear,  
No God can cruel be; then would I know  
What Devil sends these Pains that plague me so?  
Ah Phillis! Is it thee? No, no, dear Phillis,  
A noble Cause ne're breeds Effect, that ill is.  
'tis not from heaven or Thee these Plagues proceed,  
But I must die, for so has Fate decreed.  
Nay, I must die for Love too like a Sot,  
And yet that's neither Love's, nor yet thy Fault.  
Hard Luck of mine! to die of such a Wound,  
For which so many medicines may be found.  
I understand nothing by this, quo Sancho. That's strange, replied Don Quixote; for 'tis plain, that the Author of this Sonnet, is, or was in love; and that his Lady's Name was Phillis. Puh!— then I warrant ye, Sir, 'tis your old Friend Corydon, and this Corydon is run mad for that Phillis, and has lost his Cloak-bag. Pray, Sir, red another Paper, you'l find it as I say. Why, here's a Letter, and a Love-letter too, as I think, quo Don Quixote. Oh, good Sir! red it out, cried Sancho, for I'm a great Admirer of Love-Letters.  
The falsehood of your Promises, and my Misfortune, of which I have now no more Reason to doubt, have carried me to a place, from whence thou shalt sooner hear the News of my Death, then of the Cause of my Complaints. Thou hast forsak'n me, ungrateful as thou art, for one more wealthy, not more virtuous then thyself. Tho if virtue were a Treasure to be esteemed, I should have no reason to bewail my own Misfortunes, nor envy the Happiness of other Men. What thy Actions raised, thy Beauty has pulled down; I took thee for an Angel, but find thee a Woman. farewell, Disturber of Peace, and may the Perfidy of thy Husband never come to light, lest living to repent the Injustice thou hast done me, I should be constrained to a Revenge that I never design.  
The Person that wrote this Letter, quo Don Quixote, was a betrayed Lover, and that's all that I understand; which made him the more inquisitive after the rest. And turning over the remainder of the Leaves, he found several other Letters and Verses, wherein he could meet with nothing, however, but Accusations, Complaints, Distrusts, and Jealousies, Sorrow and Despair, Favours and Disdain; and thence he concluded, That the Man had been in love, and might be out of his Wits. And all the while he was poring in the Table-book, Sancho was romaging the Mail, and the Seat of the Saddle; which he did with that Exactness, that he left not a Seam unripp'd, nor a Lock of Wool which he did not pull to pieces with his Nails: Yet such was his Moderation, that tho he found no more, yet he was so well pleased with his hundred Crowns in Gold, already in safe Custody, that he forgot his being toss d in a Blanket, his painful strainings, and Gripes of the balsam; the Benedictions of the Pack staves, the Thumps of the Mule-driver, the Loss of his Wallet and Ass, as believing himself well paid for all the Hunger and Thirst, which he had endured in his Master's Service.  
On the other side, the Champion was in a heavy toss to know who was the owner of the Portmantle; guessing by the value of the things, that he was a Person of worth, whom the disdain and scorn of his Mistress had driven to despair. At length, as he road along, wholly taken up with these Considerations, and followed by Sancho over briars and Thorns, he espied upon the top of a stony crag that was before him, a Man that skipp'd from Rock to Rock, o'er the Bushes and Thorns, as nimbly as a Cat-a-Mountain: He seemed to be almost naked, with a thick black Beard, his Hair clotted like a Water-Spaniels, without Hose or Shoes; having only a pair of Breeches upon his hips, that seemed to have been once of a Purple kind of Velvet, but so tattered and torn, that they discovered his skin in several places. All which particulars the Champion observed, notwithstanding the swiftness of his motion, and endeavour d to the utmost that lay in his Power to overtake him; firmly believing him to be the owner of the Saddle and Portmantle. But Rosinante was too weak to run razes with Apparitions in such Ground as that was, being naturally of a slothful and phlegmatic disposition. However, Don Quixote was resolved to speak with him, tho it cost him a whole years time. And to that purpose, he ordered Sancho to beat one side of the Mountain, while he beat the other. I beg your Worships Pardon, quo Sancho; for alas, Sir, should I move but a hairs breadth out of your sight, my fears would immediately congeal me into a Statue, that I should never be able to stir farther: And therefore for the future I give ye warning never to lay such impossible Injunctions upon me.  
In good time, quo the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, I am glad thou hast such a confidence i' my Courage: I'll assure thee I shall never fail thee, tho thy Soul were scared out o' thy Body. Follow me therefore fair and softly, and let us search every hole and corner of this Rock, 'tis a thousand pound to a Nut-shell, but we may meet with the owner of this same Portmanteau: For o' my Conscience that's the very Man that appeared so lately to us like a Vision.' Slife, Sir, quo Sancho, I don't like your Project; for should we meet him, and he challenge the Cloak-bag, I must be forced to restore him his Money. And therefore, Sir, I think 'twould be much better to forbear this Curiosity of yours, and to keep the Money, till we meet him by some other more lucky chance, when we may have spent the Gold, and worn out the linen, and then we are acquitted from making Restitution by the Law. Thou art mistak'n, Sancho; for since we have such pregnant Reasons to believe him the owner, we are bound to find him out, and restore him his Goods; by which means we shall be discharged in Foro Conscientiae. And so saying, he spurred Rosinante forward, well knowing that Sancho would not dare to tarry behind. Nor was it long before they came to a little Brook, where they found lying a dead Mule, Saddl'd and Bridl'd, and half eat'n by the Crows and Kites; which confirmed the Knight in his belief, that the Wild-man he had seen was the Master of the Cloak-bag. Now, while they were considering the Mule, and making their Observations upon the Accident, they heard a whistling, like the whistling of some Shepherd that kept his Flock not far off; and at the same time, upon their Left Hand, they spied a great number of Goats, and a little beyond 'em an Ancient Man, that seemed to be their Guardian; to whom Don Quixote called out, and desired him to come down. The Goat-herd asked 'em how they came thither, into a desert place, frequented by none but Goats and Wolves, and other Wild Beasts? And seeing 'em stand gazing upon the dead Mule, That Mule, said he, has lain there this six Months. But pray tell me, Gentlemen, did ye not meet his Master, coming hither? We met no body, replied Don Quixote; only we found a Saddle and a Cloak-bag not far from this place. I have often seen it too, said the Goat-herd, but I durst not meddle with it, fearing it might be laid there for a Bait, and a purpose to lay Felony to my charge. For the Devil is very subtle, and many times tempts us with a Fool's Paradise, to draw us into a Halter. This is just as I said, quo Sancho, for I saw the Cloak-bag too, but durst not adventure within a stones-throw of it; and there let it lie, for me; for I'll be none of those that shall hang the Bell about the Cats Neck. Well— but honest Friend, quo Don Quixote, dost thou know who was the owner of that Mule?  
All that I know, replied the Goat-herd, is this; That about six Months ago, there was a young Gentleman, proper, handsome, well clad, and mounted upon the Mule which you see there( only that it was then alive) with the same Cloak bag behind him, came one day to a Shepherd's Cottage, about three Leagues from this place, and enquired which was the most desert and unfrequented part of all this Mountain? Who directed him to that part where we are now: And 'tis very true; for should ye go but half a League farther, you would be hardly able to get back again.  
Now, this Gentleman having received our Answer, turned about his Mule, and followed his Directions exactly, leaving us in admiration of his goodly Aspect, and the great hast which he made toward the Mountain. After that, we heard of him no more, till meeting with one of our Shepherds, without saying a word, he fell upon him, and beat the poor fellow most unmercifully; and then going to the Ass that carried our Provisions, after he had taken away all the Bread and Cheese, he tripp'd back again to the Mountain as nimbly as a wild Buck.  
Hearing this, a good number of us together spent two whole days seeking for him in the most remote and private Retirements of the Mountains, where at length we discovered him in the hollow of a large Cork-Tree, from whence he came forth to us with all the mildness and courtesy that could be, but with a Countenance so disfigured and Sun-burnt, that in his rags and tatters we hardly knew him again. After a kind Salutation, he  told us in few words, but well composed together, that we were not to wonder to see him in that posture, for that it was only to acquit himself of a Penitential Vow, that he had obliged himself to perform. We desired him to let us know his Stations, that we might bring him Victuals, which we were ready to do as often as he should desire us, so that he needed not to take it by force. He thanked us for our kind offers, and begged Pardon for the Injury he had done; assuring us he would never commit the same Violence again. We asked him also, where was his most usual Retirement? To which he answered, No where certain, but where ever Night surprised him; concluding his Speech with such bitter and lamentable Complaints, that would have moved a Heart of Brass to compassion, especially in us that beholded him so strangely altered from what we had seen him before. At length, he made a pause, and standing like one that had been strick'n dumb, with his Eyes steadfastly fixed upon the ground: He continued in that posture for some time; but then of a sudden, as if some fit of Madness had seized him, staring with his Eyes, knitting his Brows, biting his Lips, and clutching his Fists, he flew upon the foremost of us, with so much fury and rage, that had we not pulled him off by main force, he had beaten out the Eyes of the surprised Shepherd, and torn his flesh from his Cheeks with his Teeth; crying out in the height of his frenzy, Ah! traitor, Ferdinand, here, here it is, that thou shalt repay me for the Injury thou hast done me; these hands of mine shall rend from thy Breast that treacherous Heart, which harbours only villainy and Perfidy; lading at the same time the supposed Ferdinand with a thousand more Reproaches of Treachery and Baseness. Which done, he flung from us, and threw himself into the thickest part of all the Woods, leaping over the Bushes and Brambles with that nimbleness, that it was impossible for us to follow him. Which caused us to believe, that his Madness seized him by fits; and that some one, whose Name was Ferdinand, had done him those irreparable Injuries, which he sought to revenge with so much Violence. Since that, it has come into our Minds several times to find him out, and to carry him by force to the Mad-House, about eight Leagues distant from hence, that so a more particular Care might be taken for his Recovery; or at least, that he might be sent back to his Relations.  
Don Quixote was wonderfully concerned, when he had heard the Goat-herd's story, and resolved to make it his business, what e're it cost him, to find this unfortunate Lover out; so much the rather, because he extremely pitied his Condition, as believing him to be a Person of Quality, and one that suffered unjustly. But Fortune, observing his good Nature, resolved to save him the labour; for just as they were speaking, the young Man appeared, and from the cleft of a Rock, right against the place where they stood, advanced towards 'em, muttering certain words between his Teeth, which they could not well have understood, had they been close by him. When he drew near, he saluted the Company very civilly, but with a hoarse and wheasing Voice. Don Quixote return'd his Civilities; for alighting from Rosinante, and accosting him with a majestic Grace, he embraced him as if he had been one of his old Acquaintance: Nor could the other forbear, so soon as he got loose, to step back some two or three yards; where laying his Hand upon his Breast, he stood staring in Don Quixote's face, as if he had been calling to mind some Person whom he had known before; no less astonished questionless to behold Don Quixote's Countenance, armor,& lofty Presence, then Don Quixote to see the forlorn and tattered condition of the forester. But the first that opened his Mouth was the Ragged Knight, as you shall hear i' the next Chapter.   

CHAP. X.  
The Continuation of the Adventure in the Black Mountain.  
THE History relates, That the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance listened with great Attention to the disastrous Knight of the Rock, who pursuing his Discourse; In good Truth, Sir, said he, whoever you are, for I know you not, you have extremely obliged me by your Generosity and Civility; and I could wish I were in a Condition to testify my Acknowledgement otherwise then in words. But my bad Fortune obstructs my good Intentions, so that I have nothing to return for so many Kindnesses, but unprofitable Wishes.  
Sir, quo Don Quixote, so great have been my Desires to serve you, that I resolved not to depart from these Solitudes, till I had found ye out; to the end I might know from yourself, whether there were any Remedy to be found for the Discontents that occasion this your disconsolate Course of Life, tho it were to be purchased with the Hazard of my own Life; or, if your Misfortunes would admit of no Relief, that I might assist ye to bear the burden of your Woes, by sharing with you in your Sorrows, and intermixing my Tears with yours: For you cannot but know the Proverb, Sir, Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris. 'tis all the Latin I have, but I cannot use it upon a better Occasion. If then good Intentions may pled Merit, I conjure ye by the first Object of your early Affections, to tell me who you are, and the Cause of your Retirement to this solitary desert, so remote from the Converse of Men.  
The Knight of the Rock, having attentively listened to these kind Expressions of the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, he viewed and reviewed him from top to to; and when he had so done: Sir, said he, if you have any thing to eat, for the love of God, give it me; and when I have filled my Belly, I will fulfil your Desires. Thereupon Sancho having disfurnish'd his Wallet, and the Goat-herd his Scrip, they brought him first and second Course. Immediately the Ragged Knight fell on, without saying Grace, like a Man half famished, with that greedy hast, that he seemed rather to devour, then feed. And having thus filled his Belly, he beckon'd to Don Quixote, and the rest to follow him; and after he had brought 'em to a Meadow adjoining to a Rock, he laid himself at his ease upon the Grass, where the rest of the Company sitting down by him, he thus began.  
Sir, said he, if you intend that I should make a full Recital of my sad Misfortune, you must promise me before-hand, not to interrupt me with any Questions, or Comments upon my Words; for if any body speaks a Syllable, I shall presently conclude my Story. And this I the rather desire, as intending to be quick in the Relation of my Disasters, of which the very Remembrance is a Torment to me; tho you may be assured, I shall omit nothing of Consequence that may tend to your Satisfaction. Thereupon Don Quixote undertaking for all the rest, the Knight of the Rock thus began.  
My Name is Cardenio; the Place of my Birth, one of the best Cities of Andaluzia; my Descent is Noble, and my Parents wealthy. But my Misfortunes are so great, that neither Wealth, nor the Prosperity of my Parents can remedy. In the same Place was born the matchless Lucinda, incomparable for her Beauty, nobly descended, and equal in her Fortune to myself, but wanting a Constancy sufficient to answer the Sincerity of my Intentions. This Lucinda I loved from her tender Years, and adored her in her Infancy; and she also loved me with a harmless Affection and Freedom, which the Innocence of Childhood never scruples. Nor did our Parents oppose this innocent Liberty, well knowing, that the Equality of our Fortunes was such, that there could be no dislike of our matching together. Afterwards our Affections increasing as we grew in Years, Lucinda's Father judging our usual Familiarity prejudicial to his Daughter's Honour, forbid my frequent Visits to his House. But that Restraint did but the more augment our Affections and inflame our Desires. So that altho we were debarred the Freedom of Converse, yet by the means of trusty Messengers, we still maintained a private Intercourse in Writing; which, like fuel to Fire, still fed our amorous Flames. Heav'ns! how many Letters have I wrote her? How many Sonnets have I sent her? How many tender and obliging Returns have I received from her? The mutual Pledges of our private Amours, and mutual Consolations of a violent Passion? At length impatient to re-behold the Comfort of my life, I resolved to demand her of her Father in Marriage. He thanked me for the Honour I did him, but  told me withal, That I had likewise a Father alive, whose consent was to be obtained, as well as his. Thereupon going to my Father, with a Design to beg his Approbation and Assistance, I found him in his Chamber with a Letter opened in his Hand, which he gave me to red, before I could speak a Word to him about my own Business. Thou wilt find there, said he, the more then ordinary Kindness that D. Richard has for thee. Now you must know, Gentlemen, that this D. Richard was a Grandee of Spain; the chiefest part of whose Estate lies in the most fertile part of Andaluzia. I red the Letter, and found therein an obliging Request of D. Richard to sand me to him with all speed, that I might be the Companion of his eldest Son; and promising withal, to advance me to a Fortune answerable to the good Opinion which he had of me. The latter part of this Letter struck me dumb; but I was ready to hang myself, when my Father bid me prepare to be gone in two Days. Farther, said he, give God Thanks, that Fortune has thus opened thee a way to that Advancement, which I know thou deserv'st. Nevertheless, the Evening before the Day of my Departure, I gave Lucinda a Visit, and  told her what had happened: I also besought her Father to preserve his good Opinion of me, and to defer the bestowing of his Daughter, till I had been with D. Richard. Which he faithfully promised me to do; and she confirmed with all the Vows and Protestations imaginable.  
Thus between Satisfaction and Dissatisfaction, I arrived at D. Richard's Court; where I was received and entertained with that extraordinary Kindness and Civility, that I became the Envy of all his ancient Servants But he that most endearingly caressed me, was Ferdinand, the Duke's youngest Son, generous, comely, and of an excellent Humour. He received me into his Bosom-Friendship, and gave me such continual and ample Testimonies of his Affection, that tho I was highly both beloved and esteemed by his Brother, yet could I easily distinguish between their Favours.  
And as it is the Property of true Friends to keep nothing secret, D. Ferdinand believing himself secure of my Fidelity, imparted to me all his Thoughts; and among the rest, disclosed to me his being in love with a handsome Country Girl, the Daughter of a Farmer, that was one of his Father's Tenants. Such was the virtue, the Prudence, the Discretion of this dansel, that she was the Admiration of all that were acquainted with her; and those her rare Endowments had so charmed the Soul of D. Ferdinand, that finding it impossible to win her for his Mistress, he resolved to make her his Wife. Now being so engaged, as I was, to D. Ferdinand, I thought it my Duty to divert him from a Resolution so prejudicial to his Honour and Quality; but finding all my Arguments were scattered in the Wind, I resolved to inform the Duke, his Father, of his Intentions. But D. Ferdinand, whose politics were refined and piercing, believing my Honour would engage me to discover a Design so prejudicial to the Honour of his Family, endeavoured to persuade me, that his Heat was over; and to complete the Cure, that he was resolved to absent himself from the Object of his Passion; to which purpose, he would take a Journey to my Father's House, pretending to buy Horses, of which there are the best of all that Province, bread in our Village. Presently, swayed by the Interest of my own Love, I approved his Design, and pressed him to make hast, out of a Design to re-visit my dear Lucinda. But alas! as afterwards I understood, he had already reaped the last enjoiments of his amorous Courtship to his Country-Mistress, with the Sickle of promised Marriage; tho he durst not discover it, for fear of the Duke his Father's Displeasure.  
But as the Love of young People is only an irregular Passion, and boiling Desire, that has no other Object then Pleasure, and which Enjoyment dissipates; no sooner had he obtained the last Favours of his Mistress, but his vehement Affection slacken'd, and his ardent Love grew could: So that if his Desire of Absence were feigned before, there was nothing now which he more really coveted. And therefore having obtained his Father's leave, away we came to my Father's House, where Don Ferdinand was entertained with a Welcome befiting his Quality; and I went to visit my Lucinda, who received me as a most dear and constant Lover.  
Some few Days after, to divertise Ferdinand, I thought it my Duty, like a Nick-a-poop as I was, to put the same Confidence in his Friendship, with which he had entrusted mine. And to that purpose( curse o' my babbling Tongue!) I made Lucinda's Beauty, Wit, and Prudence, the Subject of my Discourse, till I had inflamed him with a Desire to see so wonderful a Person; and to satisfy his Impatience, shew'd her to him at a low Window, where we were wont to converse together. And that which added to my ruin, was, That she was richly dressed that Day, and seemed so lovely to D. Ferdinand's Eyes, that he forgot all other Beauties in the World beside, and became a doting Lover of my Mistress only. Nay, the more to inflame him( for when the Devil owes a man a Spite, he never pays a man by halves) he met with a Letter of her's, wherein she had desired me to demand her of her Father, and to hast'n our Marriage; which was written with that Modesty and Discretion, that D. Ferdinand cried out, That in Lucinda were all those Perfections, both of Body and Mind, met together, as it were, by consent, which in other Women separately appeared. But as deserved as they were, I did not like these Encomiums from D. Ferdinand's Lips; I began to smell a Rat, and therefore carried myself more reservedly: But the more I forbore to speak of her, the more He made her still the Subject of his Discourse. And this was that which wakened my jealousy, tho I could say nothing against Lucinda, of whose Fidelity I thought myself so fully assured, that I durst have pawned my Soul to a brass Thimble, for her Sincerity.  
It happened one day, that Lucinda, who was much addicted to red Books of Knight-Errantry, desired me to lend her the History of Amadis de gall— Scarce were the words, Amadis de gall, dropped out of Cardenio's Mouth, but Don Quixote interrupting him; Had you but  told me, that your Lady was addicted to red Romances, you need have said no more to confirm me in the Belief of what you have uttered concerning her Beauty and her Wit. For if she be a Reader of Romances, I am sure she must be ten times fairer, and ten thousand times more witty then you have expressed her to be: and more then that, I do uphold and maintain her to be the wittiest Woman alive. I wish, Sir, that, together with Amadis de gall, you had sent her the brave Duke Roger of Greece. Madam Lucinda, questionless, would have been highly taken with Dorayda, and Geraya, and the pleasant Shepherd Darinel, with his bucolics, which he sung with so much Discretion, and with such a sweet and debonnair Behaviour. But time may repair this Defect; and if you please to come to my House, I will show you above three hundred Volumes, which are all the Delight and Content I have in this World; and yet they are all at your Service, if the damned necromancers have not robbed me of' em. Pardon me, I beseech ye, Sir, for giving you this Interruption, contrary to my Promise; but I can as well be hanged, and the Sun may as well forbear to shine, as I forbear speaking, when I hear the least mention made of Knight-Errantry. Now therefore, pray Sir, go on.  
All the time of this Digression Cardenio hung down his Head in his Breast, like one that had been musing some new Point i' the mathematics. Nor could Don Quixote, with all his Entreaties, persuade him to look up, or give him a Word of Answer. But at length, elevating his Chin, with his Eyes staring in his Head; I'll never believe otherwise, nor shall any Man beat it out of my Brains, quo he, and he's a Rascal, and a Son of a Whore, who denies, that that same Scoundrel of a Stallion Barber, Tom Thumb, never lay with the Queen of Trumps.  
By all that's virtuous in Toboso, replied Don Quixote, that cannot be: 'tis a Scandal and a Calumny. The Queen of Trumps was a most chast and modest Lady; and there is no probability, that a Princess of her Quality would make love to a Tooth-drawer: Whoever affirms it, lies in his Throat, and I'll make him to aclowledge it, either a-foot, or a horse-back, armed, or unarmed, by Day, or by Night, or how he pleases. Cardenio, upon this, fastened his Eyes upon Don Quixote, without speaking a word; and being thus provoked into one of his mad Fits, to hear himself called liar, and insolent Fellow, took up a great ston that lay just at his Feet, and threw it with such a force at Don Quixote, that hitting him full i' the Breast, it beat the Champion backward upon his Rump. Sancho seeing his Master abused, fell upon Cardenio with both his Fists clutch'd, whom Cardenio with one sound Wherret, laid at his Feet, and then fell a trampling his Guts, like a Baker in a Dough-trough. Nor did the Goat-herd, going to take Sancho's Part, speed much better. And thus the Ragged Knight having vanquished the Knight of the ill-favoured Face, and both his Champions, retired back to the Mountain.  
Sancho was no sooner got upon his Legs again, but he began to quarrel with the Goat-herd, calling him Bumkin and Logger-head, for not telling 'em before, that the Ragged Knight was frantic, that so they might ha' had more care of themselves. The Goat-herd replied, that he had given 'em Warning at first, and if he could not hear, he was not bound to find him Ears. To this Sancho replied, and the Goat-herd replied again; till from Pro's and Con's they fell to seizing one another by the Beards, tugging and haling each other in such a cruel manner, that if Don Quixote had not partend 'em, they had pulled one anothers Chins from their Heads. However, Sancho keeping his hold, in great Wrath, Let me alone, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Face, quo he: this Fellow is no more a dubbed Knight then myself, and therefore I hope I may fight hand to hand, like a Man of Honour, and revenge the Injury he has done me. 'tis true, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, but I know no Injury we have received: And so saying, made 'em shake hands, and be Friends. And then addressing himself to the Goat-herd, asked him, Whether there were no way to find out Cardenio again, in regard he had a great mind to hear the end of his Story? To whom the Goat-herd made Answer, That the Ragged Knight had no constant Residence, but that if he tarri'd thereabouts, it might not be long before he met with him, mad or sober.   

CHAP. XI.  
Of the strange Accidents that befell the valiant Knight of Mancha in the Black Mountain; and of his imitating the Penance performed by the Lovely-Obscure.  
DOn Quixote bid the Goat-herd farewell, and remounting Rosinante, commanded Sancho to follow him a-foot, which he did, but in a damned sullen, peevish Humour; for his Master lead him into the roughest, and most craggy part of all the Mountain. Thus they travelled for a while, without speaking a word one to another; till Sancho, almost dead for want of a little Chat, Sir, said he, I desire your Worship to give me your Blessing, and leave to depart, that I may return home to my Wife and Children, where no body can hinder me from Scolding and maundering, as I please myself. For I had rather be buried alive, then to ramble after your Heels through Mountains and deserts, Day and Night, without being admitted to speak. Could the Beasts speak, as they did in Aesop's time, Rosinante and I might Chat together, like two Midwives, and my Conceits would never putrifie i' my Body, as they do. Upon my Faith, Sir, 'tis a thing not to be endured to trot o' this Fashion after Adventures, and meet with nothing but Thumps and Bastinado's; and after all, forsooth, to have a Man's Mouth sowed up, as if his Tongue had been made for no use. I understand thee, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou dost not love to keep thy Tongue a Prisoner long: why then, Sancho, I'll release it for once, upon Condition, that it shall be only for the time we continue i' the Mountains. Speak therefore what thou hast a mind.  
Content, quo Sancho, let us talk while we may, God knows what may befall us hereafter: And so beginning to make use of his privilege; I wonder, Sir, said he, what Reason you had to be so choleric for the Queen of Trumps, what d'ye call her, for I care not a Straw what her Name is? Or What was it to the Purpose, whether Tom Thumb were her Paramour, or no? For had you not meddl'd with what y' had nothing to do with, the Mad-man would ha' gone on with his Story, you had missed a good Thump o' the Breast, and I had scaped the bursting the Cawl of my Belly.  
Friend Sancho, replied Don Quixote, didst thou but know what a virtuous Lady the Queen of Trumps was, thou'dst say, I had a great deal of Patience in that I did not tear that Fellows Tongue from the bottom of of his Throat, for uttering so many Blasphemies against her. For, in short, 'twas a most execrable piece of Blasphemy to say, That a Queen had lain with a Barber-Surgeon. For the Truth of the Story is this, That this Mr. Tom Thumb was both counselor, and Physician in Ordinary to the Queen; but to say he was her Paramour or Gallant, was an insolent Scandal, and fit to be chastised. Neither can it be thought, that Cardenio knew what he said; for thou sworest he was in one of his mad Fits, when he spoken it. And what need you then ha' minded what a Mad-man said, quo Sancho? Suppose the ston that hit ye o' the Breast, had beat out your Brains, we had been finely served for taking the part of a Sisly-Bum-Trinket; the Devil confounded her.  
Sancho, replied Don Quixote, a Knight-Errant is obliged to defend the Honour of all Ladies against lunatics, as well as Men i' their Wits; much more, being such Queens and Princesses as the Queen of Trumps, for whom I have a particular Veneration, because of her virtue, and other admirable Qualities; for besides that, she was very beautiful, she was very prudent, And behaved her self with an incomparable Patience in all her Misfortunes: and then it was that it was, that she stood in need of the wholesome Counsels of Mr. Tom Thumb; which gave Occasion to that false and scandalous Report, that they lay together. But I say again, they lie, and lie a thousand times over, whoever they be, that shall either report, or so much as think such a Calumny against the Queen of Trumps.  
Why, Sir, quo Sancho, I neither say, nor think one way or t' other; let them that affirm it eat the lie, and swallow it when they ha' done. If they lay together, th' have answered for it before now. I come from plough, I know nothing; I never thrust my Nose into other mens Porridge; my Name's Twyford, I neither meddle nor make. He that buys and sells, shall find his Gains in his Purse. Naked I came into the World, and naked I must go out. I neither take, nor give; I neither lose, nor gain: if they lay together 'tis no Bread and Butter o' mine. Who can make a Silk Purse of a Sow's Ear? But if ye catch me i' your Corn, put me i' your Pound.  
The Devil go wi' thee, quo Don Quixote, what a Company of Proverbs hast thou threaded together? What are all these musty Adages to my Purpose? prithee mind thy Ass, that's thy Business; and remember this, That what I do, I have done, and shall do, is no more then what is conformable to the Laws of Chivalry, which I understand better then all the Knights-Errant that ever were i' the World. Troth, Sir, quo Sancho, 'tis no more then ye deserve; for in my Opinion, ye pay dear for your Knowledge. But I pray Sir, give me leave, Do your Laws constrain us to live and die in this Mountain? Patience a little, good Sancho, replied Don Quixote, for now I think on't, I have something to do in this Mountain, that shall immortallize my Name, eternize my famed, and give me a Reputation above all the Knights-Errant that ever were i' the World, or ever shall be. Well, but what's the Danger we must run, quo Sancho? for I would willingly know before-hand, if I might. That's as it happ'ns, quo Don Quixote, for we may perhaps meet with a Brush, or so; but the main matter consists in thy Diligence. In my Diligence! Heav'ns bless us, quo Sancho. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote; for if thou return'st with speed from the place whither I think to sand thee, my Pain will be soon at an end, and my Glory will begin— But why in such a brown Study, man? For thou art to know, most faithful Squire, that Amadis de gall was one of the completest Knight-Errants that ever were i' the World; nay, the very Chief and Prince of all the rest. Moreover, 'tis the part of a Painter, that studies to render himself famous in his Art, to imitate the best Originals; which ought to be the Rule in all other Arts and Sciences, that serve for the Ornament of Common-wealths. Thus Homer makes his Ulysses a Pattern of Wisdom and Patience; and Virgil his Aeneas a rare Example of filial Duty, and of a valiant Captain; representing 'em not what they were, but what it behoved 'em to have been. In like manner was Amadis the North-Star, and Sun of all Knight-Errants, truly courageous and Amorous; and for that Reason only, him alone ought all Knight-Errants to imitate, that march under the Banner of Love and Chivalry. Now then I find, that among all other things that render Amadis so famous for Wisdom and Valour, his Constancy and Love, his retiring to the Poor Rock, under the Title of the Lovely Obscure One, was one of the chiefest: A Title certainly most significant and agreeable to the life which he intended to led. And in regard it is a Task far more easy to imitate his Penance, then his great achievements, in cleaving the Heads of monstrous Giants, strangling Serpents, killing Dragons, vanquishing whole Armies, dispersing Navies, and breaking the force of enchantments; I am resolved not to lose the offer of so fair an Opportunity, in a Place so fit for my purpose. But pray, Sir, all this while, What is your Design in this lonely desert, quo Sancho? Have I not  told thee, replied Don Quixote, that I intend here to act Amadis in his Madness, Despair, and Fury? And at the same time to imitate the Dotages of the Valiant Orlando, when he found that Angelica, the Fair, had abandoned him for the Love of Medor, which distracted him to that degree, that he tore up Trees by the Roots, damm'd up Fountains, destroyed whole Flocks, slay the Shepherds, fired their huts, stolen their Horses, and committed a hundred Extravagancies, worthy to be recorded in Fame's eternal Book? Not that I intend, however, to follow Rowland, or Orland, or Roldan, for he went by as many Names as a Newgate Shop-lift; but to make choice of the most Essential and Orthodox of all his Follies. Nay, perhaps I shall only imitate Amadis, whose Raving not being so destructive and pernicious, but only consisting in Complaints and Lamentations, gained him such a matchless Reputation.  
I am apt to believe, replied Sancho, That those Knights had some Reason for what they did: But what induces you to play the fool? What Lady has despised your Amours? What Discoveries have you made of Dulcinea's being false to ye, with either Moor or Christian?  
S'life, cried Don Quixote, there's my Point, therein consists the Curiosity of my Business, for a Knight-Errant to play the Mad-man without any Reason; there's the Knot and Riddle of the matter, for a Man to run frantic without a Cause; thereby to let his Lady see what he can do upon Occasion, when he acts so well, without any Constraint or Necessity. But I have Reason sufficient, considering the long time I have been absent from the matchless Dulcinea, through which Neglect of mine, I have sinned most heinously against her Patience, according to the saying of the Shepherd Ambrosio: 
In my Absence losing Time,  
Can ye think she is not grieved?  
Yes, and tempted too, be sure,  
Some other way to be relieved.   
And therefore, Sancho, never strive in vain to divert me from so rare, so happy, and so extroardinary an Imitation. I am mad, and will be mad, till thou return'st with an Answer to the Letter which thou must carry to the Lady Dulcinea; and if I find that she deserves my Constancy, my frenzy will be over, and I will do Penance no longer; but if she sleights me, I will run stark mad, to the end, that if thou bring'st me bad News, I may be altogether insensible of it. But to the purpose, Sancho, hast thou saved Mambrino's Helmet? I saw thee take it up, after that ingrateful Rogue had done his utmost endeavour to break it, which shows the most excellent Temper of the Mettle.  
Before-George, your Follies, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, are not to be endured, quo Sancho; they are enough to make any Man believe, that what you brag of your Knight-Errantry, your winning of Kingdoms and Empires, and your bestowing of Islands upon your Squire, are mere Shams and lies. For who, i' the Name of beelzeebub, that should hear you call a Barber's basin Mambrino's Helmet, would not think you fit for the Mad-house at Newington? I have the basin i' my Wallet, which I intend to carry home, and get mended for my own use, if ever God quits me of your confounded Service.  
Sancho, replied Don Quixote, would I might be pox'd, if I think there ever was such a Cuckow-brains of a Squire i' the World. How is it possible for a man to be such a Logger-head, as not to have learnt in all this time that thou hast been with me, that all the Actions and Adventures of Knights-Errant, seem to be chimeras, Follies, and Impertinencies; not that they are so indeed, but through the Malice and Wickedness of those damned enchanters, that make all things as they please themselves; and thus bewitched by their Sorceries, thou tak'st Mambrino's Helmet for a Barber's basin, which to me seems another thing: And that the Sorcerer does it out of Friendship to me. For Mambrino's Helmet being a Jewel of such inestimable value, I should never be at rest, but be always engaged in Fights and Combats, to defend it, were it once known to be i' my Custody. Keep it safe, Sancho, for I have no need of it at present; rather I think to put off my armor, and strip myself as naked as I came out of my Mother's Womb, according as I shall find it most convenient, whether to imitate Orlando or Amadis.  
Concluding this Discourse, they came to the foot of a high Rock that seemed to stand by itself; from the descent of which, there softly glided a gentle stream that watered a Meadow which surrounded the Rock. The freshness and verdure of the Grass, the number of wild Trees, Plants, and Flowers, that covered the Rock, rendered this place so pleasant and delightful, that the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance made choice of it to shrift himself, beginning his Penance in such a manner, as if he had utterly lost his Wits.  
Behold, O Heav'ns, said he, the place which I have made choice of, to bewail therein the miserable Condition to which you have reduced me. May my Tears augment the waters of this Rivulet, and my Sighs perpeually move the Leaves and Branches of these Trees, eternal Remembrances to the World of the Pains and Torments which my Heart endures. Ye rural Deities, whoever ye be, that inhabit these deserts, hear the Plaints of an unfortunate Lover, whom a long Absence, and his own fantastical jealousy has guided to these gloomy Shades to lament his ill Fortune, and deplore the cruel Rigour of that ungrateful fair One, who is the Perfection, and Ne plus ultra of all terrestrial Beauty. Ye lovely Nayades, and Druids more contemplative, assist my Plaints, or at least list'n to my Woes; and may the lascivious, boisterous Satyrs never interrupt your Rest. Oh, Dulcinea deal Toboso! thou Sun of my Days, and Moon of my Nights; the Glory of my Sufferings, North star of my Travels, and Constellation that govern'st my Fortune, pity, I conjure thee, the sad Condition to which my absence has reduced me; and may the Heav'ns grant thee long and happy Days. Ye solitary Groves and Shades, Companions of my Solitudes, satisfy me in the soft Language of your rustling Leaves, and by the nodding of your Branches, that I am we come to your verdant Harbours. And thou my dear Squire, the faithful Companion of my Adventures, mark attentively what I do, and be sure not to forget the smallest Punctilio. And thou Rosinante, that hast all along so inseparably and advantageously served me; thou that hast shared with me in all my bad and good successses, pardon me for making choice of this Solitude; and believe me, 'tis not without weeping Eyes, that thou and I must part. And so saying, he alighted, whipped off his Bridle and Saddle, and giving the Horse a clap o' the Buttocks, go Rosinante, said he, he gives thee thy Liberty, that has lost his own. Go Horse, no less famous for thy Actions, then miserable for thy bad luck; yet shalt thou never be sold to thy worth. famed Beast! with whom neither Astolpho's Hypogryphon, nor Frontin, Brandimart's Delight, nor the winged Pegasus himself could e're compare for mettle and swiftness of heels.  
cursed be the villain Thief, cried Sancho, cursed with Bell, Book, and Candle, that freed me from the trouble of unpannelling my Ass too; he should not have wanted a Harangue in his praise, perhaps as good as this. Poor Creature of God's making! he was never troubled with these Follies of Lovers and Mad-men, no more then his Master, that was myself, so long as heaven pleased. But d' ye here me, now I think on't, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, if your frantic Pranks and my journey be draw d on, there will be a necessity of saddling Rosinante again, especially if your business require hast; for truth to tell ye, I am no good Foot-man. Do as thou thinkest fit, for that, Sancho, replied Don Quixote; for I intend thou shalt set forward about three days hence. In the mean time thou shalt stay and be witness of what I do for my Lady's sake; to the end thou mayst be able to give her a true and perfect Account of every Particular. Heav'ns bless my Eye-sight, quo Sancho, why, is it possible for me to see more then I have done? Thou art still wide o' the Mark, replied Don Quixote, thou shalt see me put off my armor, tear my Clothes, knock my Head against the Rocks, and play a thousand more antic Tricks, which all the Jack-Puddings in London could never show thee. For the love of God, Sir, take heed how ye quarrel with these Rocks, you may chance to give your skull such a crack the first Encounter, as may spoil an excellent Mad-man, and a good Penitent both at one stroke. Therefore I would advice ye, if your business, which is all but a feigned Ceremony, cannot otherwise be accomplished, without these scurvy Cats-leaps, to practise your Imitations upon the Water, or in a Hay-rick; and let me alone to swear to Madam Dulcinea, that you played your Christmas-gambols upon hard pointed Rocks, as sharp as the end of your Spear.  
I thank thee, honest Sancho, for thy good Will, replied Don Quixote; but thou art mistak'n to think I am in jest: These things must be all done seriously and solemnly, otherwise I should act against the Laws of Chivalry, with abominate falsehood, and mental Reservation.  
At the end of the three days Sancho put him in mind, that his time was elapsed; and therefore desired him to writ his Letter, and let him be gone. For, quo he, let me be roasted, if I do not long till my Return has freed ye out of this Purgatory, where I must be forc d to leave ye. Purgatory, dost call it, quo Don Quixote! call it Hell, Tophet, Gehenna; or if thou canst think of any thing else i' the Universe that is worse, or more terrible. What can be worse, quo Sancho, for they say, that in Hell there is no Retention. Retention! quo Don Quixote, what dost thou mean by that cramp word? Why, Retention, answered Sancho, is as much as to say, That they who are once in Hell, never come out again: which shall not be your hard fate this 'bout, if I can stir my Heels to quick'n Rosinante. And for Madam Dulcinea, when I come to be admitted into her presence, I will tell her such wonderful and dreadful Stories of your Madness, and Extravagancies, that I will make her as suppling as a Glove, tho she had a Heart of Oak. And when I have drawn from her an Answer as sweet as Metheglin, away will I come flying through the Air, as swift as a Witch upon a Broom-stick, to relieve ye out of your Purgatory: for I will have it Purgatory, and not Hell, because there is some hopes you may return to your Senses again. Let it be so then, said Don Quixote; but how shall we do to writ this Letter, for I have neither Paper nor Ink, unless we should writ upon the Leaves of the Trees, as they did in former times. But now I think on't, I have Cardenio's Table-book, which will help us out at a dead lift; and then thou shalt get the Letter fairly transcribed at the first Village, where thou canst meet with a Schoolmaster that can writ true Orthography. Or, for want of a Schoolmaster, get the clerk of the Parish to do it; but be sure thou never troubl st a Lawyer, for the Devil himself will never be able to red Court-hand; more especially beware of one that writes Sermons; for I hate Short-hand mortally. But how shall I do for a Seal, replied Sancho? A brass Farthing will serve, answered Don Quixote; tho I do not remember that ever Amadis made use of any Seal. But the Bill of Exchange must be signed, or else they will say 'tis counterfeit, and so we shall lose our Asses. The Bill shall be written in the Table-book, with my Sign Manual; and when my niece sees my Hand, she'l never scruple the delivery of the Asses. And as for the Love-letter, do thou get it thus underwritten; Yours till Death, the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance. 'tis no matter for the Letter and the Subscription to be all of one Hand; for as I remember, Dulcinea can neither writ nor red, nor did she ever see any of my Writing in her Life. For our Amours have always been merely platonic; and tho I may safely swear, that for above these twelve Years she has been dearer to me then my life, yet I never saw her but four times; and I question whether she her self took notice that ever I looked upon her, so strict a watch did old Richard Hogg of Stanwel, her Father, and Joan Hogg her Mother, keep over her.  
Cuds-bobs, cried Sancho, and is Dulcinea deal Toboso the Daughter of Dick Hogg of Stanwel, otherwise Nan Hogg? Uds-fish, I know her as well as her Mother that bore her; she's a Strapper y' faith, and pitches the Bar with e're a young Fellow i' the Village. The very same, quo Don Quixote, that's she, and she that deserves to be Mistress of the whole Earth. Is that she, quo Sancho! she's a Bouncer, Begar-law; and one that will keep her Chin out o' the Mire, I warrant her, in despite of the best Knight errand that wears a Head, Long Megg of Westminster was a Dwarf to her. One day I remember, she stood upon the top of our Steeple to call the Plough-men home to dinner, that were at work above half a League off; yet they heard her as plain, as if they had been just under the Sun-dial. The best thing I know in her, is, That she is not Coy, but will bid ye kiss the top of her knock as briskly as e're a Coggshall Wench that goes to Market; there's ne're a Water-man upon the Thames can out-rally her. In good truth, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, you may venture as many Cat-leaps as you please; you may run mad, you may hang yourself for her sake, there's no body but will say y' are a happy Man, tho the Devil himself should be so kind as to carry ye away a pick-pack. Nan Hogg! good God! how I broil to see the Tom-boy! for I have not seen her this many a day. Surely she must be strangely altered by this time, for the Sun, and the Weather, and continual working i' the Fields, are wicked Enemies to female Beauty. How strangely have I lived in Ignorance all this while! In good faith, Sir Don Quixote, I durst ha' sworn this Madam Dulcinea had been some great Princess, or some Lady of high Quality, that was still to be presented with the Spoils of your Conquests, the Biscayner, the rescued Slaves, and all the Trophies of your future Victories. By my troth, I cannot choose but laugh to think, if the Biscayner or the Slaves had been such Fools to have gone, and found Madam Fusty-luggs peeling o' Hemp, or threshing i' the Barn, what a pretty sight it would ha' been to ha' seen 'em throw themselves at the Feet of Madam Dowdy-Rampant, in a single short Petticoat, showing her darn'd Hose, and patched Slip shoes? Certainly they would ha' thought the Devil had owed 'em a shane; nor could Madam Brawny-Arms have looked upon it otherwise then an Abuse.  
I have oft'n times  told thee, Sancho, that thy long Tongue wants clipping; and that tho thou art a Coxcomb and a Dunce, yet now and then thy Frumps bite too close. And to show thee, that my Discretion exceeds thy Folly, I must tell thee in the first place, that I mind little what thou sayst; in the second place, I tell thee again, that as to the use which I make of the Lady Dulcinea, she surpasses all the Princesses in the World, according to the Proverb; for, Joan's as good as my Lady i' the dark. prithee tell me dost think the Phillis's, the Silvia's, the Diana's, the Amarantha's, that appear in so many Poems and Sonnets, and upon so many Stages, were Creatures made of Flesh and Blood, or the real Mistresses of those that sung their Encomium's? No, no, never think it. For let all your rhymers bring a Scandalum Poetarum against me if they dare; I say they were merely Imaginations of the Poets for a Ground-work, upon which to exercise their Wits. 'tis sufficient for me, that Nan Hogg is fair and chast; as for her Birth and Parentage, I value 'em not of Two-pence; and without troubling myself to examine her pedigree any farther, I am satisfied that she is a great Princess. For, Sancho, Pox take thee, thou art to know, that the virtues which chiefly oblige us to love a Woman, are Snout-fairness and Wisdom, with both of which Dulcinea is endowed to the height of Perfection, as being, without all Dispute, the most snout-fair and prudent Female in the World All the Helena's and Lucretia's, all the Heroesses of former Ages, Greeks, Romans, or Barbarians, were not worthy to be her Kitchen-maids; and let 'em say what they will, if Fools contradict me, I am sure men of Sense, if they have but tried her once, will be o' my side. Sir, quo Sancho, you speak reason in every thing, and I am the Ass; the Devil take me for speaking that word; for 'tis ill talking of Halters i' the House of a Man that was hanged. But where's the Letter all this while, for I long to be going. With that, Don Quixote pulled out the Table-book, and retiring a little aside, in a short time finished his Epistle. Which having done, he called Sancho to him, and ordered him to list'n while he red it over to him; for, quo he, 'tis a thousand pound to a Farthing if thou dost not fall a drinking by the way, and lose the Table-book, therefore I would have thee carry it as well i' thy Memory, as i' thy Pocket; for I think no body so sottish as to pick thy Brains. Pray Sir, quo Sancho, tear the Table-book, and gi' me two or three Copies; for to think I can learn it by heart, is a Madness, especially seeing my Memory is so bad, that sometimes I forget my own Name. However, you may red the Letter if you please, that I may understand how so writ to a Mistress o' my own, should I have occasion. Well then, quo Don Quixote, be uncovered and list'n.  
The LETTER.  
HE that is stabbed to the quick with the Poignard of Absence, and wounded to the Heart with the Darts of his own Guilt, sends thee that Health, which he wants himself. If thy Beauty disdain me; if thy virtue refuse my Affection; if thou resolv'dst to bubble me, maugre all your Shams, and your Canting; as I am your Martyr, I have Patience enough to pocket up all your Disdains. As to what remains, ingrateful fair One, and beloved Enemy of my Repose, my faithful Squire will give thee an Account of what I suffer for thy sake. If thou pity'st me, I am thine; if not, take thy own Course, and set up for a rich Widow, while I end my Days in Sorrow to satisfy thy Cruelty, and my own Fancy.  
Yours till Death, The Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance.  
By all the Sins that ever I committed, quo Sancho, let me die if ever I red such a matchless Piece in all the Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, Academies of compliments, or Cupid's Cabinets that ever came forth. By the Maiden-head o' my Sister, I believe you are able to say or writ what you please yourself. For certainly never human Wit brought in so neatly by Head and Shoulders, yours till death, the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance. A Man of my Profession, replied Don Quixote, must understand all things. Pray, Sir, then quo Sancho, writ the Bill of Exchange for the three Asses, and writ your Subscription plain, that it may be known to be your hand. Which the frantic Champion did, and then red it in this Form.  
Niece:  
PRay pay, upon sight of this my first Bill, three Asses of the five, which I have at home, to Sancho my trusty Squire, for the Value received of him here: And for your so doing, This, together with his Acquittance, shall be your Discharge.  
Given in the very Bowels of the Black Mountain, the 26th. of August, Anno 6666.  
'tis very well, quo Sancho, there wants only your Subscription. There needs no Subscription, answered Don Quixote; yet I'll set my Mark, if thou wilt, and that's sufficient for three Asses. Well, Sir, quo Sancho, I rely upon your Worships Honesty, and so give me your Blessing, for I intend to be gone presently, without troubling myself to see any more of your Fopdoodleries; for I am so sure of your performance, that I dare swear to more then will serve your turn.  
However, cried Don Quixote, prithee stay and see me stark naked before thou goest; for I would fain have thee see me dance a matter of twenty or thirty new Borees A-la-mode du Bedlam, that thou mayst be able to swear with an unspotted Conscience; they'l be done in a trice; as for Example— Hold— hold— Sir, for the Love of God, let me not see ye naked for fear of turning my Stomach, which is very queasy at this time. But if I must see any more of your Gambols, Sir, perform 'em i' your Clothes, and do what ye do briefly, and no more then what is absolutely material; for the sooner I go, the sooner I shall return. And now gi' me leave to tell ye, I love ye so well, that if Madam Dulcinea does not satisfy my Expectations, I'll foot-ball her Guts till she spew up Answers according to my mind. For 'tis not to be endured, that a Knight of your Quality should suffer thus, without rhyme or Reason, for such a Tinker's Trull as she— That's the best I can say, but I shall tell her a piece more o' my Mind, if I find her acting the fliperous Minx i' my Company. Why, how now, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I think thou art grown as mad as myself. Not so mad neither, quo Sancho, but in a damned pelting Chafe, as I think I have reason: But let that pass. And now I think on't, how will ye do for Victuals when I am gone? Here are no Monsieur Lockets, nor Monsieur Choquee's i' this Mountain: d'ye intend to rob the Goat-herds of their Bread and Cheese as Cardenio did?  
Never let that trouble thy unmannerly Brain, quo Don Quixote, for tho I lived next door to the two Blew Balls, I would feed upon nothing but the Herbs of the Field; for the Curiosity of my Business lies in half starving myself, and such like austere Practices of Piety. There is another thing too, quo Sancho, I am very much afraid of, and that is, That I shall never be able to find the way to this Place, 'tis such a By-hole. Take good notice of it beforehand, quo Don Quixote; for I do not intend to budge from hence, till thy return; beside that, I intend sometimes to stand Sentinel upon the top of yonder Rock to observe thy coming. But 'tis good to be sure; and therefore thy best way will be to cut down a good number of Boughs, and strew 'em in the way, as thou rid'st along, which willbe like the old Clue in Woodstock Bower, to guide thee to thy Rosimand, thy loving Master, again. A whereas Fee well saved, quo Sancho; and so receiving his Master's Blessing, after a Deluge of Tears  shed on both sides, he mounted Rosinante; at what time, Friend Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I recommend to thy care the best Nag i' the World; prithee be as tender of him as the Apple of thy Eye. Never doubt it, quo Sancho, and so taking his leave once more, he set forward, cutting down and strowing several Boughs as he rid, according to advice. But he was scarce out of sight, when he return'd again the same way he came; and being asked by his Master, what he would have? Sir, said he, I have considered of your Counsel, and like it wondrous well; and therefore that I may swear with a safe Conscience, I desire to see some three or four more of your raving Conundrums before I go. Why did I not tell thee so, quo Don Quixote, and therefore stay but while a Man that's in hast may mumble over his Creed, and I'll show thee half a dozen; and with that, slipping off his Breeches naked to the waste, he gave two Frisks i' the Air, and falling upon the Paums of his hands, fetched his heels over his head, like a Tumbler, four times one after another, discovering such a Nest of Deformity, that Sancho ashamed to behold it, turned his Horse's head, and road away, fully satisfied that he might swear, without Forfeiture of his Ears, his Master was mad. And so we leave him a while to finish his Journey, till he return; which will not be long.   

CHAP. XII.  
A Continuation of the Amorous Pranks which the courtly Knight of the Mancha played in the Black Mountain.  
THE Story says, That as soon as the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance saw himself alone, after he had accomplished all his frisking and tumbling Ceremonies, he ascended to the top of a high Rock, and there began to consider with himself what Resolution to take in a knotty Business, that very much perplexed his Mind, whether he were best to imitate Orlando in his Fury, or Amadis in his melancholy Extravagances. To which purpose, discoursing with himself, If that Orlando, said he, was so brave and valiant a Knight, as they say he was, I do not much wonder, in regard he was enchanted, so that he could not be slain but by a Pin thrust through the bottom of his Foot, upon which he always wore Shoes that had sixteen Soles a piece; yet that all this stood him in no stead when he met with Bernardo deal Carpio, who understanding his enchantment, stifled him to death in his Arms in the Vale of the read Horse. But setting aside his Valour, let us examine his madness; for that he was frantic, is beyond all dispute; and fell mad upon the News which the Shepherd brought him of the fair Angelica's being debauched by Medor the Moor, with the curled Locks and Agramant's page.. Now if he were satisfied, that his Lady had picked up a ston with her Ear, no wonder he should run mad. But how shall I be able exactly to imitate him in his Frenzy, not having the same Cause. For I dare take my Oath before all the Masters in Chancery i' the World, that Dulcinea deal Toboso never saw the Moor, since her Mother first wiped her Tail. So that I should do her a great Injury to turn stark staring mad like Orlando. On the other side, I find that Amadis got as much Reputation for being a Lover, as he, tho he never lost his Wits, and raved like a mere Bedlam, as he did. For which he had no other Reason, as the Story relates, but because the fair Oriana despised him, bidding him get out of her Chamber, and come when she sent for him. And this was the true and only Reason why he retired to the Poor Rock with the hermit, where he snivell'd, and whined, and cried, and filled a whole Tun of Heidelbergh with his Tears; till heaven at length took pity of him, and sent him Relief in the height of his Affliction, and in the Severity of his Penance. Which being true, as I know it is, why should I trouble myself to tear the Clothes off my back, to quarrel with Trees, and dam up Fountains that never did me any harm. Then long live the Memory of Amadis, let him be the Pattern for Don Quixote of the Mancha to imitate; and let it be said of him, as was said of the other, That if he did not perform such great achievements, yet his Heart was good; and tho Dulcinea did not bid him be gone, yet he went away of himself. Therefore turn out Boys, all Hands aloft, and may the noble Actions of Amadis inspire me to find out the true way to follow his Example. This said, he called to mind that Amadis spent most of his time in Prayer; to which purpose he made him a Rosary of Acorns, instead of Beads: But he was extremely troubled for want of a hermit to hear his Confession, and give him Absolution. However, he divertis'd himself with walking up and down the Meadow, and writing his Contemplations sometimes i' the Dust, sometimes upon the Barks of Trees, all composed in metre, and accommodated to the sadness of his Condition, only that the Praises of Dulcinea were interlarded in every one. And it was a thousand pities we could find none that were legible and entire, but only these that follow.  

The VERSES.  

YE spreading Shades of lofty Trees,  
So fair and lovely to the Sight;  
And you more humble Plants, for Man  
And Beast, both Pasture and Delight;  
If my Complaints may Pity move,  
Let your Attention my Complaints approve.   

Alas!— I die;  
And there's good Reason too; for why?  
I am in love up to the Ears;  
turned Fool, y' Faith, i' my old Years.  
Hear then, O hear, a wretched Knight,  
That moans and groans both Day and Night.  
I pule and blubbler, cry and whine,  
And all for want of my Dulcina deal Toboso.   

Love burns me like a Glass-house Fire,  
As if my Flames did all conspire  
To melt my armor from my Back.  
Yet lying thus upon the Rack,  
Ask me the reason of my Woe,  
The Devil take me, if I know.  
Only I swagger, swear, and rave,  
Then Bedlam-like, show all I have,  
And make a Noise, like any Swine,  
For fear they steal away Dulcina deal Toboso.   

Knight-Errants formerly could find  
Adventures fitted to their mind,  
In every Bush and hollow three:  
The Devil a' one can I hear see.  
But stead of Dragons and huge Snakes,  
I meet with only briars and Brakes.  
I must confess, for some Variety,  
That little Whipster of a Deity,  
He that, for Love, makes Men to burn,  
Encounters me at every turn;  
Which makes me bellow, bleat, and whine,  
For fear they steal my dear Dulcina deal Toboso.    
This was the Employment of our Amorous Knight in this same mountainous desert; who forgot not also to call upon the Fawns and Silvans of those Groves, the Nymphs of the Rivers, and the mournful Echo, with great Importunity imploring their Attention, Condolement, and Assistance. And when his Devotions were over, his Stomach would set him at work to pick salads for the support of Nature. Which sort of Horse Diet, without Bread, or Oil and Vinegar, reduced him to such a meager Condition, that had Sancho stayed three Weeks, as he tarried but three Days, his Mother that bore him, would never have known the Child of her own Womb.  
Let us therefore leave our Hero to his sobs, and his Sighs, his Dumps and his Meditations, and see how Sancho behaved himself in his Embassy. Who getting clear of the Mountain, took the direct Road to Toboso, and the next day about noon arrived near the Inn where he had been tossed i' the Blanket. He no sooner descried it, but a sudden shivering seized his Bones, and he fancied himself to be again at Leap-frog i' the Air; so that he had a good mind to have road farther before he drew bit, tho it were Dinner-time, and the poor Squire had eat'n nothing of a long time. But necessity constraining, he advanced to the Inn-Gate, where, while he sate musing whether he should enter or no, two men came forth, and believing they knew him, cried one to t'other, Is not that Sancho Pancha, whom the Governess  told us the Knight had inveigl'd along with him to be his Squire? 'tis the same, answered the Curate; and more then that, he rides Don Quixote's Horse. These two happened to be the Curate and the Barber, that upon a severe Examination, had passed that dreadful Sentence upon the Books. Thereupon being confirmed they were i' the right, they called him by his Name, and asked him where he had left Don Quixote? Sancho, who knew 'em full well, being loathe to discover his Master's Condition; Gentlemen, said he, my Master is very deeply engaged in a Business of great Importance, which I dare not discover for my life. No, no, Friend Sancho, replied the Barber, we must not part wi' ye so, unless you tell us where you have left your Master; otherwise we shall believe you have murdered him, and robbed him of his Horse. In short, either tell us where your Master is, or resolve to go to Newgate. Gentlemen, Gentlemen, replied Sancho, there's no need of so many Threats, I am no Murderer, nor Robber, but a Christian, that leaves every one to fall by his own Destiny, or by the Hands of God that made him. As for my Master, he is doing the most pleasant Penance i' the World at the foot of yonder Mountain; and so saying, he  told 'em the whole Story from the beginning to the end; and how he was going with a Letter to Madam Dulcinea of Toboso, alias Nan Hogg, with whom his Master was most desperately fallen in love. Thereupon the Curate and the Barber desired to see the Letter: To whom Sancho made Answer, That it was written in a Table-book, but that his Master had ordered him to get it transcribed upon Guilt-paper, at the next Village he came at. Whereupon the Curate promising to writ it out in a fair Character, Sancho put his hand in his Pocket to give the Curate the Table-book, but found he had either left it behind him, or else that Don Quixote had forgot to give it him. This fatal Accident put Sancho into a could Sweat, and made him look as pale, as if he had been newly pumped in an Inns-a'-Court. He turned his Pockets th'inside outward, searched all his Clothes, but seeing there was no hopes, he rent his Beard from his Chin; and to punish his forgetful skull, be-fisted his Blubber-Cheeks, till the Blood spun from his Nose. The Curate and the Barber beholding him in such a Passion, yet laughing i' their Sleeves, asked him, Why he so severely chastised himself? Alas! replied Sancho, I ha' lost at one time no less then three Asses, of which the least was as big as a Castle. How so, quo the Barber? Why I have lost the Table-book, replied Sancho, wherein was written the Letter to Madam Dulcinea, and a Bill of Exchange, signed with my Master's own Hand, for three Asses of five he has at home; telling 'em withal, how unfortunately he had lost his own. But the Curate cheered him up, assuring him, that he would give him another Bill in Paper, more authentic then that which was written in the Table-book, which was not in due form. Nay then, quo Sancho, I care not a Straw for the loss of Dulcinea's Letter, for I can say it almost by heart, and the Curate might transcribe it when he pleased. Let's hear it then, quo the Barber. Thereupon Sancho beginning to study for the Words, fell a scratching his Noddle, stood first upon one Foot, then upon another, gaped upon the Skies, skowl'd upon the Ground; laid one Hand upon his Eyes, and bit his Nails of the other: But at length despairing to recover what he scratched for, I'll be hanged, quo he, if the Devil han't a Hand i' this Plot; for o' my Soul, Mr. Curate, I can remember nothing of this confounded Letter, but only that there was at the beginning, High and Subterrane Lady. sovereign Lady, you would say, quo the Barber, not Subterrane. Ay, Ay, y' are i' the right, Mr. Barber, quo Sancho; but stay, I think there was this too that followed; He that lies awake for want of Sleep, and wounded by your absence, kisses your Ladiship's Hands, most ungrateful and disdainful fair One. Something also he mentioned concerning Health and Sickness, which he wished her; and thus rambling on a good while, he concluded with, Yours till Death, The Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance.  
Sancho's excellent Memory made the Curate and the Barber very good Sport, insomuch that they desired him to repeat it over three or four times, which he did very freely; but still every time he made some Addition or Alteration, which was extremely pleasant. Then he  told 'em, that if he return'd with a kind Answer from Madam Dulcinea, that his Master was resolved to prosecute his Travels, and make himself an Emperor, or some Potent Monarch at least; which it was easy for his Master to do, considering his Stength and Courage. Which being done, his Master would mary him to one of the Empresses Maids of Honour, Heiress to a large Earldom upon the Continent, for that he was weary of Islands. All which being spok'n by Sancho so feelingly, and so seriously, ever and anon rubbing his Nose, and stroking his Beard, to signify the Assurance of his Hopes, did not a little amuse both the Curate and Barber, till they considered the prevalent Influences of pleasing Dreams upon Fancies easy to be deluded. However, they thought it not worth their while to rectify his judgement, seeing it was a harmless enchantment of the Senses, that tended to nothing of mischievous Design. And therefore they exhorted him to pray for the long Life and Health of his Master, in regard it was no improbable thing, but that in time by his Prowess he might either become an Emperor, or by his Prudence, an Arch-bishop.  
How! an Arch-bishop, quo Sancho! Pray, Gentlemen, what Rewards do Arch-bishop-Errants bestow upon their Squires? Why, it may be some good bnfice or Chaplain ship; or else they make 'em their Clerks or Sextons, or else their Vergers, which brings 'em in a good Revenue; besides the Honour of wearing a Scarf, tho they be no Doctors by their Degrees. Oh, but then, besides that the Squire must not be married, he must be a Man of Learning, and be able to preach sometimes, or at least, to make your Syllogisms against men that writ against his Master. But for me that am married, and can hardly red my Horn-book, what will become of me, if my Master should take a fancy to be an Arch-bishop? Set thy Heart at rest, Friend Sancho, quo the Barber, we'l talk to him about it, and the Curate shall enjoin him under the Penalty of Damnation, rather to be an Emperor then an Arch-bishop: Which will be much better for him, in regard he is more valiant then learned. I am of your Opinion, quo Sancho, tho for my part, I believe he is as well fitted for the one as the other. However, the burden of my Prayers shall be, to pray to God to grant him what shall be most proper for him, and what may best enable him to gratify his Squire. You speak like a wise Man, and a good Christian, quo the Curate. But that which we have to do at present, is only to retrieve thy Master from that unprofitable Penance he has undertak'n; and therefore let's first go to Dinner, and take a little time for Consideration. Gentlemen, quo Sancho, you may dine at leisure, but I am in hast, and therefore pray sand me out a little Victuals to eat o' Horse-back; for I have a particular Reason why I cannot alight, which I'll tell ye another time. Soon after the Barber brought him his Dinner, and returning to the Curate, after they had consulted together, quo the Curate to the Barber, I have thought of an Expedient, which is this: I will disguise myself in the Habit of a Lady-Errant, and you shall equip yourself after such a manner, that you may follow me as my Squire. In this posture will I go to Don Quixote, and feigning myself to be a distressed Lady, that wants his Assistance, beg a Boon of him, which I am sure he will not deny me, as a Knight-Errant. By this means will I engage him to revenge an Injury done me by a certain fellow, and Traitor of a pretended Brother of the Order; beseeching him at the same time, not to desire to see my Face, till he had done me Justice upon the Miscreant Violator of my Honour. This Bait will take, my life for yours; he'l look upon it as a Message from heaven: and by this means we'll bring him back to his own House, where we'l endeavour to cure him of his Extravagancy.   

CHAP. XIII.  
How the Curate and the Barber accomplished their Design; with many other Occurrences of great Importance.  
THE Barber being highly pleased with the Curate's Project, they resolved to put it forthwith in Execution. To which purpose the Curate borrowed a complete Woman's-Apparel of the Hostess, leaving a new Silk Cassock in Pawn; and the Barber made him a Beard of a Py'd-Oxe's Tail, half Danish, half grizl'd, with which the Inn-keeper was wont to clean his Combs. The Hostess being curious to know what they intended to do with those Gingombobs, the Curate was forced to tell 'em the Story of Don Quixote's Extravagances, and the whole Drift of their Design. Upon which, the Inn-keeper  told 'em the whole Story of the balsam, and of Sancho's being tossed in a Blanket; and the Hostess willing to forward their good Intention, dressed up the Curate as fine as a Farmer's Daughter, going to meet her Sweet-heart at a Country-Fair; only with so much of a Gentlewoman, as to wear a Vizor-mask to hid his Face and his Beard. Being thus fitted with proper Accoutrements, up got the Curate upon his Side-saddle, and the Barber mounted his Mule, taking their leave of the Hostess and Maritornes, who, as great a Sinner as she was, vowed to tell over her Rosary no less then twenty times, for their good Success.  
But they had not road above fifty Paces, when the Curate began to be troubled in Conscience; and what d' ye think was the Scruple? Why, he was afraid, that the Woman's Habit would ha' ravished him. A person, quo he to the Barber, may Gentleman-usher a young Lady i' the Streets, which is as bad a Sight too, but he must not wear her Apparel. And therefore good Neighbour, added he, prithee let us change Sexes, thou shalt be the Lady, and I'll be the Squire: Content, content, quo the Barber, I'll wear the Habit of a Mahometan, for a Jest's sake—  
Now while the Barber was dressing himself and managing his Pins, the Curate would have pretended to instruct him how to demean himself. prithee, Mr. Curate, quo the Barber, a Barber is next a-kin to a Tire-woman, and therefore let me alone to act a Lady, that have acted with some Ladies i' my time, when I was a young Smooth-chin'd Fellow.  
Thus the Hostesse's Sunday-Gown and Head-gear being changed for the Motley-Beard, they spurred on, while Sancho, who had o're-tak'n 'em by this time, entertain d 'em upon the Road with a Relation of Don Quixote's antic Behaviour, without mentioning a Word of the Money, or the Portmantle. For as much a Fool as he was, he knew o' which side his Bread was buttered.  
The next day arriving where Sancho had strewed the Boughs for his Land-mark, they made a stop; and there, upon mature Deliberation, they ordered Sancho not to take the least Notice who they were; but when Don Quixote enquired for Dulcinea's Answer, that he should tell his Master that she had sent it by Word of Mouth, in regard she could neither writ nor red; which was, That upon Pain of her high Displeasure, he should, without delay, repair to her Presence, for that she had a longing Desire to see and embrace him. To which they added, That there was no way but this to recover his Wits, that he might prosecute his Design of making himself an Emperor, assuring him they would take such Order, that he should never so much as dream of an archbishopric.  
Sancho thus instructed and ordered to bring back Tidings of what he had done, road on to seek out his Master, leaving the Curate and the Barber by the side of a Brook, where the Shade and Verdure of a pleasant Grove sheltered 'em from the Heat of the Sun, which shone very hot at that time, being about the middle of August.  
While they reposed themselves under that delightful Canopy, expecting Sancho's return, they heard a Voice, which without the help of any Instrument, seemed to ravish their Ears. And their Admiration was so much the greater, to hear such Charms of artful Melody in so wild and desert a Solitude: Besides that, the Words themselves savoured something of rural Composition; being the same that are here inserted.  

WHat Female Plague is this that haunts my Brain?  
Severe Disdain.  
What's that which will not let my Soul be free?  
'tis jealousy.  
But what does my Impatience thus provoke?  
Long Absence from a Smock.  
Then farewell Frost— what can become of me?  
When Two bauk'd Hercules, and here are Three.  
O pity, pity thus a Lover slain  
By Absence, jealousy, and proud Disdain.   

What makes me trifle thus away my Youth?  
Fortune, forsooth.  
Who fired my Breast, and does the Flames improve?  
Half Lust, half Love.  
And who refuses my Complaints to hear?  
That's heaven I fear.  
Then bad proves worse, and I am lost again,  
When Fortune, Love and heaven conspire my Pain:  
For well we know, at Foot-ball Three are Odds,  
But here are Six— Where are ye, O ye Gods?   

Now what's the Cure? the same that cured macbeth.  
Oh Heav'ns! that's Death.  
Is there no other way, if Death should falter?  
Oh yes, a Halter!  
But then I fear that Men will call me Fool;  
Most sure they wool.  
How! die or hang, and be called Fool to boot!  
As long as I can live, I'll never do't.  
Then Fortune hang, hang jealousy, Disdain,  
And Love— I'll live, and never love again.   
The Time, the Hour, the Solitariness of the Place, the Voice and Skill, with which the unseen Person sang, so charmed the Ears of the Hearers, that they determined to find out the Musician, and proffer him their Service; but hearing the same Voice begin another air, they were easily induced to stop, and list'n to the following Words.  

I Never considered that Love was a Cheat,  
When first I began to woe;  
But now I confess I find it, too late,  
That Pleasure and interest govern below.   

Men court not the Virgin, but merely the Action,  
And all to procure a Self-satisfaction;  
And now too, the Virgins are all grown so wary,  
That only for Riches and Honour they'l mary.   

Such a Fool was I once to woe, and to court,  
And thought myself sure of my Mistress's Heart;  
But when the Duke's Son came once to appear,  
Away was I sent with a flay i' my Ear.   

The Poets therefore were a Number of Owls,  
To make such a stir with a Baby-fac'd Chit;  
Employing Priapus to scar the wild Fowls,  
That rules both our Love, our Reason and Wit.   

Priapus the Father of all the Graces,  
He's th' only Beginning and End of our wooing;  
Your Oaths, and Protests, and alluring Grimaces,  
They all do but end in kissing and doing.   

And then for the Maid, 'tis th' Estate she would have,  
The Coach and Six Horses her Love do encourage;  
But alas! for if either do either deceive,  
Love presently cools like a Mess of Beef-Porridge.   

There's nothing but virtue the Object of Love,  
Nor Beauty, nor Colour, Love minds i' the least,  
They're are only the Idols of Pleasure, by Jove,  
Where th' Altar's Desire, Priapus High Priest.   

Ah! had I considered these things before,  
I had never run mad in Sierra Morena;  
Then Fondness and Kindness go both to Gehenna,  
For as a true Lover I'll never court more.   
This Sonnet concluded with a deep Sigh, and Throbs so loud and vehement, that the Curate and Barber, touched with Compassion and Curiosity, resolved to find out who this distressed Songster was. Nor was it long before they discovered at the foot of a Rock, a Man whose Shape and Aspect answered directly to the Description which Sancho had given of Cardenio, who spying them two, stopped short, and stood with his Chin upon his Breast, like one in a profound Study, never so much as lifting up his Eyes to mind what they did. The Curate, who was a very charitable Person, went toward him, and in most obliging Language earnestly besought him, to abandon such a desert Solitude, and a Course of life so forlorn and miserable, which endangered his Salvation, that was to be prized above all things in this World.  
Cardenio was then free from his raving Fits; yet seeing two Persons in a quiter different Habit then what was wont to appear in those deserts, was not a little surprised at first; but then perceiving that they spoken as if they understood something of his Concerns; Gentlemen, said he, whoever ye be, I find heaven compassionating my Misfortunes, has brought ye to these unfrequented Wildernesses to retrieve me from this affrightful Retirement, and recover me to the Society of Men. But because you know not so well as myself, that the end of one Misery will be but the beginning of another; considering my Condition, you may probably take me for some unfortunate Creature that has lost his Reason and Senses: And indeed you have sufficient Cause to think so. For I find by myself, that the Remembrance of my misfortunes frequently distracts me to that degree, that I unman myself for the time, and commit those Extravagances, which are only the Effects of irrational Rage and Frenzy. For which, when I happ'n to be rebuked and blamed, I can allege no other Excuse, but only the Cause of my Misfortune that occasioned those irregular Actions, and then I tell the Story of my hard Fate, to all that have the Patience to hear it. And therefore, Gentlemen, if you come here with that Intention, I desire ye, before ye go about to persuade me to alter my Course of life, to hear the Relation of my woeful Calamities; and then you will see, whether after so many Sufferings, and so little Consolation among men, I have not Reason sufficient to exile myself from human Converse. Thereupon the Curate and the Barber, who desired nothing more then to hear the Story from his own Mouth, with great Importunity requested the Favour of him to gratify their Curiosity, assuring him, That they had no Design, but thereby to find what Remedies might be most suitable to his Condition.  
Cardenio then began, and went on with the first part of his Story, as has been already related, so far as till Don Quixote, out of his Niceness to observe the Decorum of Chivalry, gave an Interruption to the Relation, by quarreling about Tom Thumb, and the Queen of Trumps. But Cardenio being now at leisure to finish his Story, and coming to that Passage concerning the Billet-doux sent him by Lucinda, and which Ferdinand found to be transcribed out of Amadis de gall, he  told 'em, that as far as he could remember, the Contents of it were these.  

Lucinda to Cardenio  
I Discover in ye every day new Occasions to value and esteem your Worth. If you will therefore have me discharge this Debt, without serving an Execution upon my Honour, you may do it. I have a Father that knows you, who, without putting any Constraint upon my Will, is ready to condescend to whatever shall be just and honourable. So that now it remains with you to show that you love me as you pretend, and I believe.   
This Letter it was that emboldened me to demand Lucinda of her Father in Marriage, and made Don Ferdinand have so good an Opinion of her Wit and Discretion, and put him upon a Design to destroy me, before I could bring my own Desires to pass. I  told D. Ferdinand the Scope of the Answer, which Lucinda's Father had given me, That it was for my own Father to propose the business first; which I durst not reveal to my Father, for fear he should put a stop to my Proceedings. Not that he was ignorant of the Quality, Beauty, and virtue of Lucinda, which were sufficient to entitle her an Ornament to the noblest House in Spain; but because he was unwilling to mary me, till he saw what the Duke would do for me. To remove this Obstacle, D. Ferdinand proffered to speak to my Father, and oblige him to treat with Lucinda's. And now who would have thought that D. Ferdinand, whose Quality and Merit rendered him capable to court the greatest Ladies in the Kingdom, and who pretended so much Kindness and Friendship for me, should lay such a treacherous Design to deprive me of all the Happiness of my life? But so it was; for D. Ferdinand finding my Presence obstructed his Project, the same day that he undertook to speak to my Father, made an absolute Bargain for six Horses, and presently desired me to ride away to his Brother for Money to pay for' em. He could no sooner ask, but have of me; so little did I suspect his Treachery, believing him to be a Man of Honour. So that Night I went to take my leave of Lucinda, and to tell her what D. Ferdinand had promised to do. She bid me make hast back again, not doubting but the Business would be done, so soon as the two old Men had parly'd together. But whatever Lucinda had in her mind at that time, I am sure I could see nothing but Tears in her Eyes; which put me into a great Confusion, not being able to conjecture the Reason of her Discontent, which I could only attribute to the tenderness of her Affection, and unwillingness to part with me.  
In short, away I went full of Fears, and jealous Imaginations, for which I could give no reason i' the Earth. I delivered D. Ferdinand's Letter to his Brother, who received me with all the Kindness imaginable, but did not so soon dispatch me. For, to my great Grief, he enjoined me to tarry eight days, and to keep myself private, for fear of being seen by the Duke, for that his Brother had sent for Money unknown to his Father. But this was only a trick of D. Ferdinand's to delay my Return; for his Brother never wanted Money, and might have presently dispatched me, had he so pleased.  
Thereupon I was about to have return'd without the Money, rather then obey an Injunction so intolerable; not able to endure such a tedious Absence from Lucinda, considering in what a Condition I had left her. But the fear of disobliging my Father, and doing an Action which I could not rationally justify, prevailed over my Impatience. Some four days after my Arrival, a Messenger brought me a Letter, which I found came from Lucinda; I opened it with an aching Heart, surprised that it should be sent by a man o' purpose. However, before I red it, I asked the Messenger, Who gave it him, and how long he had been upon the Road? He answered me, That passing by accidentally i' the Street, a very fair Lady, with Tears in her Eyes, called me to the Window, and in very great hast; If you be a Christian, said she, as you seem to be, for the Love of God, take this Letter, and carry it, without delay, according to the Direction, but deliver it into the Gentleman's own Hand; and having so said, she threw me a Handkerchief, wherein I found five Guinies, a Jewel, and a Letter; and then having made her a Promise of my Fidelity, she shut the Window.  
All the while the Fellow spoken, a thousand Fears, and ominous Jealousies assailed me, quaking and shiv'ring, like a man faced by a Fiend at Midnight; but at last recollecting myself, I red the Letter, of which these were the Contents.  
DON Ferdinand has been as good as his word, for he has spok'n to your Father; but as the Proverb says, one word for you, and two for himself. He has demanded me in Marriage, and my Father blinded by the Advantages, which he expects from such an Alliance, has so far consented, that two days hence the Marriage is to be consummated; and that so privately, that only heaven and some of the Family are to be Witnesses. Judge you how much I am concerned for your sake; and therefore hast'n your Return with all speed: The Issue of this Business shall show how much I am yours.  
I had no sooner red the Letter, but away I flew, without taking leave. For then it was that I discovered D. Ferdinand's Treachery, and that he had sent me of his Errand, only to take the Advantage of my Absence. Anger, Love, and Impatience furnished me with Wings; so that I got home betimes; and that Evening I found Lucinda at the Window, but I did not meet with that Reception which I expected. Cardenio, said she, my Wedding-clothes are on, and they expect me in the Hall to complete the Ceremony. Yet know, my Father, the Traitor Ferdinand, and the rest, may be Witnesses of my Death, but never of my Nuptials. Ne're trouble thyself, my dear Cardenio! for if entreaties and Words will not prevail, this Dagger shall do me Justice; and the Period of my life shall be an undeniable Proof of thy Love and my Fidelity; and I would have thee, if thou canst, be present to behold the Sacrifice. Let thy Deeds, Lucinda, cried I, make good thy Words: For if thou carry'st a Dagger to preserve the Truth of thy Vows and Protestations, I wear a Sword, which if it be not able to defend us, I will turn it upon my own Breast, rather then out-live my shane. I cannot tell whether Lucinda heard me, for she was called away in great hast; at what time such was my Confusion, that my Eyes, and my Senses failed me both at one time. But at length recovering myself, and considering the Promise I had made, and withal, how useful I might be to her at such a time of need; I got into the House, being then all in a hurry, undiscovered by any body, and placed myself behind the Hangings in the Hall, where two pieces of Tapestry joined, and gave me liberty to see, yet not be seen.  
Ferdinand entered the Hall in his usual Habit, with only a Cousin-German of Lucinda's, the rest were the People of the House. Soon after appeared Lucinda her self, accompanied by her Mother, and attended by two of her Maid-Servants, in a Dress befiting her Quality, and answerable to the Solemnity of the Ceremony; but notwithstanding all her Pomp, her Pearls and Jewels were all eclipsed by the Lustre of her Beauty.  
And now all Parties being met, the cursed Priest entered, and taking the two betrothed Persons by the Hands, he asked Lucinda, Whether she were willing to take D. Ferdinand for her wedded Husband? With that I thrust out my Head from between the two Tapestries, and listened attentively to hear Lucinda's Answer; which I looked upon as the Sentence of my Life or Death. Wretch that I was! Who hindered me then from showing myself, and putting Lucinda in mind of her Promise? Who prevented me from laying before her what she owed me, and letting her see how she ruined me by her Silence? Who hindered me from taking my full Revenge upon D. Ferdinand, the Troubler of my life tranquillity, when my Honour and my Love lay at Stake?  
All this while the Priest tarried for Lucinda's Answer, who was a long time before she gave it: And I expected when she would make use of her Dagger, to disengage her self from the Labyrinth she was in, or pled her former Vows and Protestations, and plighted Troth to my Advantage. But woe is me! at length with a faint and low Voice I heard her pronounce the fatal Yes; and then Ferdinand saying the same, gave her the Ring by which the indissoluble Knot was tied. Which done, the Villain Bridegroom stepp'd forward to embrace his Bride, who laying her Hand upon her Heart, swooned away in her Mother's Arms.  
You may easily conjecture the Confusion I was in, seeing the falsehood of Lucinda's Promises, all my Hopes frustrated, and myself, with the saying of one Word, deprived of the sole Happiness and Treasure of my Life. I looked upon myself to be the Object of Heaven's Wrath, that had abandoned me to the Cruelty of my Destiny; the Abomination of the Earth that gave me Being, while the Air denied me Breath sufficient for my Sighs, and the Water Moisture to supply my Eyes.  
Lucinda's Swooning troubled the whole Company, and her Mother having unlac'd her to give her Air, found in her Bosom a Paper sealed up● which, when Ferdinand had opened and red, he sate down in a Chair with all the Signs of Melancholy and Discontent, as if he had forgot the Disaster of his new-marry'd Bride. For my own part, I was resolved as first, to have satisfied my Resentment in punishing the Perfidiousness of that Traitor Ferdinand, which I might easily have done, considering the Disorder and Confusion i' the House at that time. But heaven that reserves me perhaps for greater Misfortunes, allowed me the use of that small Remainder of my Senses, which afterwards quiter forsook me; so that I left the House quietly and peaceably, resolving to inflict the Punishments due to them upon myself, for trusting to the Faith of Mankind.  
The very same time I left the Town, and as I road along under the Protection of Night and Silence, I vented my Passion in Execrations against the false and treacherous Ferdinand, and in no less loud Complaints of ingrateful and perjured Lucinda's Cruelty.  
The next Morning I found myself at the foot of these Mountains, where I wandered for three Days together, without observing any Road, till at last meeting with certain Shepherds in the adjoining Meadows, I enquired the way to the most desert and solitary part of the Mountain. When I came to the foot of these Rocks, my Mule, quiter tired and famished, fell down dead; and I myself was so weak, and cast down, that I could hardly stand upon my Feet. This I remember, that finding myself in that languishing Condition, I threw myself upon the Grass, where I lay stretched forth like a Corps; but when I rose again, I could not perceive I had any Appetite to eat; by which I conjecture, that the Shepherds had given me some sort of Sustenance, tho I were not sensible of their Relief: And they  told me afterwards, in what a miserable Condition they found me, raving and tearing, that they thought me quiter out o' my Wits. And indeed, to tell ye the truth, I have not found myself perfectly in my Senses never since; while my distracted Thoughts have hurried me to commit a Thousand Extravagances; tearing my Clothes, filling the Air with loud Curses, Lamentations, and Repetitions of Lucinda's Name, with no other Design then to expire in the pronouncing it; and when I came to myself, I found myself weary and tired, as if I had rid a hard-trotting Horse for fifty Miles together. My Mansion-house is generally a hollow Cork-tree, where the Shepherds and Goat-herds leave me their Charity for the Support of my Life; for Nature is still in her Wits, tho Cardenio be mad. Sometimes these honest People meet me in my lucid Intervals, and check me for robbing 'em of their Provision, and abusing their Servants, especially being so liberal of their own accords: Which was a great Affliction to me, and then I promised amendment for the future, tho my wild Humour would not suffer me many time to be so good as my word.  
Thus Gentlemen, do I led a miserable life, expecting when Heaven will either put a Period to my days, or raze out of my Remembrance the Beauty and Ingratitude of Lucinda, and Ferdinand's Perfidiousness. In the mean time, I beg of heaven to look upon me with an Eye of Compassion, since I cannot believe such a Course of life as this, can be any way pleasing to God; tho I am not able to resolve any thing of myself, under the Load of these Misfortunes that overwhelm me, and surmount the Strength of my Reason.  
Here Cardenio having made an end of his doleful Story, and such a frank Confession, that the Curate was about to have given him Absolution; when of a sudden they heard the mournful Accents of another sad Complaint, which pricked up their Ears to new Attention; of which you shall have a true account in the Fourth Book. For Cid-Hamet-Benengeli will not admit the Third Part to reach any farther.    

 Don Quixote's enchantment 
Don Quixot's enchantment, page. 243.   
 Don Quixote arrested 
— Don Quixot Arrested, and carried home in a Cage. page. 255. 26i.   

THE FOURTH BOOK Of the most Ingenious KNIGHT, Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART I. BOOK IV.  
CHAP. I.  
Of the new and pleasant Adventure which befell the Curate and the Barber in the Black Mountain.  
MOst fortunate were those Times, and happy was the Womb that brought into the World the bold and valiant Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose steady Resolution to restore to the World the almost lost, and, as it were, deceased Order of Knight-Errantry, gives us a blessed Opportunity in this our Age, quiter bankrupt of Pastime for the mind, to enjoy not only the Pleasure of his delightful Story, but also other Comical Novels and Tales. We  told ye, that the Curate intending a Chapter of Consolation to Cardenio, was prevented by a Voice that loudly breathed forth the doleful Moans of a troubled Mind, in these Words. Heav'ns! is it possible, that I have at length found out a lurking Hole, wherein to conceal myself from the Eyes of all Mankind, and where to bury this ponderous Load of Flesh and Garbage; a burden too heavy for my oppressed Soul? How happy am I to find in these mountainous Solitudes that Repose and tranquillity, which is not to be found among Men; and where I may have Liberty to tell heaven a piece o' my mind, and condole the Misfortunes with which I am unjustly overwhelmed. Compassionate heaven, hear my Complaints! 'tis to you that I address myself; for Men are Fools and Knaves, and you alone can give me Consolation, and tell me in plain English what I have to do. Thereupon the Curate and his Company, curious to know what Son of Tribulation it was that uttered these doleful Lamentations, followed their Noses, where their Ears directed' em. Nor had they gon above twenty Paces, before they spied a young Lad to all outward Appearance, sitting at the foot of a Rock, under an Ash-tree. He was clad in a Countrey-habit, but his Face they could not see, being bowed almost upon his Knees, as he sate washing his Feet in a clear and purling Stream that glided gently by. They approached him so softly, that he never perceived 'em; so that they had the leisure to survey a pair of Thighs so plump, so white, so well-shaped, that nothing could appear more beautiful. A Spectacle that strangely surprised 'em in a person, whose Clothes discovered him to be no other then some gardener, or Farmer's Son. Bless us, quo they! such Thighs, such Legs, and Alablaster-Feet as those, were never made to follow Plough-tails, or tread Gard'n-plats. Thereupon the Curate, who began to smell a Rat, beckon'd to the rest of the Company to go and hid themselves behind the Rock: Which they did, and from thence making a stricter Observation, they found the young Stripling had on a Russet Goat of coarse Kentish Cloth, tied about his Waste with a kind of a long Linen Neckcloth, instead of a Scarf, and a pair of Breeches of the same, together with a Sailor's Thrum-Cap buttoned up o' one side, and lined underneath with green Taffaty; all Sunday's apparel, before George. After he had washed his lily-white Toes, he wiped 'em with a Napkin which he pulled out of his Codpiece. But then looking up, What d' ye think they discovered? No parts of Distinction, I beg your Favour for that, but such a matchless Face, that Cardenio cried out, This is either Lucinda, or an Angel from Heaven. By and by the young Lad taking off his Cap, and shaking his Head, such a lovely Quantity of dishevelled Venus hair covered all his Shoulders, and thence fell down to his Feet, so thick and Sunbeam like, that it was apparent they had mistak'n a Corydon for an Amarrillis, a young Lad for a young dansel, and one of the fair'st that ever Eyes beholded, except it were Lucinda, for that Cardenio would by no means allow. Instead of a Comb to disentangle her Hair, she made use of her Fingers, which by consequence were very small. That Accident made another Discovery of her Arms and Hands, surpassing in whiteness all the ermines, or Snow that ever fell from the Sky. Which astonishing Beauties so ravished their Admiration, and increased their Curiosity, that they resolved to accost her, and see who she was. The young Lady hearing a Noise, peeped through her Hair, as through a Window, and seeing three Men coming toward her, only stayed to take up a little Bundle which she had, and betook her self to her Heels with all the speed she could. But her bare tender Feet not being able to endure the rudeness of the Stones, down she fell, poor Soul— so that the Curate easily over-taking her— Lady, said he, whoever you are, fear nothing; here are none but such as would be glad to serve you to the utmost of their Power. But then perceiving her still to stand as if she had met her Grandfather's Ghost; Your dishevelled Hair, Madam, quo the Curate, has discovered what your Disguise concealed from us: Which, however, did but render us the more compassionate of your Misfortunes, or make us the more ready to assist ye; therefore Madam dispel your needless Fears, and tell us how our Service may be most to your Advantage. I know better then to think it was a slight Occasion that made you put on this Disguise and venture, so sweet a Lady as you are, into this same solitary desert, where it was the greatest Miracle in the World that e're you met with us. However, we hope it is not impossible to find a Remedy for your Misfortunes, since there is none so violent, which Reason and Time will not at length surmount. And therefore, Madam, if you have not absolutely renounced all Consolation and Advice of Mankind, I beseech ye tell us the Cause of your Sorrows, which 'tis not Curiosity, but a real Intention to serve her, that makes us thus importunate to know.  
All the while the Curate was making his compliments, the Lady stood like one in a Trance, staring upon the three Strangers, as if they had been so many Apparitions with white Sheets and Torches i' their Hands. But at length the civil Curate having given her time to recollect her self, and still plying her with new Crumbs of Comfort, and warm Offers of Hand and Tongue to serve her, she fetched a deep Sigh, and then opening the Coral-Gates of her Lips, broke Silence in this manner. Since these solitary Mountains, said she, have not been able to conceal me, but that my Hair has betrayed me, it will be in vain for me to play the Counterfeit any longer with you that can tell, I see, an Apple from an Oyster. And since you desire to hear the Rehearsal of my Misfortunes, it would be an Ingratitude to to repay your civil Offers with the Refusal of a lamentable Story; the Rehearsal of which will be so far a Kindness to me, that thereby I shall make ye the equal Judges of my Condition; and whether it be possible for a Mind so distracted as mine, ever to admit of Consolation in this World. There is one thing that troubles me more, that I must reveal to ye certain Secrets which I had thought to have buried with me in the Grave: But I am forced to do it, that you may not think I partend with my Honour for the sight of half a score Plays, or as many Spring-Garden Treatments, but at the Price of more Vows and Protestations then would fill a Church; and which, I make no Question, but that they will one day turn to the ruin of that treacherous Soul that made and broken' em. When the dansel had thus said. The Curate and his Company modestly left the young Madam Epicene to put on her Hose and Shoes, and tie up her Locks; and having found out a convenient Shade, sate down full of Expectation. Nor did the Lady make 'em stay a jot, but being as willing to be rid of her Story, which most distressed Ladies are, as they were to hear it, she made all imaginable Expedition; only for fear she should be long in her Repetition, first made water, and then taking her place, thus began:  
I was born in a certain City of Andaluzia, from which a certain Duke derives his Title, that entitles him to be a Grandee of Spain. My Father, who is one of his Tenants, is none of the most wealthy Men in the Country; and yet not so poor neither but that if Fortune had equalled his Birth to his Estate, he could have wanted nothing more, and I perhaps had never been so miserable: For most assuredly 'twas my ruin that my Parents were not sufficiently illustrious. For Lords will mary Farmers Daughters for Money; but when they have got their Dust, then they kick 'em out o' their Beds, because they can't behave themselves, and compliment like your Ladies born, forsooth. And yet my Parents were not so meanly born neither, that they should be ashamed of their Gentility. 'tis true, they have been Farmers from Father to Son, yet without any mixture of Ale-draper or Tripe-woman: They are good old Christians, and their Antiquity in the Parish-book, together with their large Possessions, and the Port they live in, as having been Fore-men of the Grand-Jury for several Ages, exalts 'em above their Profession, and sets 'em above many Knights and Squires i' the World. Now I being their only Heiress, they loved me entirely, and loving me entirely, they left the whole house to my Disposal. The Dairy-maids, Cook-maids, cornfields, were all at my Command: I kept the Key of the Spice and Sugar, locked up the could Venison-Pasties, and Florentines: and in a word, I had my full Swinge of Liberty and Dominion. The time which I had to spare from over-looking the making of the Butter and Cheese, raising of Paste, feeding the Poultry, and such other Family-duties; I employed in mending my Father's Linen, and working new Points for my Pinners, and Gorget to wear o' holidays; nor did I ever leave my Work, unless it were sometimes to red a little in Aristotle's Problems, or the Lady's Calling, or some other profitable Book; and now and then to play a Lesson upon the Virginals, understanding that music was very proper to recreate the wearied Spirits of either Sex. And this was then the innocent Life I lead.  
While I thus lived the life of a Nun, employed in my housewifery, not seeing any body all the Week-long, but our own Family, and only to Church and home again a Sundays, close at my Mother's Heels, and that so muffled and hooded, that I could scarce find my way; the Report went abroad that I was very handsome, which was the Reason that Courtship troubled the tranquillity of my Life. For it seems that the Dukes second Son, whose Name was Don Ferdinand, had a sight of me, by what Accident I know not, when I least dreamed of any such thing.  
Scarce had Cardenio heard the Name of Don Ferdinand repeated, when he changed Colour, and discovered such a Commotion of Body and Mind, that the Curate and the Barber were afraid he would have fallen into one of his mad Fits. But it did not come to that, he only set himself to consider the fair Country-Lass, fixing his Eyes wistfully upon her, and viewing her earnestly to see whether he knew her again; while she, without taking any farther Notice of Cardenio's Disturbance, continued her Story.  
He had no sooner seen me, said she, but as I was afterwards  told, he felt in his Breast that violent Passion, of which he made me afterwards so many Vows and Protestations. In a word, not to tell ye a tedious Story of all his compliments, his Crown-pieces flew about the House like Birds in an Aviary. He won all the Servants with his Money; he made my Father a thousand Offers of Court-preferment, and promised him the privilege to whisper i' the King's Ear, like Mahomet's Pigeon; my Mother too, was to be Mother o' the Maids: I could not sleep all Night for the Noise of Fiddles at my Window, and every Day Feasting, and Fish-Dinners at the Tavern. And then for your Billet-doux's, as ye call 'em, or little Love-notes, full of Honey and Tenderness, passionate Oaths, Vows, Protestations, Submissions, and Imprecations; I could have spared a Bushel to an Apothecary to make up his penniworths of Dioscordium; but alas, I was not then to be tickled, like a Trout under the Belly; all his Sedulities and Flatteries were so far from winning my Affection, that I hated Don Ferdinand like a Viper, and could have eat'n him with Salt. Not but that I was pleased well enough, I must tell ye, with his Presents of Jessomin Gloves, and ribbons, the Neck-lace, and Gold Watch that he gave me, and was not a little proud to find myself beloved by a Person of his Quality. For Maidens are pleased with Court-ship, and the most disdainful cannot but be a little Complaisant to those that tell 'em they are handsome. But the Disproportion between our Qualities was such, that I could never believe he courted me for a Wife, but rather for a Miss; and truly I was brought up too piously to be any man's Pleasure-boat, how great soever. Nay, the very Admonitions of my Father quiter turned my Stomach against my Lover, for he made a right Construction of Don Ferdinand's Intentions, and bid me have a care of him, as one that sought his own Satisfaction, rather then my Advantage; and tho I say it, that should not say it, I was as ca eful of my Reputation as my Father could be for his life. However, my Father perceiving that I was still disturbed, and troubled, and uneasy; and believing that the itching Desire of being a Lady, might at length trip up my Heels before I was ware,  told me one day, That he had a great Confidence in my virtue, and that I needed no other ammunition then that to defend my Fort against Don Ferdinand's Assaults; yet if I thought there were no other way to make him raise his Siege then by Marriage, I should have Liberty to make my own Choice among my Neighbours; and that he would promote my good Intentions, with all the Affection that could be expected from a loving Father. I thanked him for his Kindness, and made him answer, That having no Inclination to mary, I would think of some other way to rid myself of Don Ferdinand, without running out of the Frying-pan into the Fire. Thereupon I resolved to keep myself so close and retired, that he should never have the Opportunity to come into my Company; or if he did speak to me, never to answer him a word. But the more cautious I was, the more my Reserv'dness inflamed his impetuous Lust; for I can call it no other, since if it had been true Love, I had never come hither to tell you my Tale. Well— let that pass— the Sequel was this; That D. Ferdinand either hearing or suspecting I was to be married, to the ruin of all his Hopes, he thought upon a Contrivance to across a Design so destructive to his wicked Purposes.  
One night therefore, when I was in my Chamber with none but a Maid that served me, and the Door locked and bolted so fast, that I would ha' sworn all the Betties in Town could not have unhinged it, who should stand just before me but D. Ferdinand. Which sudden and unexpected Apparition put me into such a dreadful Amaze, that my Joints were numm'd, my Senses forsook their Habitations, and my very Speech was frighted out of my Mouth. Thereupon D. Ferdinand taking the Advantage of my Weakness and my Astonishment, did not, I'll say that for him, offer me any Rudeness at that time, but clasping me in his Arms, so be-moan'd me, so condoled me, so my Poor-rogu'd me, so my Be-dear'd me, so repented his Folly, so begged my Pardon, then blubbered, then cried, then sighed, and so dexterously managed his Passions, his Tears, and his dissembled Kindnesses, that I being but young, and at that very Age, God is my Witness, when Maidens are most subject to be deceived, gave Credit to his Sobs and Sighs, that vouched for his Integrity; so that his Sighs and Tears, and Tears and Sighs, I say his bitter Moans and Lamentations at length, Gentlemen, vanquished a little my Reluctancy, and I began in some measure to compassionate his Sufferings. And yet for all that, when I began to come to myself, my former Resolutions return'd; and then frowning, and louring, and pouting, and angry, as it became me; Sir, said I, if at the same time that you give me all these Testimonies of your Affection, you will allow me the Choice either to love you, or poison myself; I declare it, I would rather choose Rats-bane, then be your Landabrides; for I would have ye to know, I prefer my Honour before my Life. I know not what ye mean, Sir, by thus rudely breaking into my Privacies, so prejudicial to my virtue. And therefore unhand me quickly, and be gone, or else as, I live, I'll cry out Murder— and then I make no question, but all the Pitch-forks i' the Village will come to my Rescue. What! because my Father pays your Father a Quit-rent; I am no Slave to you, nor your Father neither. Don't ye think to dazzle me with your fine Clothes, nor your gaudy Titles. For I le not be a Miss to e're a huffing Lord of ye all. I am not to be caught by fine words, nor spring'd with high-flown compliments. No, no,— my Lord, I am not to be so easily coax'd out of my Maiden-head. In short, my Will is solely at my Father's Disposal, whoever my Father makes choice of, he's the Man for my Money. Therefore, Sir, if you would have me believe ye have such a real Affection for me, leave haunting and teazing me thus to no purpose. For since I am too mean to be your Wife, and you too great to be my Husband, ne're pretend a Kindness for me, that can never be sound at the Bottom. How! Mrs. Dorothy, cried the perfidious Ferdinand, cannot I be your Husband—? Pray, where's the Hind'rance, if you but say the word? If that be all, Mrs. Dorothy, I'll mary thee presently, here's my hand upon't— And may I be buried without a clean Shirt, if I don't speak Truth.  
Cardenio was no less surprised at the Name of Dorothy, then he was at the Name of D. Ferdinand; for it confirmed him in the Suspicion which he had at the Beginning of the Story. However, he would not interrupt her, because he was willing to hear the end of it. Only thus much, said he, is your Name Mrs. Dorothy—? I have heard of a young Gentlewoman, whose Misfortunes have a great Resemblance with yours. I ha' done, Madam, pray proceed— for I believe I shall quit scores wi' ye by and by.  
With that Mrs. Dorothy made a stop to study Cardenio's Face; and observing him in such a tattered Condition— Pray, Sir, said she, if you know any thing that concerns me, let me know it presently; for I am Proof against all the Flails of Misfortune. Nay— to tell ye truth, my Misforfortunes have been such as have rendered me insensible of all manner of fear. My Name might be Grizle for my Patience. Faith, Madam, replied Cardenio, I would tell ye all that I know, and perhaps more then I know, were I sure my Conjectures were true. But 'tis no matter, Lady, 'twill be time enough an hour hence; and therefore I beseech ye proceed.  
Then Mrs. Dorothy resuming her Discourse: After a thousand amorous Raptures and Resolutions to mary me, quo she, Don Ferdinand gave me his Hand, and having plighted his Troth to me, he took a little Agnus Dei that was in my Chamber, to be Witness of the Contract; and confirmed it with more Oaths then a Boat-swain swears in a Storm. However, before I engaged myself too far, I advised him to have a care how he suffered an unruly Passion, and a little Snout-fairness to hurry him to his ruin. Be not such an ungracious Rebel either to disgrace or incense your Father, said I, to see you married to a Person so much below your Descent; and let not the heat of your Codpiece transport ye to an Act, of which the Repentance will at length render me miserable. And to these I added several other Arguments all to no purpose. For Don Ferdinand all Fire and Tow, banned Father, and Mother, and all his Generation; and like a Renegado that never minds his Word, swore he would sacrifice his whole Pedigree to his Affections for me. When I saw him so obstinate in his Resolutions, I began to consider what I had to do. Thought I to myself, I am not the first Kitchen-wench that has been made a Lady; I had heard of an Inn-keeper's Daughter that became a duchess, and of Dukes that have admitted Cinder-women to their Beds. Fortune offers me her forelock, 'tis not so nitty, thought I, that I should refuse to take hold of it. Besides, I am sure D. Ferdinand is not the only Person i' the World, that has married more for Beauty then Quality or Merit. Here's a Husband offered me, that swears, protests, and vows the unalterable Burden of his Love shall be always Thine till Death, D. Ferdinand; why then should I refuse such a Happiness through squeamish Coyness, since Women were not born altogether into this World for Contemplation? And then, by my Truly, there was one thing more, that I did not think myself safe alone in D. Ferdinand's Clutches; for, thought I, suppose I should drive him to despair by a nice Refusal, and he resolved to satisfy his Passion, should ravish me, in what a fine Pickle should I be then? Then again I saw him to be young, noble, brisk, airy, proper, handsome, well limbed, no Cully, nor Town-Fop, but rather a Sharper, witty pleasant, merry, good humoured: Now when a Maid has as much as she can desire, what would she ha' more? here were Temptations warm enough to ha' dissolved the Breast of Niobe, after she was turned into ston. And I would fain know, had it been any of your Cases, whether you would not have done, as I did? Ask my Maid, whether he did not swear by Whole sale; and whether, if it were possible to tell all the People that ever were born since Noah's Flood, he did not out-vie their Number in Protestations. So that altho I were ruined, 'tis true, yet was I not ruined either by Folly or Precipitancy. For in this swearing, protesting, vowing, sighing, sobbing, groaning, moaning, lamenting, despairing, imprecating Condition, he clasped me so hard in his Arms, and put me into such an Agony, that my Maid did but go down for a Glass of small Drink, but there was farewell Frost i' the Case, my Business was done, there was the End of my Virginity, and the Beginning of his accursed Treachery.  
I wont say the Maid went but once out of the Room— No— ye don't hear me say so— but so soon as it began to grow day, D. Ferdinand was not so hasty to come in, but he was as desirous to be gone. For besides that my Maid posted him away with all her Industry( for this I'll say for her, and a Fig for her, that tho she had been the cursed Jade that had betrayed me, she was unwilling my shane should be discovered.) Men have that Kindness for the Place where they accomplish their wicked Designs, that they care not how soon they leave it. However, the Pretence of his hast was his care of my Reputation, forsooth, and with a Coldness that I could easily discern from his former heat, he desired me not to mistrust his Fidelity. All the good Nature he had left, was to pull off a Diamond Ring from his Finger, and put it upon mine. A small recompense of a Jewel, God wot, for the Jewel I had lost. In short, away he went, and the Jilt of a Carrion, my Maid, let him out into the Street. And now I leave you to conjecture in what a Condition I was, when I considered what had befallen me; and knew not well what Appellation I was to give myself, whether Maid, Wife, or Widow. I was in a manner quiter distracted, nor could I tell well what to say to my Maid, whether I should call her young mercenary Bawd, or kind Assistant; not knowing whether she had done me Good or Harm. I had  told D. Ferdinand before he went, 'twas now Lammas Ground, the Fences were all open, and he might make use of the same means to come again when he pleased, till he found it convenient to make public the Honour which he had done me; but he did not come till the Night following, and then it seems, so surfeited himself, that I never saw him since, neither in the Street, nor at Church, tho I ran the hazard of being picked up in both places, to seek after him for a whole Month together, tho I knew he went a hunting every Day, and had started new Game in the Neighbourhood. 'tis impossible for me to tell ye then what Temptations I had to Halters, Razors, Daggers, pounds and Rivers, when I found myself thus scorned and abandoned by D. Ferdinand. A Slight so unexpected, and which I looked upon as the greatest Misfortune that ever could be-fall me, had like to a' quiter overwhelmed me. Then it was, that I found my Maid had been a treacherous, bribed, unfaithful Pandress to me, that had sold my Honour for a pair of new Shoes and stockings, and how dangerous a thing it is to confided either in Men or Maids. I exclaimed against D. Ferdinand; I left not a Sigh i' my Lungs, nor a Tear i' my Eyes, and yet could receive no Consolation. And yet I found there was a Necessity for me to conceal my Resentment, for fear my Father and Mother should take me into Examination. But at length I perceived 'twas in vain to counterfeit, for I could no longer hold, when I heard that D. Ferdinand was married i' the next Village, to a handsome, complete, young dansel, whose Name was Lucinda.  
The Name of Lucinda had like to have put Cardenio into his frantic Fits, but as good luck would have it, he had such a Command of himself at that time, that he only shrugg'd up his Shoulders, bit his Lips, and knit his Brows, and then fell a' weeping, as if his Father's Mannor had wanted Rain: Which Mrs. Dorothy not minding, as believing his Tears were not  shed for her sake, went on with that which more concerned her. This News stripped me stark naked of my Patience; Rage and Despair took Livery and Seisin o' my Soul, and in the Transports of my Fury I was about to have published D. Ferdinands Disloyalty, tho to the Discovery of my own shane. I know not whether any Remainder of Reason stopped these violent Motions, but if it did I was so drunk with Passion, that I did not perceive it. Well— at length I discovered the Cause of my Grief to a young Shepherd that served my Father: I desired him to lend me his Sunday's Clothes, and to go along with me to the Village where I knew D. Ferdinand was. The Shepherd, poor fellow,  told me, there were more Maids then Maukin, and used the best Arguments he had, to hinder me from what I was going about, but finding I was resolved upon the Point, he assured me he was ready to serve me. Thereupon I put on this Habit which you see, made up my Pack, which consisted of some old Gold and Plate, which my God-mothers had left me, several Fairings in Thimbles, Bodkins, and Gold Rings; a a round Bag of Thirteen-pence-ha'-penys, Nine-pences, Groats, and Four-pence-ha'-penys( for I kept all my Father's Butter-Money) some few suits of Night clothes; and so about Midnight away the Shepherd and I trudged. In two Days and a half we got to the Village, where the first thing I did, I enquired at the Sign of the Cock, a sorry Ale-house, where one Mrs. Lucinda's Father lived? 'twas an ordinary Question, but it produced a great deal more then I had a desire to know. For presently the Man o' the House  told me there had been a great Wedding at Mrs. Lucinda's House, and that so public, that 'twas the whole Discourse of the Village. Withal, he  told me what Favers they had, what Money Don Ferdinand gave the Ringers to drink, and a thousand more Circumstances, that made me so mad, I could have tore the Hair from my Head. He  told me farther, how that Mrs. Lucinda swoon'd away when she said, Yes, at what time the Priest asked her, Whether she would have D. Ferdinand to her wedded Husband? And how that he, after he had cut her Lace to give her more room to breath, found a Letter under her own hand, wherein she declared, that she could not be D. Ferdinand's Wife, because she was already contracted to one Mr. Cardenio, a Gentleman of Quality, living i' the same Village; and that she had only consented to that Marriage in obedience to her Father. Moreover he  told me, that Mrs. Lucinda would have killed her self after the Ceremony was over, which appeared to be true by a Dagger that was found about her; and that D. Ferdinand, mad to see himself so deluded, would have killed her himself, had he not been prevented by those that were in the Room. He  told me moreover, that D. Ferdinand upon this, presently left the Village, and that Mrs. Lucinda did not come to her self till the next day, at what time she declared, that she was Cardenio's Wife, and that he and she were contracted before she had ever seen D. Ferdinand. I understood also, that this Cardenio was present at the Wedding, and that thereupon he left the Village in Despair, only leaving a Letter behind him, wherein he made bitter Complaints of Mrs. Lucinda's Infidelity, and withal, giving it under his Hand, That he would never return again.  
This was all the Discourse of the Village when I came thither; and by and by we heard that Mrs. Lucinda was not to be found neither, and how her Father and Mother were at their Wits end to know what was become of her. For my part, I was not a little glad when I heard how squares went, for presently I had a vain Conceit that heaven took my part, and had thwarted D. Ferdinand's wicked Designs, on purpose to make a Christian of him at length; which put me in hopes, that seeing himself disappointed of Mrs. Lucinda, he would at last return to his forsak'n Mrs. Dorothy, and do like a Man of Quality and Honour.  
Thus I flattered myself, and thus I was willing to flatter myself, out of a Desire to prolong a miserable life; miserable indeed, in being disappointed of so much Honour with Pleasure, and so much Pleasure with Honour, as I expected to have enjoyed; which you cannot blame me, if I spared for no Pains or Labour to retrieve. But while I was ruminating what to do, there was a Hue and Cry came after Mrs. Dorothy. For by and by I heard Proclamation made i' the Street, and great Rewards were promised to any that could bring Tidings of Mrs. Dorothy. There I heard my Person, my Clothes, my Age described, even to the very Mole under my Ear, and the Dimple i' my Chin, as if they had studied nothing but Advertisements; and nothing vexed me, that the Report was, That the poor Shepherd that went along with me to carry my Bundle, had carried me away with an Intention to mary me at Pancrass or Mary-bone, as if I had been such a Fool to be stolen by my Father's Plough boy, or to run away with a mere Swain, like a young Girl enveigl'd by the Dancing-Master from a Boarding-School; which troubled me extremely, that my Father should have such low Thoughts of his Daughter that was hunting after another sort of Game. Thereupon, seeing it was in vain to look any longer for D. Ferdinand, I made all the hast I could, with my Shepherd, out of the Village, fearing least the Temptation of the promised Reward might 'allure the young Lad to betray me. Being got out of the Village, we never looked behind us, but like Apprentices that have out-stay'd their time of a Sunday's Evening, we straddl'd along so fast, that before Night we were got into the most desert and solitary part of all this dreadful Mountain, where I think, if the Devil were in Search of us, he could never find us. And thus, tho D. Ferdinand has not done the Duty of a Husband, I ha' done the Duty of a Wife, in forsaking Father and Mother to follow him, to whom I thought I had been as good as married.  
However, I cannot say, but that in the midst of all these my Misfortunes, I had a little good luck, or else y' faith I had paid dear for looking after D. Ferdinand. For that same young Varlet of a Shepherd, that I brought along with me, whether it were out of Kindness, because he found me in such a taking for a Husband, or whether it were through an ill Custom that he had learnt among my Mother's Milk-maids( tho one would have thought his short Commons, and hard travail, all the while he was with me, should have brought down his Courage) this young Princock, that you would have thought couldnot ha' said Bo to a Goose, began to talk to me of Love. For you know the Proverb, Opportunity makes a Thief; and this Opportunity he thought he had then in his Hands, while I was all alone far from Help; and he as Lusty as he was Rampant, and as Rampant as he was Lusty. Ye saucy Rascal, quo I, how dare you talk thus impudently to your Master's Daughter? What, nothing but up and ride? Will nothing but white Bread serve your turn? Tho I have mist God's Blessing, don't you think, Sirrah, that I take you for the warm Sun. Upon this, the Ragamuffin of a Shepherd, perceiving there was no good to be done by fair means, began to fumble with my Codpiece( for I had no Coats to pull up) and swore he would feel in his own Breeches. S'life! what, nothing but naked Violence, ye Dog, quo I! and with that, re-doubling my Strength, I pushed him down a Rock as high from the Ground, I believe, as the Dragon upon Bow-Church; and I make no Question, but before he came to the Ground, his Domicils of Concupiscence were well squash'd. For my part, I never looked to see what was become of him, but retired as far as I could into the thickest part of the Wood to secure myself.  
The next day I met with a countryman, who took me to his House in a Village seated at the foot of the Mountain, and employed me in the nature of his Shepherd, with whom I tarried a Month, till he with his Colt's Tooth in his Head, having discovered me to be of the Female Sex, would fain ha' been at the same Sport as my Father's Man; which was the Reason that I left him two days ago, and rambl'd hither, resolved to seek out some place where I might have the Freedom to bewail my Misfortunes, till better luck should befall me, or compassionate heaven put an end to my miserable Life.   

CHAP. II.  
Where perhaps you may meet with something worth your Reading.  
THIS, Gentlemen, is the sad and lamentable Story of a Maiden head merely thrown away, yet lost without Redemption. And now be you Judges, whether you have any Comfits of Consolation proper to sweeten my Mouth, having swallowed such bitter Pills of unfortunate, tho undeserved Disappointment. All that I desire of ye, is only this; to tell me whether ye know of e're a Lady that wants a Waiting-Gentlewoman, or e're an old rich bachelor that lacks a House keeper, where I may spend the Remainder of my days, secure from the Search and Enquiry of my Parents. Not that I fear but that my Father and Mother would be willing to take me again, with all my Faults; only I am ashamed to look 'em i' the Face, after such a Mistake of the good Opinion they had of me.  
Here Mrs. Dorothy stopped; at what time the Blushes that over-spread her lovely Cheeks, and the Posture she stood in, with her Eyes fixed upon the Ground, were certain Signs of the Discomposure of her Thoughts. And as for the Curate and the Barber, after they had heard her doleful Story, they were strangely concerned for her, and thought it a very hard Case, that a poor harmless Virgin should be so basely Be-Danger-fielded, and deluded out of the most precious. Jewel which she had in the World, and then be so unjustly and treacherously abandoned by the Person that had robbed her of all her Wealth. However, they found that the Lord had been so kind as to leave her all the Charms of her Wit and Beauty: Which wrought so effectually upon the Curate, that he was ready to have given her a Homily of Consolation, when Cardenio more full of History then Ale, made bold to interrupt him. How, said he! Are you that pretty Mrs. Dorothy, the only Daughter of the wealthy Clenard? Mrs. Dorothy strangely surprised to hear her Father's Name in the Mouth of such a Tatterdemallion, as if he had been his Pot-Companion— Well, what then, quo she? Pray, who are you that know my Father so well? 'tis well known my Father has born all Offices i' the Parish, from the Scavenger to the Church-warden, and is now i' the Commission o' Sewers. Alas, Madam, quo Cardenio! I ask for no harm— my Name is Cardenio, at your Service, that unfortunate Cardenio, that had Lucinda's Faith in keeping; the very He that she said was her Husband: That miserable Cardenio!( and then he fetched a Sigh enough to have turned a Wind-mill for four Hours together) that miserable Cardenio! whom D. Ferdinand's Treachery has despoiled of all his Wits, and all his Wardrobe together. I am the Man, sweet Mrs. Dorothy, that was the unhappy Eye-witness( your Information was right, I assure ye) of the fatal Nuptials of D. Ferdinand; and who from that time, full of Trouble and Terror, abandoned myself to despair, believing I had for ever lost my dear Lucinda. I saw D. Ferdinand take a Letter out of her Bosom, but not dreaming it would do me a hap'orth a' good, nor being able to brook my Misfortunes, I flung out o' the House, with a Resolution to go and hang myself. But Heaven has preserved me, I see, to venture my Neck upon a better score. For having thus made known to me the Justice of your Cause, and Lucinda's Loyalty, I'll pick up my scattered Wits again, quo he, and find out that Traitor of a Lord; and tho I hang for't, either I'll kill him, or he shall kill me, but I'll force him to do the fair Mrs. Dorothy Justice, if Reason and Generosity will not oblige him to it. And this, added he, I swear to do by the faith of a Gentleman and a Christian. Lord! Mrs. Dorothy was so ravished with Joy to hear she should be a Lady again, for all her Misfortunes, that she fell down at Cardenio's feet, and would have kissed his Worship's to, but that Cardenio was more a Courtier then to let her.  
On the other side, the Curate finding he had now two Texts to preach upon, highly applauded Cardenio for his Generosity, and extolled Mrs. Dorothy to the Skies for her Gratitude. He also very handsomely invited Mrs. Dorothy to go along with him home to his House and rest her self there for some time; and that in the mean while they would there consult together which was the cleverest way to find out D. Ferdinand; and how to lay their Designs for the best; nay, the very Barber too put in for a share, offering Mrs. Dorothy to be her humble Spaniel to fetch and carry for her at any time of the Night or Day, whatever she desired. He farther added, That if she were afraid of the Small-Pox, as having put her Body out of order with hard Labour and Course Diet, he would let her Blood by way of Prevention, and it should not cost her a Farthing.  
After these more then ordinary Civilities paid to fair Mrs. Dorothy, the Barber acquainted Cardenio and Mrs. Dorothy with the Design which had brought the Curate and him to that Place, and gave 'em an Account of Don Quixote's Extravagancies, whose Squire they stayed for, a Shatterbrains, altogether as fit for Bedlam as his Master.  
Presently they heard a fellow whistle through his fingers, as if he had been jugging a Company of Foot-padds together. By and by he fell a Yauling and Holloing, as if he had born Malice to his own Lungs. Oh— yonder he is, I hear him, quo the Curate; and with that, he desired the Company that they might go and meet him. For truth to tell ye, said he, the Bandyleg'd Rogue knows not where to find us, having missed us at the place appointed. When they were all together the Curate asked him what was become of Don Quixote? Wherever he is, quo Sancho, I found him in his Shirt, as pale as a stale Flounder's Belly, as lean as th' Anatomy in St. John's Colledge-Library, ready to expire for Hunger, yet sighing like an old Woman at a Meeting-house for his dear Lady Dulcinea. He repeated her Commands to return and have one tumble more i' the Straw in Toboso Barn, and acknowledged her Commands were to be obeyed more exactly then those of the Grand signor or Persian Monarch; but then he fell a stamping, and staring, and Swearing, and damning, and vowing never to see her Beauty more, till he had performed some great achievement, that might deserve her favour. So that if my Master, added Sancho, led this life a Fortnight longer, the poor Squire must loose all his Hopes, since 'tis impossible for him to be either Emperor, or King, or so much as an Arch-bishop, which was the least he could pretend to, if Heaven spared him his Life. Ne're trouble thyself, Sancho, quo the Curate, we'll have him home again in spite of his Teeth; and then turning to Cardenio and Mrs. Dorothy, he informed 'em what a Plot the Barber and he had contrived to cure Don Quixote, or at least to get him home to his House and Family once more; and then if he would ramble again, the Devil ramble with him, and after him, for them.  
Mrs. Dorothy, whom the fresh Hopes of being a Lady, had put into one of those frolic Humours, when she used to give her Father's Chaplain could pig, was as arch, and as ready for her Kue, as ever she had been to strew itching Powder i' the Spectacle-maker's Wedding-Sheets, and undertook to act the distressed Lady her self, to save the Barber the trouble of disguising himself, as being one that had not only acted the same part so lately her self, but had spent many a Night at home in reading Books of Knight-Errantry, wherein she was therefore well skilled. Briskly offered, Madam, quo the Curate, we'll take ye at your word; and now let's to work as fast as we can. Presently Mrs Dorothy opened her Pack, and took out her Woman's Apparel. How came it there, you'l say? Ask no Questions for Conscience-sake; the Story put it in, and that's enough. More then that, 'twas a Manteau of flowered Satin, with a Petticoat of Silver upon a Ground of green Silk. Nay, there was a Neck-lace of Pearl too i' the Case, a white Tower, and several Gewgaws of the same Nature. You see now how soon a Historian can go into Pater-Noster-Row, buy the Stuff, sand it to the Taylors, have it made and put on. And now she that was a young Lad but a little before, appears to be a Trim-gaudy Lady: So lovely too in the Eyes of Cardenio, the Curate and the Barber, that they all stood in Admiration, that D. Ferdinand should be such a Rascal to abuse her as he had done; swearing withal, that he would be glad to make shift with many a worse before he died.  
But he that most admired Mrs. Dorothy, was Sancho, he had almost gazed his two Eyes out with looking upon her, and wanted two more to satisfy his enamoured fancy. For Heaven's-sake, quo he, to the Curate, What Lady is this? Make no inquiries, Sancho, quo the Curate. This Lady dropped out of the Clouds but a quarter of an Hour ago, and is the only Heiress in a direct Line to the vast Kingdom of Micomicon; she is now come to implore your Master to assist her, and revenge her of an Injury done her by a damned Son of a Whore Giant, who, as they say, is the most famous and desperate Robber in all Guiney. All in good time, she's hearty welcome, cried Sancho, she was happy in seeking, but far more happy in finding— Welcome Joan Sanders— welcome— welcome—. Now if my Master can be so happy as to kill this Monster with thirty Ribs of a side, we are all made for ever. I must confess he's a little out o' Case at present; but if I had my Will and Money enough, a' should eat nothing but Marrow-bones and Chines o' Beef; for second Course nothing but stewed Oysters, Potato's, and Eryngo's, and drink nothing but Nottingham Ale and Chocolate for this Month together, and then let him but drink a good Morning's draft upon the Day of battle, and you shall see him piss down the Giant. On the other side, Mr. Curate, be you sure that this Massy Giant do not prove an Apparition; for upon my faith, I know it by Experience, my Master has no Power over Apparitions; an Apparition will make him run, as some of your Hectors will run from a Custard held out upon the point of their Adversaries Sword. But Mr. Curate, quo Sancho, I have one favour more to beg of ye— For the Lord's sake, be sure to put my Master out of conceit with all archbishoprics; for what shall I get by his being an Arch-bishop? I know not what to do i' the Church; I can hardly say my Prayers, much less do I know when to cry Amen, or how to set a Psalm. And therefore to rid me of all my fears, and bar up the Church Doors eternally against him, persuade him to mary this Princess, and that you know will bring him into the high Road to be an Emperor, or a King at least. Besides, here's such an Opportunity put into his Hands, as if the Heav'ns themselves had designed him him for a Throne. And therefore, I say, let him cast off all Thoughts of an archbishopric; and before he assist this Princess, advice him to make his Bargain wisely, and to get it under Hand and Seal— she'l lye with him before-hand, I warrant ye, to be rid of this villainous Giant— and then you may be sure she'll ne're refuse him marriage— Pray, Mr. Curate, what's her Name, that I may know what to call her when she's my Mistress? They call her, quo the Curate, the Princess Micomicona: But her Kingdom being called Micomicon, I know not whether she derives her Name from her Kingdom, or her Kingdom from her. She from the Kingdom, no doubt, quo Sancho; for the Kingdom must of necessity be ancienter then she; seeing that if her Father had not been King of Micomicon, she could not, as Heiress, have been Princess of Micomicon. Law-ye-now, Mr. Curate, I am so much a Schollard, as to understand that: And therefore I am apt to believe it is a Law i' that country, that the eldest Daughters must always carry the Name of the Kingdom, and that they have been called Micomicona's ever since 'twas a Kingdom; that was before Julius Caesar's time. I warrant ye some of the Herald-Painters at the back-side of the Exchange could resolve this Riddle; but 'tis no matter at present— Pray, Mr. Curate, mind the main Chance. Thou speakest like a man of Reason, Sancho, quo the Curate, and a prudent counsellor; and I'll assure thee, since thou hast hit on't so luckily, I'll promote the Match to the utmost o' my Power. Which Promise of the Curate gave great Satisfaction to the faithful Squire, who sought nothing more then his Master's Interest.  
By this time Mrs. Dorothy was mounted upon the Parson's Mule; so that now the Barber, having most artificially re-transmogrify'd his Frontispiece with his false Beard, nothing remained but to renew their Admonitions to Sancho, to take care how he spoiled a good Plot, by taking the least Cognizance of his Acquaintance, which would be the ruin both of all his Hopes, and his Master's Empire. As for Cardenio, he thought it better to tarry behind; for besides that, it was none of his Concern, he was unwilling to be cudgelled, if Don Quixote, knowing him again, should go about to revenge the thump he had given him upon the Breast a little before. The Curate also, finding no need of his assistance, resolved to stay with Cardenio. Only the Princess Micomicona, her Squire, and the great Sancho, set forward.  
After they had jogged fair and softly on for about three quarters of a League, they spied Don Quixote among the Rocks, having by this time made himself ready, if he might be said to be ready without his armor. Presently Mrs. Dorothy, understanding that he was the Person, whipped on her Palfrey; and when she drew near Don Quixote, her Squire alighted, and took her from her Saddle. No sooner was she upon her feet, but she was as soon upon her knees before the Knight; at what time embracing his Thighs, in spite of all the Champion's Lord! Madam's, Pray Madam's, I beseech ye Madam's, Good Madam's, What d' mean Madam's, to the contrary. Most Valiant and Invincible Knight, said she, never will I rise from this place, till your Generosity has granted me a Boon, which will redound to your Honour, and the Relief of the most unfortunate and most afflicted Lady that ever the Sun shone upon. And indeed, if it be true what famed resounds abroad to distant Nations of your Valour, and the strength of your Arm, you are bound by the Laws of Honour and the Knighthood which you profess, to succour a miserable Lady, that lead by the loud famed of your Great achievements, comes from the t'other end of the World to implore your Protection.  
Madam, replied Don Quixote, I was neither born at Hoggs-Norton, nor at Taunton-Dean, that I should be such a Clown to talk to so fair a Lady, kneeling to my Person. Rise therefore, Madam, and deliver your Commands to your Servant upon equal Terms. No, most Illustrious Knight, my knees shall first grow to the Ground, replied the afflicted Princess, unless you shall be pleased to grant me the Favour which I humbly request. I grant it then, fair Lady, quo Don Quixote, provided it be nothing to the disservice of my King, my Country, and that Matchless Beauty that keeps the Key both of my Heart and Liberty. My Honour, cried the mournful Lady, lies at stake; 'tis quiter another business. With that Sancho closing up to his Master, and whispering him in the Ear,' Slife, Sir, grant it,— grant it, I tell ye— 'tis a Trifle; nothing but to kill a pitiful lousy Giant— He is not above four yards about, and fourteen foot high; ye may push him down with a Taylor's Bodkin— And she that implores this favour at your Hands is the Princess Micomicona, Queen of the great Kingdom of Micomicon in Ethiopia. Let her be what she will, replied Don Quixote, I'll do what I please; and what my Conscience, and the Rules of my Profession oblige me to. And then turning to the Lady, Rise, Madam, I beseech ye, cried he, I grant ye the Boon which your Illustrious Beauty Commands. Alas, Sir, the courtesy which I beg from your Magnanimous Valour, matchless Knight, replied the Lady, is only this; That you will be pleased to go along with me whither I shall conduct ye, and promise me not to engage in any other Adventure, till you have avenged me of a traitor that Usurps my Kingdom, contrary to all Law, both Divine and human. I promise ye, most Illustrious Lady, the utmost of my Assistance; and therefore be of good comfort, and chase impertinent Sadness from your Heart; for by the Aid of Heaven and this my strong Arm, I doubt not but to restore ye to your Right, maugre all the Cowardly Miscreants that dare oppose me. Let us then hasten our Performance; Delays are dangerous, Madam, and are many times the disappointment of great achievements. With that the Princess did all she could to have kissed his Hand; however he that was so much a Knight, a Gentleman, and a Courtier, would by no means suffer such a Submission in so great a Lady: But having raised her up upon her feet, embraced her with a most majestic Grace; and at the same time called to Sancho for his Arms. Presently Sancho went and shook 'em down from a young Ash, where they hung as if it had been an Armour-Tree. And now Don Quixote being like a Heater in a Smoothing-Ir'n, all completely cased, Come on, said he, let us go and succour this Illustrious Princess, and employ the Strength and Courage heaven has bestowed upon Us, to the ruin of her Enemies.  
The Barber, who was all this while upon his knees, and had enough to do to keep a Guard upon himself, for fear of Laughing, or letting fall his Beard, which would have been the utter ruin of the whole Design, seeing what hast Don Quixote made to be gone, rose up, and taking the Princess by one Hand, while Don Quixote took her by the other, they both together set her upon her Mule. Then the Invincible mounted his Prancing Rosinante; at what time the Barber also bestradling his Mule, they began to jog on. Only poor Sancho, methinks my Heart bleeds for him, was forced to walk a foot; and such was the barbarousness of the rugged Stones, that they took no Compassion upon his tender Toes, which made him fetch many a heavy sigh for his old Ass again. However, he took his misfortunes patiently, seeing his Master in so fair a way to be suddenly an Emperour. For he made no question but he would mary the Princess, and that at least he would be King of Micomicon. But there was one thing that disturbed the pleasure of his pleasing Dream, and that was this: That his Master's Dominions were to be in the Land of the negroes; and that the People, over whom he was to be a governor, were all to be Moors. But for this he presently found out an Expedient of Consolation. What care I, quo he, tho they be Moors? So much the better. 'tis but giving notice of a Negro-Fair at such a place, i' the Office where Maids go to inquire after Services, and I shall ha' Customers enough for the Plantations: They'l take off at least a Hundred Thousand a Year, and prevent the Trade of Kidnapping, and Spiriting of Children; which must of necessity turn to a good Account, and bring me in a good round Sum, with which I may be able to retire, and live at Peace i' my Old Age; leave forty shillings a Year for Wheaten Loaves, to be given to the Poor o' Sundays; and ten Pounds a Year toward a weekly six a Clock i' the Morning Lecture-Sermon; then die, and be set up with my Wife and Children in a kneeling posture against the Wall of the Parish Church. Why, quo he, what if I am not so Book-learn'd as other Men? Does there want so much Philosophy to sell two or three hundred thousand Slaves? Pox— I don't intend to make such a long business on't; let 'em e'en go higgle-de-piggledy, little and great; what tho they be as black as the Devil in Hell, I'll transform 'em, I'll warrant ye, into white and yellow Money: And now do you but tell me, whether I don't know how to lick my own fingers? Full of these tickling Imaginations, Sancho trudged along, charming away the pain and anguish of traveling a foot.  
All this while the Curate and Cardenio had beholded the Pleasant Scene through the Bushes, and were at a great loss what they should do to join Companies. But the Curate having bethought himself of an Expedient, pulled his soldiers out of his Pocket; and after he had snipp'd off Cardenio's Beard, made him put on his Cassock and Cloak, while he remained in Cuerpo only with his Doublet and Breeches. In which new Garb Cardenio was so strangely altered, that he did not look like the same Man. This done, away they made to the High-way, and there stayed, till Don Quixote and his Company were got clear of the Mountain. When they came near, and that Don Quixote made a stop at the sight of strange Faces; the Curate looked with a wistful Eye upon Don Quixote, as one that was in a study whether he might not know him or no; which Passion being over, like one that had made a Discovery, he ran toward Don Quixote with open Arms, crying out, Mirror of Chivalry, well met— my dear Countryman, Don Quixote de la Mancha, is there such a man alive, the Cream and Flower of Courage; the Bulwark of the weak and afflicted, and Quintessence of Knight-Errantry? Lord! how I am over joyed to see your Worship; and so saying, he ran to him, and embraced his left Leg with such an Affection, that he could not forbear to drop some few Tears upon his Spur-leathers. Don Quixote admiring what Adorer of his Princely virtues this should be, stared him i' the face, like a Picture-drawer; and after he had examined every Lineament, at length calling him again to mind, would fain have alighted. But the Curate hindering him, Worthy Doctor, cried he, I beseech ye let me not be so rude, to sit o' Horse-back, while you are a foot. Sir, you shall by no means alight, quo the Curate: I desire your Highness to keep your Saddle; 'twill be Honour enough for me to hold by the Tail of one of your Mules, if your Company will permit me. 'twill be the same thing to me, as if I were mounted upon Pegasus, or the Wild mere of the Famous Moor Musarake, who lies Enchanted in the drearie Cavern of Oukie Hole, in the Province of Somertonia. Forgive me, worthy Doctor, replied the Knight, you speak with a Humility becoming your Coat, and give an Example to many that never mind it; but I suppose the Princess will be so kind, as to Command her Squire to lend ye his Saddle, and to ride behind himself, if the Beast be but accustomed, as some Parsons Wives, to carry double. My Beast carries double, without all doubt, replied the Princess; and my Squire, I suppose, will not stay for my Commands to offer the Doctor his Saddle: He is better bread of himself, then to suffer an Ecclesiastical Person to go a foot, while he rides. Most certainly, replied the Barber; and presently alighting, presented his Saddle to the Curate, who accepted of it without more entreaty. By accident the Mule was a hired Beast; that is, in plain English, a skittish resty Jade: So that the Barber was no sooner got behind the Curate, but she gave two or three such yerks with her hinder Legs, that the Barber, fearing to endanger the Propagation of his Family, was forced to fling himself off her back, to save his perquisites of Generation. And perceiving that he had lost his Beard i' the fall, he could not think of any better way then to clap his hand before his Chaps, and cry out as loud as he could yaul, that he had broken his Jaw-bone. Heav'ns bless me, quo Don Quixote, beholding such an over-grown furbush of a Beard without a Chin, here's the eighth Wonder of the World; I never saw a Muscovite Beard so cleverly taken off without a Wash-ball and Razor, since I first red my Primer. Presently the Curate, perceiving the terrible danger they were in of a Plot-spoyling-Discovery, caught up the Beard, and running to the Barber, who lay all the while heavily bemoaning his Chapps, laid the Barber's Head to his Breast, and then muttering certain words, which he said, were a Charm in Trithemius, peculiar for the fastening on again of a loose Beard, fixed it on again so exactly, that the Barber was as sound as ever he was before. Which put Don Quixote into a far greater Astonishment; insomuch, that he desired the Curate very seriously to teach him the Charm, when he was at more leisure. Not doubting but that the virtue of such a Charm extended farther then to the fastening of Hair, since 'twas impossible that such a prodigious Beard could be torn off, without fetching away Flesh and all; so that such a sudden Cure might a●●● him upon the rending off a Limb from his Body, should such a Misfortune at any time befall him.  
And now all things being in statu quo, it was so ordered, That the Curate should ride alone by himself, and that Cardenio and the Barber should relieve one another, sometimes riding, sometimes walking by Turns, till they came to their Inn, which was about two Leagues off. The Princess and the Curate being thus mounted, and Cardenio, the Barber and Sancho, being a-foot, Don Quixote addressing himself to the Princess, now Madam, quo he, your Highness has no more to do, but to tell us which way we must go, and we are all ready to follow. At what time the Curate chopping in before the Princess could answer, Toward what Kingdom, said he, is it your Highness's Pleasure to led us? yet pardon me, Madam, for asking, when I know it must be toward the Kingdom of Micomicon. To which Mrs. Dorothy, who had Wit at Will, and was not to learn how to carry on an Intrigue; you have picked the very Kingdom out of all Kingdoms of the Earth, more like a Prophet, quo she, then a Curate. If it be so, quo the Doctor, then our way lies directly through the middle of our Village, from whence we have a streight Road to Cartagena, where we must embark. And if we have a fair Gale, and a calm Sea, we may in nine Years reach the Lake Moeotis, otherwise called the White Sea, where you may see a thousand Mermaids all in a Cluster together, pap'ring up their Towers on a Saturday Evening, and lies not above a hundred Days Journey from your Highness's Kingdom. Surely, Sir, replied Mrs. Dorothy, you are under a Mistake; for 'tis but two Years since I set out from my own Dominions, nor can I say, that we had such fair Weather neither, but sometimes rough Seas, and contrary Winds; and yet I must tell ye, I ha' been here in Spain too for some Weeks, where I had no sooner set my Foot a shore, but I heard the Streets ring with the famous achievements of the Renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, whom I therefore resolved to find out, if he were above Ground, whatever it cost me, resolving to throw myself under his Protection, and to commit the Justice of my Cause to his Wonder-working Arm. Lord, Madam; what d' ye mean, cried Don Quixote? I am your humble Servant, Madam; honest Truepenny, and mere mortal Don Quixote de la Mancha, that's my Name and Title: And therefore spare your compliments, I find y' are a Courtier from Top to to; but for my part, I hate Flattery, my Ears are too chased to be ravished by Adulation. You do not hear me tell ye whether I am a Man or a Mouse: All I say, is this, If I am valiant, so; if I am not valiant, so; but whether I am valiant, or not valiant, I am wholly at your Service, even to the expense of the last drop of my Blood; and let time tell ye, whether Don Quixote be a Milk-sop, or no. In the mean while I would fain know of the Curate, what brought him hither all alone, a-foot, and in Querpo, like a School-master going to the House of Office; for I must confess I am strangely surprised to see him in this Condition. Why then, an't like your Honour, my Lord Don Quixote, to tell ye the Reason succinctly in few words, Mr. Nicholas our Barber and I went to Sevil to receive some Money which an uncle sent me some years ago from the Indies; nor was it an inconsiderable Sum, as being no less then fifteen hundred pound Sterling. But upon the Road we met with four Highway-men that pillaged us of all we had, even to our very Beards, so that the Barber was forced to get him a Chin-Perriwig. And as for that Gentleman, whom you see there, pointing to Cardenio, after they had borrowed his Cloak-bag, and stripped him to his Shirt, they made him fit for another Fable in Ovid, by transfiguring him, as you see. Now they say, that these Rogues were a sort of Fellows condemned to the Gallies, who were rescued by a valiant Knight, from the Jailor and his Guard, in spite of their Teeths, as they were carrying 'em to the Port where they were to be embarked. However, I must needs say, the Knight was a Fool or a Mad-man for his Pains, or else as great a Rogue as any of 'em, to let out a Company of Wolves among Sheep, Foxes among innocent Poultry, and Bears among Honey-pots, contrary to the Law of Nations, his Allegiance to his Prince, and his Respect to public Justice, disabling the Strength of the Kings Gallies, invalidating the Sentences of the Judges upon Criminals, and like a rash and hare-brained Coxcomb, forfeiting at once both his Life and his Liberty upon Earth, if he should come to be prosecuted for his Folly, and his Salvation hereafter. For you must know, that Sancho had  told the Curate the Story of the Galley-slaves, who therefore preached this Sermon so severely to hear what Don Quixote would say, who changed Colour at every word, not daring to boast of that Act of his Valour, which the Curate had damned as an achievement more fit for the Devil, then a pious Knight-Errant. And these, quo the Curate, concluding his Text, were the cursed Villains, that reduced us to this miserable Condition; God forgive 'em, and that Poltron of a Knight, that freed 'em from the just Punishment of their Impieties.   

CHAP. III.  
The Pursuit of the History of the Princess of Micomicon, containing the cunning Policies and Stratagems of the Curate and Barber, to free the enamoured Knight from the rigorous Penance which he had undertak'n.  
THIS Sermon of the Curate's, short and home, and delivered without Book, with a becoming Gesture( the true Character of a good Sermon) wrought so feelingly upon Sancho's Conscience, that he made open Confession; Cuds-bodikins, quo he, and who d' think now 'twas performed that desperate Exploit? Troth-law, to his eternal famed be it spok'n, no living body i' the varsal World, but my dear valiant Master his noun self. And yet my Mind gave me he did not do well in it; and therefore 'twas, that I bid him have a care what he did, and  told him how that it could not choose, but be a very great Sin to set at liberty the Heels of a Company of Miscreants, whom the Law had condemned to the Gallies for their Villainies. And now I find, Mr. Curate, I was i' the right on't. Ye Pumpkin-pated Coxcomb, cried Don Quixote, Is it for a Knight-Errant, when he meets with People laden with Chains, and under Oppression, as they were, upon the Road, to take notice whether they suffered justly or unjustly? Knight-Errants are only to relieve the afflicted, and not to examine whether they be Rogues or Martyrs. I met a Company of poor Fellows in dismal Calamity, linked together like the Beads of a Rosary, and I set 'em at liberty. Therein I did what my Conscience, and my Profession obliged me to. And what has any Mortal breathing to say to this? if there be, unless it be Mr. Curate, here, whom I respect a little for his Coat's sake, he's the Son of ten thousand Fathers, and knows not what belongs to Knight-Errantry; and I'll make him eat my Sword and spew it up again, for I would be loathe to lose it. And having so said, he fixed himself in his Stirrups, and pulled his Helmet o'er his Brows, and looked as grim, as if he had vowed the Death of ten Serasquier-Bashaw's, with twenty thousand Men a piece at their Heels: for as for Mambrino's basin, it hung at his Saddle bow, battered as it was by the Galley-Slaves, fit for nothing but to mend old Kettles. Thereupon, Mrs. Dorothy by this time well acquainted with his Humour, seeing him in such a Passion, like a fleering Slut as she was, For Heaven's sake, Sir, quo she, assuage your Fury; for I dare swear, had Mr. Curate known 't had been your Valour that so religiously set the ungodly Galley-Slaves at liberty, he would ha' cut out his Tongue a thousand times, rather then ha' spok'n a word that should ha' displeased your Worship. No, I assure ye, Sir, quo the Curate, tho the Varlets had twitch'd my Beard off Hair by Hair. I am satisfied, Madam, quo Don Quixote, and for your sake the flamme of my just Indignation is already quenched; nor will I engage in any more Quarrels, till I have performed my Promise to your Sovereign Highness. Only, Madam, because 'tis but rational for a Man to know for what he ventures his Bones, I beg of your Highness to give us a brief Account of your Disasters, that I may know where to deny all manner of Mercy, where to dismember, and where to spare both Life and Limb, if there be any that can deserve so much Compassion, that have offended so much virtue in a Sovereign Princess. Lord! Sir, quo Mrs. Dorothy, 'tis the least thing I can do to oblige the most matchless Champion i' the World, but that I fear my Story will be too tedious and irksome to your Ears. Madam, so far, by my Soul, from being irksome, that do but say how many Giants Thumbs, with every one a Gold Ring, you expect for your Trouble, and you shall have 'em paid upon sight. Since then it must be so, cried Mrs. Dorothy, I must beg ye, Sir, to lend me your Attention. With that Cardenio and the Barber gathered up to her, to hear what a pickled Story she had provided so soon; tho they doubted not but her Wit and her Fancy was such, that she had one as ready as a lie in a King's-Bench Waiter's Mouth. Sancho also hung his Ears upon her Side-saddle, as if he had been to take her Speech in Short-hand; at what time the Lady having cough'd, spit, and wiped her Lips, with the greatest Grace i' the World, thus began:  
First then, Gentlemen, you must know that my Name is— Here she stopped, having quiter forgot the Name which the Curate had given her. Whereupon the Curate, finding her at a Non-plus, road close up to her, and begging Pardon for his Interruption; Madam, quo he, there is nothing more disturbs, and discomposes the Mind and the Memory, then long and extreme Affliction. I myself that am but the poor Curate of Toboso, the chiefest of whose living is by unlicenc'd Weddings, have been so beside myself many times for the Cheat of a Brass Half-Crown put upon me, that I have forgot my own Name, nor could I remember it again for my life, till the clerk has  told it me; no wonder then that the Princess Micomicona, Heiress to the vast Kingdom of Micomicon, overwhelmed with so many Calamities, and perplexed with so many various Thoughts for the Recovery of so vast a Dominion, should have her Imagination and Memory so much encumbered as you have at this present, but— I must confess, replied Mrs. Dorothy, that but just now there hovered before my Eyes such a black and dreadful Apparition of the Misfortunes that I am going to relate, that I hardly knew what I said; but having now pretty well recovered my self, I hope I shall be able to go on without any farther Hesitation. Know then, Gentlemen, that I am lawful Heiress to the vast Kingdom of Micomicon, and that the King my Father, who was called Tinacrin the Wise, a Person also greatly skilled in magic Art, understood by his profound Knowledge in that mysterious Science( for he had all Cornelius Agrippa's Works by heart) that Queen Caramilla my Mother should die before him, and that he himself should not live long after her, but leave me a young Orphan. But that was not the thing that troubled him, for he knew that Princes were mortal, and that it is usual to leave their Children behind 'em, sometimes i' their Swadling-Clothes; but his Magical Speculations foretold him, That a certain Giant as big as ten ordinary Giants, and as monstrous as Hobb's Leviathan, Lord of a great iceland almost upon the Confines of my Kingdom, whose Name is Pandafilando, surnamed the Sawcer-Ey'd; because he always looked as the Devil looked over Lincoln, on purpose to fright all People he stared upon. My Father, I say, fore-saw that this Giant, well knowing that I had neither Father nor Mother, would one day invade my Dominions with a powerful Army, and expel me out of my spacious Territories, without leaving me so much as a thatched Village to put my Head in; tho he knew withal, that I might avoid my Misfortune, provided I would consent to mary him; but that it was impossible for me to have any such Thought, well understanding the Skill which by that time I should have in Anatomy. For which Reason he was sure I would neither mary with that Giant, nor with any other Giant i'the World. My Father therefore left it in his Will, That I should take my Disasters patiently for a Time, and resign my Kingdom to him without more ado, since I was in no wise able to make any Defence to prevent the ruin of my Subjects: But withal, he left me also this comfortable Advice, That I should forthwith betake myself into Spain, where I should meet with a potent Protector, in the Person of a Renowned Knight-Errant, famed over all the World for his Valour, and his Strength, and called by the Name, if I forget not, of D. Hacote or Gigote— You are pretty near the matter, quo Sancho, interrupting her, call him therefore D. Quixote, Madam, or the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance. Y' are very right, Sir, replied Mrs. Dorothy, 'twas Don Quixote, now I remember myself. My Father also described to me a lean Man with a withered Face, and that he had upon his left Shoulder, or somewhere thereabouts, a black Mole over-grown with a thick Tuft of Hair. With that, Don Quixote calling for Sancho to come to him; Here, Sirrah, said he, hold my Lance, and help me to undress myself, for I can soon know whether it were me that this Conjurer of a King prophesied after this manner. Why so much hast, Sir Knight, replied Mrs. Dorothy, to strip yourself? To see whether I have any such Mole about me, quo Don Quixote, as you speak of. You need not undress yourself for that, replied Sancho, I am well satisfied that you have a Mark upon your Back-bone, or somewhat near it, like what the Princess describes. 'tis sufficient, quo Mrs. Dorothy; Friends can believe one another without such a strict Examination; nor am I going to swear it before a Master in Chancery; for whether it be upon your left or right Shoulder, 'tis not a Straw matter, since 'tis all the same Body and the same Flesh. In short, I find my Father spoken truth in every thing, and that I am right in recommending myself to Don Quixote, whose Stature and Visage so well agree with my Father's Description; and whose Reputation is so far spread abroad, that I was no sooner landed at Ossuna, but I heard of the miraculous achievements he had performed; and then I was confident that he was the Person to whom I was to make my Addresses. But pray, Madam, quo Don Quixote, how came you to land at Ossuna, which is no Sea-port Town? Lord! quo the Curate, interrupting him; don't ye know, Sir, that the Princess is a Stranger? She means, that after she landed at Malaga, the first Place she came to, was Ossuna, and there she heard, &c. That is what I would have said, replied Mrs. Dorothy. There's all the Reason i' the World to believe it, quo the Curate, and therefore your Majesty may be pleased to go on wi' your Story when you please. I have nothing more to say, replied Mrs. Dorothy, but only to bless my good Fortune for having so luckily met with this Renowned Knight, by whose Valour I look upon myself as already restored to the Throne of my Ancestors; since he has done me the Favour to promise me his Assistance against that Traitor of a Giant Pandafilando, whom I hope in a short time to see let blood i' the Head, like a Goose, till he bleed to death, and be revenged of him for so unjustly depriving me of my lawful Inheritance. One thing I forgot to tell ye, That my Father left me another Paper, wherein he charged me, That after the Knight had restored me to the Possession of my Kingdom, if he should ask me i' the way of honesty to mary me, I should never stand Shilly-shally, but mary him incontinently.  
What thinkest on't now, Sancho, quo Don Quixote? Didst hear what she said? Did I not tell thee 'twould rain Kingdoms, and Kings Daughters, and Governments, afore a Month came to an end? Ay, ay, quo Sancho, one of the gayest Proffers i' the World; and now the Devil take me, if he ben't the Son of a Whore that does not go forthwith and dissect this confounded Giant Pandafilando, and take the Princess at her word. A buxom Girl, I warrant her: Cuds foot— would all the pleas i' my Bed were such. And having so said, he fetched two or three frisks i' the Air, and flung out his Joy with a Hey-Boys. Which done, he fell upon his Knees at Mrs. Dorothy's Feet, beseeching her to give him her Hand to kiss, as an acknowledgement that he owned her for his Queen and Mistress. Thereupon Mrs. Dorothy gave him her Hand to kiss, and promised to make him a great Lord so soon as she should be re-settl'd in her Territories. For which Sancho return'd her thanks in such an extravagant compliment, that they all fell a laughing at such a rate, that Sancho feeling Authority begin to encroach upon him, bid 'em understand themselves, and know their Distance. Then Mrs. Dorothy proceeding, Thus, quo she, I have made ye a Recital of my Misfortunes: I have no more to say, but only to tell ye this, That of my Train that attended me out of my Kingdom, I have not one left but my Squire yonder with the long Beard: All the rest were cast away in a terrible Storm just in sight of our Harbour; only I and my Squire got ashore upon two Planks, and so saved ourselves; a good Omen that heaven has preserved us for better Fortune. Oh, Madam! quo Don Quixote, y' have met with it already; for I confirm my granted Boon, and once more swear by my Affeiction to the fair Dulcinea, to follow ye to the End of the World, and never to abandon your just Pretensions, till I have encountered your prodigious Enemy, sliver'd off his superfluous Head, and given his carcase to the Fowls of the Air, were he as valiant as twenty Mars's all put together. And when I have restored ye to your Throne, I shall then leave ye at full Liberty to dispose of your Person as you please yourself. For being, as I am, a Vassal to the Matchless— I say no more, since 'tis impossible for me, God wot, to mary, tho it were with a Phoenix. At which last Words and Sighs of his Master; Sancho, who listened like an inquisitive Chamber-maid, to hear Don Quixote's Answer, became so pensive and discontented withal, that not being able to contain his Passion; By the Bowels of all the Giants i' the World, signior Don Quixote, quo he, you have lost your Wits. Would ever any man else sit Hum-drumming, as you do, whether he should mary this great Princess, or no? Surely you can't think such Fortunes grow upon every Hedge— or is it because Mrs. Long Meg o' Westminster is handsomer then she? How!— she must chip off a handful from her Nose first, y' faith, and that won't do neither— As handsome as she! why, sure your Eyes are enchanted— Why, I must tell ye, as little Skill as I ha' in Beauty, your Divine Dulcinea, as ye call her, is a mere Tripewoman to her— she does not deserve to carry the Princess's pattens after her. Zookers! is this the way for me to have the Earldom I ha' been so long waiting for, after all your Promises, for you to go diving after Mushrooms i' the bottom o' the Sea—? mary then, mary with a Pox to ye— and don't lye doting thus on a filthy Stammel, but take a Kingdom, Goodman Fool, that comes dropping, as it were, into your mouth, that I may be an Earl, or a marquis, or something like it, when you ha' done as ye ought; for every honest man's as good as his Word; and when you have performed that, you may go hang yourself, if you think fit.  
Don Quixote hearing such Blasphemies uttered against his adored Dulcinea, heaves up his Lance, and without speaking a word that might discover his boiling Passion, gave his indiscreet Squire two such Paper-mill Thumps upon the very skull of him, that he lay kicking with his Heels, like a Cat that has had her Forehead well rubbed; and had it not been that Mrs. Dorothy scream'd out, and begged of him to forbear, for God's sake, he had murdered poor Sancho out-right in his fiery Indignation. Dog in a Doublet, quo he, do ye think I am bound always to bear wi' your Bumkinly Frumps wi' my Hands i' my Pocket? No, no, don't believe it, ye excommunicated Miscreant; I say excommunicated, for having opened thy blubber Lips so profanely against the Peerless Dulcinea. Dost thou not know, rascally Ragamuffin as thou art, that were it not for the Courage which she infuses into my Breast, and the Strength with which she fortifies my Arm, that I should not be able to kill a Titmouse? Ye confounded Rakeshame, ye Tailors Nit, who wast, d' ye think, that re-conquer'd the Kingdom of Microcomicon, slay the vast Giant that covered a whole Acre of Ground, when he fell, and raised thee from a lazy Scoundrel, to be a marquis( for I look upon all these things to be done already) but only Dulcinea's Valour, of which my Arm was no more then the unworthy Instrument? Is it not she that puts me on, as I put on my armor, fights cap-à-pie in her Don Quixote, and wins me all my Victories? She by whom I live and breath, and to whom I owe my Life and Being. Treacherous and ingrateful Beast, is it any longer then three minutes ago, that I raised thee from the dunghill to the pinnacle of Honour, and does thy viprous Tongue already dart thy Poison at thy Benefactress? Sancho was not so stunned, but that he heard every word his Master said; but because he was resolved to secure himself before he made him an Answer, up he crawled, and getting o' t'other fide Mrs. Dorothy's Palfrey; Now come on, Sir, quo he, you that think yourself such a Privy counsellor, pray tell me how 'tis possible, if you don't mary the Princess, to have the Kingdom at your Disposal? and that being so, where's my recompense for all my Bangs and Thumps I ha' received in your Service? Let the World therefore judge, whether I ha' not reason to complain, when I find ye thus going about to pop me off with what the Cat left in the Malt. Why should you have such a tender Conscience to scruple Marriage with the Princess? You may do that, and sand for your beloved Mopsa when y' ha' done; for 'tis the Fashion now a days to keep Misses. Here's a Princess sent ye, as it were, from heaven, and you won't mary her, with a Murrain to ye! As for which is the most beautiful of the two, I will not undertake to determine; your Madam Dulcinea is a very fair Lady, 'tis true, tho I never saw her i'my life. How! Off-spring of Satan, quo D. Quixote, never saw her, and yet brought'st mean Answer from her but just now! I mean, Sir, replied Sancho, I never viewed her, as Paris did the three Goddesses, to observe her Perfections by Retail, but take her all together, she may pass for a Beauty. Well, I pardon thee for this time, cried Don Quixote; and do thou likewise be so kind as to pardon the Provocation of my unruly Passion, which is not so soon quelled as put into a Ferment. I know it very well, replied Sancho, and therefore you ought to consider, that the talkative Humour which provokes me to speak, is a Motion which I can as well be hanged as resist; when 'tis once come to the tip of my Tongue, I must out with it, what e're it be. However, cried Don Quixote, if a Snaffle won't do it, put a kerb upon that unruly Member, and have a care what ye say— The Pitcher goes often to the Well— I say no more— A word to the wise is sufficient, quo Sancho— God above sees all things, and he is able to judge who is most i' the right, I that never speak well, or you that never do better.  
Enough, enough, quo Mrs. Dorothy, all's well; and therefore Sancho go and prostrate yourself at the Feet of your Lord and Master, beg his Pardon, and remember for the time to come to manage your Tongue with more Reserv'dness; more especially take heed how you talk irreverently of that Lady of Toboso, whose Servant I would be glad to be, tho I never saw her i'my life, because I find this valiant Knight has such a Value for her, and from henceforward trust to me for your recompense. With that, Sancho, in a most submissive Posture, went and threw himself at his Master's Stirrup, who having given him his Benediction with a majestic Gravity, desired the Company to ride on a little before, for that he had some Business of important Privacy with his Squire. So that when he found 'em far enough off hearing, Friend Sancho, quo he, I have had no leisure since thy Return to ask thee any Questions concerning thy Message, and what Answer thou hadst; but now prithee tell me the Particulars. Sir, replied Sancho, ask me what Questions you please, I'll tell ye more then I know, rather then less; only I beseech ye for the future, be not so malicious; for y' are so hasty grown, a Dog would not live wi' ye. Sancho, replied Don Quixote, they that will govern, must learn to obey; and they that think to beat others, must learn to be beat'n themselves; and therefore when I thrash thy Bones at any time, 'tis all for thy good. Ay, Sir, quo Sancho, but to bear malice, Malice forethought i' your mind, why 'tis the very Stress and Plain-song of all our Endictments. How dost mean Malice, quo Don Quixote? My Reason is this, quo Sancho; because my mind gives me, that you gave me these two last pithy Remembrances upon the Noddle, for the Quarrel that Satan raised between you and me t'other Night, and not for any thing I spoken against Madam Primrose, the Lady Dulcinea, whom I wish my Whim-whams in a cleft Stick, if I do not admire and adore, beyond any relic of the holy across: and that merely because she is your Mistress. Sancho, cried Don Quixote, once for all, let us leave off this Discourse, it grates my Ears; there is an Act of Oblivion past to this very moment; but new Offences will require new Punishment.  
While they were thus parlying together, they espied making toward 'em, a certain Person mounted upon a sober Ass, whom they took for a He-Gypsie, the nearer he came; but Sancho, who since the loss of his own Beast, never saw an Ass, but his Heart was ready to leap out of his Belly, had no sooner fixed his Eye upon the Traveller, but he knew him to be the Person that had so inhumanly robbed him of his Soul's Delight. Now this Fellow had disguised himself in the Habit of a gipsy, and spoken their gibberish exactly, to the end he might not be discovered, nor be prevented in the Sale of the Ass, which he had also transmogrify'd into the Shape almost of another Creature. But Sancho that knew his Ass again by the very Scent of a Fizzle, which he let just i' the neck of time, cried out with all the force of his Lungs, Ho, Mr. Thief, have I found ye? Deliver me my Goods, Rogue, deliver the Repose of my Heart, and comfort of my Soul; Varlet, Villain, Hedgebird, restore me my Ass, my Ass, ye Prancer-Prigger, my sole Delight, and only Joy— seize him, Master, seize him, here's my Ass, and here's the Rogue that stolen him; seize him Master, seize him. Upon which the Fellow, seeing himself so hard beset, slipped off the Ass, and betook himself to his heels, as nimbly as a Coney before a Lurcher, and quickly got out of their reach, because no body took the Pains to pursue him. For Sancho had enough to do to rejoice over his Ass; which he had no sooner got by the Bridle, but with a paternal Kindness, How hast done all this while, my Darling, my Treasure, quo he! Welcome, nay more welcome to thy own dear Sancho, then the Nuptial Night to two enamoured Lovers— and with that he fell a kissing, and hugging, and embracing his Beast, as if 't had been his only Son risen again from the Report of his being dead i' the Indies. To which the poor dumb Ass had not a word to say, not so much as in his own Mother-Spanish; only in mere Gratitude, he thrust out his Tongue, and licked off the Tears that fell from his Master's Eyes for Joy that he had regained the Beast of his Affections. In the mean time, the Company that were before, wond'ring at the long Halt that Don Quixote and his Squire made came riding back again, and understanding what was the matter, they all with a nemine contradicente, gave all imaginable Demonstrations of the Joy and Satisfaction for Sancho's good Fortune; while Don Quixote observing the good Nature of his Squire, re-confirm'd the Promise he had made him of three Asses for one.  
This was that which passed between Don Quixote and his Squire, while the Curate and Mrs. Dorothy had been engaged in Discourse of another Nature. Well, Madam, quo the Curate, I find a Man may venture upon your Head at any time; had ye studied twenty Years for this Story, you could never ha' brought a Fable to bear with more Fancy, or more Conciseness: And then for the terms of Knight-Errantry, you had 'em as exactly as a Seaman says his Compass. Oh, Sir! replied Mrs. Dorothy, I am but young in Years, 'tis true, but an old Reader of Romances: I have por'd upon 'em anights i' my Bed, till I have dropped a' Sleep, and left the Candle to fire the House, had not my Maid come in by chance; but a deuce take your Maps, for I could never understand 'em i' my life, which made me commit that Mistake about Ossuna. That was nothing, Madam, quo the Curate, as I ordered the matter: You see how I reconciled the business with a Jerk. But Madam, what think ye? Do you not wonder at this Fobdoodle of a Knight-Errant, that swallows so easily these Gudgeons of Tales and idle Stories, merely because they have a Smack of these Extravagancies, which he had red in his Amadis de Gaul's, and Round-table Champions? And yet discourse him upon any other Subject, and he's a man will talk ye as rationally as a Philosopher, as sober as a Judge, and as learnedly as an University Scholar. So that you would take him for a Man of sense and judgement, till ye come once to prick him i'the Vein of Knight-Errantry; but then he flies out, and falls a raving, as if he had a whole Midsummer-Moon in his Brains.  
While the Curate and Mrs. Dorothy were thus engaged, Don Quixote entering into a new Confabulation with his Squire; Honest Sancho, quo he, gi' me thy fist; and let us with a Christian forgiveness lay aside all manner of Malice and Animosity, as things altogether unbeseeming Persons of our Profession, and tell me by way of Catechize, when, where, and how thou found'st the Peerless Dulcinea? What she was doing? What she said? What she answered? How she looked when she red the Letter? Who transcribed it for thee? And whatever else thou canst call to mind that is fit to be known and remembered, or proper to be asked and answered; for to know these things gradually, punctually, in order, and exactly, is that upon which depends the whole repose and quiet of my Life: And this without any additions, any daubing, sleeking, palliating, or mincing the matter, thinking to flatter and tickle my Ear. On the other side, be not too concise neither, to the end I may not lose the smallest Mustard seed of my Soulcharming Pleasure. Sir, quo Sancho, if it be so absolutely necessary for me to speak Truth, I must tell ye, that no body transcribed the Letter for me, because I never carried any. 'tis very right, quo Don Quixote— for two days after thou wert gone, I found the Table-Book wherein I had written my Epistle; which put me into such a Passion, that I could not forbear lending thee half a score round Curses for thy carelessness; and every moment I expected when thou wouldst have come back to ha' received three or four Bastinado's, to ha' refreshed thy Memory. Sir, quo Sancho, there was no need of that; for I had heard your Letter red so often, that I could say it by heart, more exactly then my Creed. Meeting therefore with the Clerk of the next Parish, I rehearsed it to him so exactly word for word, that when he had copied it out, he swore that he never red such a complete, matchless Piece of Wit in his Life, tho he had red all Howel's, Loveday's, and Balzac's Octavo's, and had been a great Student in the Mysteries of Love and Eloquence. And dost remember it still, quo Don Quixote? No, Sir, replied Sancho; for when I saw it once secured in a whole sheet of Paper, I thought it to no purpose to burd'n my Memory with it any longer. Only at the beginning there was Over-grown, I would say sovereign Lady; and at the end, Yours till Death, The Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance: And between those two i' the middle, about three hundred repetitions of Soul, Life, Dearest, Pigs'ny, and Joy.   

CHAP. IV.  
Containing the Pleasant Discourse between Don Quixote and his Squire; with other Remarkable Passages.  
THUS far, quo Don Quixote, all's very well— But when thou were't admitted into her Presence, how was that Queen of Beauty employed? Was she not threading of Pearl, or working some Rich Point of Venice Cravat for the Knight her Vassal? No such thing, I assure ye, Sir, quo Sancho; for she was winnowing two Bushels of Wheat over a course Sheet i' the Yard. But then, quo Don Quixote, didst not thou at the same time perceive, that every grain of the Corn was turned into so many Pearls, by the touch of her fair Hands? Prithee, what sort of Wheat was it? Was it pure Wheat, or Maslin? Neither, Sir, quo Sancho; but only a mixture of Barley and Oats. That's nothing, replied Don Quixote; for being sifted by her Hands, most certainly it made Bread as white as ever any Kingston Manchet. But let us proceed— When thou gav'st her the Letter, did she not kiss it? Did she not clap it to her Breast? Did she not use some extraordinary Ceremony becoming the Honour due to such a Letter? In short, what was't she did? The Sieve was full of Corn, Sir, replied Sancho, when I presented her the Letter; and as she was rumbling the Sieve like a Sinder-woman upon her knees, Friend, quo she, lay your Letter upon that empty Sack there, for I shall not have leisure to red it, till I have sifted all this Corn. Observe in that her wonderful Discretion, cried Don Quixote; for that was an excuse on purpose, because she would red the Letter in private, where no body should be witness of her transports upon the receipt of it. But while she was thus busy at her Work, what was the Discourse that passed between ye? Did she not inquire how I did, and what I did? And what didst thou answer her? Answer me punctually, and satisfy my Impatience, without filching from me the least tittle of the Truth. So far was she from asking any Questions concerning ye, that she did not seem to me so much as to think of ye— Only I of my own Head indeed  told her a long story, how I had left ye i' the Mountain, doing Penance for her sake, naked from the wast downward, like a true satire; sleeping upon the Ground, eating without Napkin or Table Cloth; never combing your Beard, but blubbering and whining like a great Cow-baby, and cursing your hard Fate. Thou didst not do so well in that, replied Don Quixote, to say, that I cursed my cruel Fortune: For I always did, and ever will adore my happy Stars, that rendered me worthy to pretend to love so High a Lady, as Dulcinea deal Toboso. You may well call her high, quo Sancho; for may I never see my Old Joan again, if I don't believe her within two Cubits as tall as the May-Pole i' the Strand. How, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, what, didst ever measure with her, that thou talk'st at this rate? Yes, quo Sancho, I measured with her in helping her up with a Sack of Corn upon her Ass; and I found as we stood together, that my Head did not reach up to the small of her back. But didst not thou perceive withal, that these goodly Dimensions of hers were accompanied with all the Graces and Perfections, as well of Wit as Beauty? At least, Sancho, thou wilt not deny me this. When thou drew'st so near to her Body, were not thy Nostrils ravished with the fragrant Odours that breathed from her Skin? were't thou not sensible of that delightful mixture, composed of all the Arabia's rich Perfumes? A certain, I know not well what to call it, Steam, or Vapour, or Exhalation, more sweet-scented then Cupid's Bed of Roses, or the variety of a Perfumer's Shop? Why truly, Sir, quo Sancho, tho my Life lay upon't, I cannot swear one tittle of all this. 'tis true indeed, I did smell a kind of a sour, strong, rammish Hogo, something like that of a Water-man that has newly Landed his Fare, which I suppose was occasioned by her working so hard; for she was all of a muck-sweat, in her Smocksleeves, with her Breasts swagging over her Bodice half-lac'd, so that she reak'd like a Horse-Pond in a frosty Morning. This could never be, replied Don Quixote; and therefore thy Nose was either stopped with the Murr, or else the whiffs from thy own Collar deceived thee. For I am as sure as I have a Nose o' my face, that no Rose among Thorns, no lily of the Field, no Spirit of ambergris smells half so sweet as she. I can say nothing to that, quo Sancho; but this I can safely swear, that the smell which I smelled, was as like the rank smell o' my own flesh after hard Thrashing, as ever I smelled i' my Life. And if her Ladyship, Madam Dulcinea, had then such a smell, where lies the wonder? Since one Devil may be like another. Very good, quo Don Quixote: Thus then you say she cleansed her Wheat, and sent it to the Mill— But what did she do when she red my Letter? Your Letter! replied Sancho; why, she did not red it at all; for she said, she could neither writ nor red— On the other side, she took it, and tore it into a thousand bits, saying, that no body should red her Secrets; and that she was very well satisfied with what I had  told her by word of mouth, concerning the Affection which you bare her, and the Penance which you had undertaken for her sake. Finally, and lastly, she bid me tell ye, that she remembered her Service to your Worship; and that she had a greater desire to see ye, then writ to ye. And therefore in all Humility she commanded ye forthwith to leave these cursed Mountains, and give over your migraines and Fooleries: For that having a great desire to see your sweet face, there could be nothing so acceptable to her as your Return to Toboso. Moreover, when I  told her you were called The Knight of the Ill favoured Countenance, she fell a laughing so wide, that you might ha'  told all the Teeth in her Head. I asked her, whether the Biscayner had been with her? And she said, Yes— and that he asked her a private Kindness, which she could not deny him, because he came with such a particular Token from yourself. Then I  told her of the Galley-Slaves; but she said, she had seen none of' em. All's as it should be, hitherto, cried Don Quixote: But tell me, Sancho, when thou tookest thy leave of her, what Present did she give thee, for the good News which thou brought'st her? For 'tis an Ancient and inviolable Custom among Knights-Errant and their Ladies, to bestow some Rich Jewel or other upon the Squires, Damsels, or Dwarfs that bring 'em any good News, as a Reward of their Tidings. That might be the Custom, replied Sancho, in former times, and I approve it as a generous and laudable Custom— But I fear me 'tis now left off, like House-keeping in the Country— At least Madam Dulcinea was in one of her niggardly Humours at that time; for all that she gave me for my Tidings, was only a piece of Bread and Cheese, by the same token, the Cheese was moldy, and made a' Sheeps Milk; but Love and Hunger will break through Stone-walls. Give me leave to tell thee, Sancho, she's as Munificent, and as Liberal as ere a Princess i' the World; and if she did not gi' thee a Diamond of fifteen Carats at least, 'twas because she had it not about her. But all is not lost, that is delayed, and a good pair of Sleeves may be worn after Easter. I shall see her, and then I'll speak to her to gi' thee content. But, Sancho, this is that which most amazes me— for 'tis impossible but that thou must ha' flown backward and forward through the Air: 'tis thirty good Leagues I am sure from hence to Toboso; and how the Devil thou shouldst go and come in three days, surpasses my Understanding. I am therefore apt to believe, that the kind Necromancer, who takes care of all my Business, and whose Duty it is to see that I do not want the least Perquisit to a Knight errand, assisted thee to make hast in thy Journey, tho thou, perhaps, mightst not be sensible of it in the least. For there are some of these Necromancers, that will take ye a Knight-Errant fast asleep out of his Bed, and whirl him through the Air with that Expedition, that he shall find himself when he wakes three thousand Leagues off from the place where he lay before. Else it were impossible that Knight-Errants could subsist, or that they could at all turns relieve one another as they do. For it may so happen, that a Knight may be in the Mountains of armoniac, fighting with some Raw-Head and Bloody-Bones, some faun, or some satire, or some other strange Monster; or suppose it were only with some other Knight, that bears up with him to the Bar o' Chester, and gives him thwick for thwack, cut for slash; insomuch, that he could wish himself fairly rid of him: Now then don't you think it a great Consolation, for a Knight in such distress, to see another Knight come unlooked for in a Cloud, or a Fiery Chariot; one that he knows to be his Friend, and who, he was certain, was not above half a score hours before i' the West Indies? Thereupon this Knight kills the Monster, or the Knight, and relieves his Friend; and no sooner has he dispatched his business, but he is hurried away with the same speed in one of the Devil's Sedans back again to his Lodgings, where he goes to bed again to his Mistress, and makes an end of his Work. And all this is done by the Industry of those Necromancers, whose Duty it is to take care of Knight-Errants, to whom they are no less dear, then if they were their Adopted Sons. And this it is which makes me believe, that thou were't Devil driven through the Air by some Necromancer, that knew my impatience, and the importance of thy Return. I am the Son of a Gold-finder, replied Sancho, if I don't believe it to be true what you say, Sir; for Rosinante flew me-thought, as if he had Quick-silver in his Ears. Not only Quick-silver in his Ears, quo Don Quixote, but a Legion of Devils at his Tail; which are a sort of Stygian Wine-Porters, which will take a Knight-Errant, or his Squire, and run a way with him Horse and all, with that swiftness, that a Kite flies away with a young Chicken. But to come again to the main business: What dost thou think, Sancho, it best behoves me to do, about this Injunction that Madam Dulcinea has laid upon me, to make my Personal Appearance before her? For tho I am bound to punctual Obedience, and that my Bowels yern to see her; yet am I so entangled with this Princess, while the Laws of Chivalry bind me so fast to my word, and so deeply engage me to prefer my Honour before my Pleasures, that I know not which way to dis-encumber myself. On the one side, the eager desire I have to see the Peerless Dulcinea, worries and torments me: On the other side, my Honour and my Promise call me to great achievements. But hold— I think I ha' found a way to satisfy Honour, Promise, Princess, and Mistress, and All. First, Sancho, I'll go immediately and find out the Giant; when I come there, I'll cut off his Head with a Jerk, restore the Princess to her Throne, and put her in peaceable and quiet Possession of her Dominions. Which being done, before a Cat can lick her Ear, away will I presently come Post, and visit the Bright Star that illuminates my Pericranium; to whom I will make those just and rational Excuses, that she being all Kindness and good Nature, shall be willing to pardon my unavoidable Absence; well knowing, that all my Actions must redound to her Honour, and to the increase of her famed; since all the Renown which I have won, or daily win, or shall hereafter acquire, are only the effects of her Favour influencing and actuating the Courage of her Vassal. Hoy day, quo Sancho, will ye ne're ha' more Wit then a Man may truss up in an Egg-shell? Why, d'ye intend then to travail so many thousand York-shire Miles and Way-bits for nothing? And lose the Opportunity of a Marriage, that brings ye to a Kingdom; a Kingdom, that, they say, is Twenty Thousand Leagues in Circuit? A Kingdom where all the Springs are full of boiled Plumb-Puddings and Cabbages, and Surloyns of Roast-Beef hang roasting i' the Sun upon every three? A Kingdom bigger then France, together with the Kings new Conquests, and all their Dependencies? Are ye not ashamed to show yourself so voided of Understanding? Go to, therefore, and take a Fool's Counsel for once; mary the Princess the first thing ye do— Hang Licenses, mary her, I say, at the next Church ye come at, where ye can find a Curate; or else let our own Doctor knit the knot under the next Oak.— There's nothing like Wiving and Thriving both in a Year— You see, Sir, I understand Trap; and I'll say this for myself to boot, That I think I am old enough to give Counsel. And therefore give me leave to tell ye, A bide i' the Hand's worth two i' the Bush. Let's but once catch the Eel, and theh we may consider at leisure how to dress it. Sancho, replied Don Quixote, I am not ignorant that thy Advice depends very much upon Self interest; I know the reason why thou art so earnest for me to mary, is merely that I should make hast to Imperial sovereignty, on purpose to make thee a Prince— And these are the fears that spur thee on to talk one word for me, and two for thyself. But know, Sancho, thou complain'st before th' art hurt; for I intend to put it into my Conditions, before I go to fight the Giant, That if in case I kill the Giant, I will have half the Kingdom at my disposal, to give to whom I please. Which being granted( as I vow, before that be under Hand and Seal, I'll see the Giant hanged before I'll kill him) to whom dost thou think I'll bequeath that part of the Kingdom, but to thyself? If so, Sir, quo Sancho, I beseech ye, choose that part of the Kingdom which lies next the Sea; where the Merchants may have free liberty to come and Trade for my Slaves, and I may have the Advantage to Ship off my Money, if my Government should be mislik'd. So then, as you have contrived it very well, never trouble yourself about visiting Madam Dulcinea, but go first and knock the Giant o' the Head, for I fancy 'twill be an Adventure of great Honour and Profit. By the Mass, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, and I think so too; and therefore I'll follow thy Advice: For I believe 'twill be much better to visit Dulcinea afterwards, laden with Honour, when I have murdered the Giant, and restored the Princess to her Territories. Let it be thy care then to keep silence, and not to disclose the least tittle of what Discourse has past between us, to any Person living, not so much as to those of our Company; for Dulcinea is so reserved of her self, that she does not desire any body should know her Private Concerns; besides, that the disgrace would be mine, to keep any such blabs o' their Tongues about my Person. You forget yourself, cried Sancho; for how can that be, when you yourself sand all your vanquished wretches to Madam Dulcinea? Can you call that keeping her Secrets, to sand a company of Slaves with their Chains rattling i' the Streets, to throw themselves at her feet, for her to dispose of at her pleasure? What an ignorant Whelp and Bacon art thou, quo Don Quixote, not to perceive that this redounds all to her Honour! Besides, art thou so ill versed in matters of Chivalry, as now to be to learn, that it is a great Advantage for a Lady to have several Knights-Errant for her Gallants; who expect no other recompense of all their Services, but the Honour of performing 'em for her sake, and the favour of her Acceptance? Tittle Tattle, gi' the Goose more Hay, quo Sancho: This is just as I have heard 'em Preach, that we ought to love God for his own sake; and yet at the same time they tell us of the invitations of paradise, and the torments of Hell; tho for my part, I think we ought to love God, what ever comes on't, as they said at first. The Devil take thee for a Clown, Sancho, cried Don Quixote; and yet who the Devil would take thee for a Clown? For sometimes thou talk'st as rationally and discreetly, as if thou hadst commenced Doctor at Salamanca. So far from that, quo Sancho, that I never red my Horn-book; but I have a good mind to learn one of these days, when I'm at leisure. For I am apt to believe it can be no prejudice to me; besides, they say, there are some Men that take upon 'em to be Doctors, who, God knows, have hardly Learning enough to red their Neck-Verse.  
While the Knight and the Squire were thus busy in Discourse, the Barber cried out to 'em to make a Halt, for that the Princess desired to alight and drink out of a Fountain close by the Road. This was a great Kindness to Sancho, who was quiter tired with Lying, and afraid his Master should catch him failing in his Memory. For tho he knew that Dulcinea was no better then only plain Gaffer Hogg's Daughter, yet he had never seen her in his life.  
On the other side, Cardenio by this time had slipped himself into Mrs. Dorothy's Masculine Habits, which she had on, when they first met with her; which, tho they were none of the best, yet were they much better then his own tattered Rags. Thereupon they all alighted, and sitting down by the Fountain, fell a banqueting upon the short Commons which the Curate had brought from the Inn.  
While they were thus busy at their Repast, feeding like Farmers of Maxfield, upon what they had, there happened to come up even with 'em as they sate, a dapper young Lad, who, after he had gazed while with a wistful Eye upon the Company, approaching Don Quixote, and embracing his Thighs; God bless your Worship, quo he, has your Worship forgot me so soon? Don't you know your Slave, and poor Andrew, that you found fast bound to an Oak? But I thank your good Worship, you set me free with a Vengeance— At those words, Don Quixote immediately called him to mind, took him by the Hand, and then addressing himself to the Company, Most illustrious Princess, and you Right Worthy Gentlemen, said he, you have here before ye an uncontrollable Demonstration of the vast Benefit, and absolute Necessity of Knight-Errants, both to reform and punish the Abuses and Disorders committed in the World. It is now some Weeks ago, that as I was riding by a Wood, the Cries and bitter Complaints of some body in distress, pierced my compassionate Ears: Presently I galloped toward the Place where the Noise directed me, to gratify my natural Inclination, and the Duty of my Profession; and there I found this poor young Lad, in a most miserable, distressed Condition; and I profess, I'm hearty glad he's here to testify the truth of what I say. For tho a Knight-Errant, I'll as patiently suffer him to give me the lie, as I would my Father, if he find me in a Rodomantado. I say then, this Boy in that Wood was tied to an Oak, naked from the Waste upward, like a Wench upon a Whipping-day at bridewell; and there was a lusty Brawny-arm'd Countrey-Fellow, scoring several pretended Debts of Thievery and Negligence upon the boys Back and Shoulders with a pair of Stirrup-leathers, so deep, that you might ha' buried the Handle of a Butcher's Sticking-knife in every one of the bloody Furrows. I asked the Fellow, What a' meant by so much Cruelty? Who answered me, That the Boy was his Servant, and that he chastised him for the Rogueries, and the Thieveries which he had committed. To which the Boy replied, blubbering and bleeding, that his Master lashed him so severely only for demanding his Wages. Whereupon the Master would ha' pleaded some idle Excuses that gave me no Satisfaction at all. In a word, I caused the young Lad to be unbound, and made the Country-Fellow swear by all the Saints I could think of, that he would take the Boy home, and pay him all his Wages, to the very Copper-spot in a Tin-Farding. Is not this true, Friend Andrew? Dost not thou remember how I ranted, and swagger'd, and hectored the Country-Fellow? And with what Submission he promised to accomplish whatever I imposed, ordained, demanded and commanded? Speak truth, and shane the Devil, tell how it was boldly, without Humming and Hawing, without Flattery or Dissimulation, but relate the Story without Welt or Guard, that these People, who are all Persons of Quality, may understand the want of Knight-Errantry in this unjust World.  
Tom-tell-troth himself, quo Andrew, could never ha' spok'n more Truth then your Worship has done. But notwithstanding all your Worship's good Intentions, the Success of this Affair did not answer your Worship's Expectations. How, quo Don Quixote! not answer my Expectations! why, did not the Hang-dog pay thee thy Money the next Minute? So far from paying me my Money, quo Andrew, that as soon as he found you were out o' sight, and out o' hearing, he tied me again to the Oak, and plied his first Lesson again so smartly over my raw Flesh, that you would have taken me for a flayed Cat. And which was more, between every Stroke he struck, he had some bumkinly Quibble or other, in Derision of your Worship, calling ye Hatchet and Gridiron-face, Lobster unboil'd, Appurtenance to a Tinder-box, Hog in armor, &c. that had I not been in that woeful Plight, I could have laughed myself to have heard him. In short, he so anatomis'd my Back with his Leathern Thongs, that I have been ever since i' the lame Hospital, where I became the Trophy of Art. And now to speak my mind frankly, Sir Knight, I may thank you for all this— For had you road on about your own Affairs, without playing the busy Fool, where ye had nothing to do, I had been released with a matter o' twenty Lashes, and my Master had paid me what he owed me— But you called him so many Rogues, Villains, and Traitors, and ranted and roared so little to the purpose, and put him into such a Fury, that not being able to reek his Malice upon you, he took his Revenge upon my poor Shoulders. The Mischief was, quo Don Quixote, that I went away a little too soon, I should have stayed indeed till I had seen thee satisfied; for those kind of Country-Bumkins are not apt to keep their Words, unless it be for their Profit. However, thou mayst well remember, that I swore by all the Heathen Gods, that if he did not pay thee, I would return and find him out again, tho he were hide within the Bowels of the Earth. You did so, 'tis very true, Sir Knight, replied Andrew, but what does that signify now to me? Thou shalt see whether it signify any thing or no, quo Don Quixote; and so said, he rose up in great Fury, and commanded Sancho to bridle Rosinante, who was at his Dinner, thinking no harm, within a Stone's throw o' the Company. Upon that, Mrs. Dorothy asked him, What he intended to do? Do, quo he! be gone immediately to chastise this Brute of a Clown— and make him pay to the utmost Farthing what he owes this poor Lad, in despite of all the Bumkins and Scithe-men i' the World that dare oppose me. But, Sir Knight, quo Mrs. Dorothy, considering the Promise you have made me, you cannot in Honour undertake an other Adventure till you have accomplished mine; and therefore I beseech ye, delay this less important Revenge, till you ha' restored me to my Kingdom. That's but Justice indeed, replied Don Quixote, and therefore of necessity, Andrew must be patient, till I return again. But by the lovely Dulcinea's Chastity, I swear once more, never to rest my Head on her sweet-scented Pillow, till I have revenged this young Lad's Cause, and seen him satisfied to a Scotch Boatle. I do not question in the least, cried Andrew, the Performance of these Oaths, but I had rather your Worship would bestow upon me a small Piece of Silver to carry me to Sevil, then all the Revenges i' the World. And having so said, I beseech ye, Sir Knight, continued he, bestow a Bit a' Bread and some few Charity Fardings upon a poor Sufferer for your sake, and so God bless all the Knight-Errants under the sky, and may they prove as fortunate for themselves, as they ha' been for me.  
Upon that, Sancho pulled out a Quarter of a Penny-Loaf and a piece of Cheese, and giving it to Andrew, here Brother, said he, 'tis but Reason and Christianity to be charitable to People in Misery. I pray, what sort of Charity is yours, cried Andrew? This piece of Bread and Cheese, quo Sancho; and God knows how soon I may want it myself: For we Squires to Knight-Errants are ever and anon ready to perish for Hunger and Thirst: And besides that, we are most cruelly tyrannized over by ill Luck, and hard Fortune, and a thousand Accidents, that are sooner felt then related. Andrew took his Bread and his Cheese, and finding no other Charity-Money stirring, he made 'em an ugly Scrape, and turned his Back to the Company. But before he went off, turning about to Don Quixote, Sir Knight, said he, for the Love o' God, if ever you find me i' the same Condition again, tho you see my Bowels ready to drop out o' my Body, ne're be such a Coxcomb again to come to my Assistance, but leave me under the Lash of my Misfortunes, which cannot be worse then what befell me through your impertinent Vanity, according to the Proverb, Fools will be meddling; for which the Curse of God light upon You, and all other Knight-Errants, that from henceforth shall ever be spawned into the World. With that, Don Quixote rose up in a great Fury, with a Resolution to have given Andrew the Benediction of his Cudgel; but Andrew, not caring for any of his Blessings, withdrew himself out of his Reach, as swift as a Fawn. So that Don Quixote resumed his Seat, to avoid the shane of a vain Attempt; but so highly enraged at Andrew's Drollery, that all the Company were forced to sit as demure as so many Quakers, for fear the least Smile should have incensed him to Out-rage.   

CHAP. V.  
Of what happened at the Inn.  
AFter they had refreshed their Bodies with corporal Food, they that had Beasts of Carriage, mounted; and those that had none, went a-foot; and so riding and going a-foot, the next day they came to the Inn; for which Sancho had the same Kindness that a Man has for a Wife that sues him for Alimonie. Presently the Inn keeper, the Hostess, her Daughter, and Maritornes, who knew Don Quixote and his Squire again, without a Prospective-glass, half a Mile off, came forth to meet 'em with great Demonstrations of Joy. Nor was the Knight behind-hand with his Returns of Civility at the usual rate, that is to say, with an extraordinary Gravity and Reserv'dness; withal, desiring the Hostess to provide him a better Bed then he had the last time. To which the Hostess return'd Answer, That if he would pay better, she would help him to a Bed for a Prince. Which when the Knight had promised to do, they made him one in the very same place where he lay before, whither he went and threw himself down immediately, as weary as a Fox-dog, and quiter spent with the Labour and Toil of his own Folly in the Mountain. In the mean time, the Hostess knowing the Barber again by his Tongue, leaped at his Chin, like a Cock at a Bilberry Bush, and catching him by the false Beard; By my blessed life, quo she, ye shall make use o' my Tail no longer: I think y' have had it long enough, to my Grief, I'm sure, to see my Husband's Comb lye so nasty as it does i' the Kitchen-window. Thereupon the Hostess tugged, and the Barber tugged, for he was loathe to part with his Tail, till the Curate put an end to the Dispute, by telling him there was now no more occasion for his Disguise; for that he might tell Don Quixote, that he came to the Inn to recruit himself; and if he enquired after the Princess's Squire, that he should tell his Worship, That the Princess had sent him before to give notice to her Subjects, that she was coming with a Champion that would swinge off the Giant, and restore 'em all to their Liberties and Properties: Which gave such plenary Satisfaction to the Barber, that he restored the Hostess her Tail, with all the rest of the Trinkets which he had borrowed of her.  
As for Mrs. Dorothy, all the Strangers that were i' the Inn, looked upon her to be wondrous pretty. Nor were they so blind, but they could spy Cardenio's Gentility, his graceful mien, and comely Aspect, through his homely Shepherd's Weeds. The Inn-keeper also upon the Curate's word, and out of the good Opinion he had of the Company, had provided 'em a good handsome Dinner, considering 'twas an Inn no better then one of your Forest-a-dean Houses of Entertainment. However, they had more Manners then to awake Don Quixote, who lay snoring like a West-Country Carrier; for they thought that Sleep would do him more good then a Sheriff's Feast. Therefore they fell on without him, and the Table-discourse was all about the Follies and Extravagancies of the poor Knight, and in what Condition they had found him in the Mountain. On the other side, the Hostess who was present, made a Repetition of all that had befallen the valiant Hero in his rencontre with the Carrier and the Constable; and finding Sancho was absent, she recounted the Story of his being tossed i' the Blanket, which made the Company as merry as so many Emmets upon a Corn-heap. From whence the Curate taking an Occasion to deplore the Frenzies of the unfortunate Knight, charged all his Misfortunes upon his Books of Knight-Errantry, as having been the Occasion of all his Extravagancies. How can that possibly be, replied the Inn-keeper, interrupting him? Where is there any better reading i' the World? I have some two or three of these Books, and I wish this Drink may be my Poison, if I don't believe they have preserved not only mine, but the Lives of many others. For in Harvest-time ye shall have above twenty, sometimes thirty Reapers and Mowers come hither of a holiday. Now because we ha' neither Shovel-boards, Billiard-tables, Nine-pins, Noddy-boards, nor Pigeon-holes, I fetch 'em out one of these Books; at what time they make choice of one of the best Book-learn'd among 'em, to red; and then they fall a listening, and prating, and drinking, that it does my Heart good to see my Cans emptied so fast; which makes me love 'em so well, that sometimes when my House is empty, I can sit and red in 'em a whole Day together. For my part, quo the Hostess, I have as much Reason to speak well of those Books, as any body; for we are never more at quiet i' the House, never less maundering, less jarring and brawling, then when my Husband is at his Devotions, as I call 'em; that is, when he is smerking and smiling to himself over his Knight-Errantry Books; besides, that I am sure to be courted that Night at a more then usual rate. All this is true, cried Maritornes, but that which delights me most, is, when I hear how the Knight sits embracing his Lady under an Orange-Tree, while the Lady's dansel stands Sentinel, ready to tear her Flesh for want of the same Pastime. And what think you, my pretty Maiden, quo the Curate, addressing himself to the Hostess's Daughter? Alas, Sir! quo she, I know not what belongs to these things; and yet when I hear 'em red their Stories, I find a kind of Alteration i' my Body, I know not how— But as I hope for Mercy myself, the merciless Gashes which the Knights give one another, and the unreasonable Steaks which they sliver off from one another's Cheeks and Shoulders, go to my very Heart; and I'm as sorry for the poor Gentlemen, as if it were my own Case— My Father knows, that when I see him engaged among the Butchers at the Bear-Garden, I fall a squeaking and squaling like any thing. And then when I hear the sad Groans and Lamentations of some kind-hearted Knights, when they are far from their Mistresses, I cannot for my life, but I must fall a weeping for Company. Why then, said Mrs. Dorothy, I perceive, Sweet-heart, you would not be so ill-natured, to let a Knight lye roaring and bellowing so long, if you could help him. I'my Conscience now, Madam, replied the Virgin, I don't know my own Mind. But this I am sure of, that some of these Ladies are so desperately cruel, that the Knights cannot forbear calling 'em lions, and Tygresses, Harpy's, Furies, and I know not what myself; which, if they deserve, I wonder how Ladies that pretend to Honour and Conscience, can be so hard-hearted, to suffer a Gentleman that so dearly loves 'em, to die, or at least to run Mad, for want of a Kiss or a nights Entertainment. Lord bless me! what does all this Coyness signify? For if they stand upon their Punctilio's of Honour, how if I should prove with Child? let 'em mary the Knights, as I would do, if I were in their Condition. Hold your prating, Hussey, quo the Hostess, I find you know more then you should do already. Good Daughter, no more o' your Riff-raff; Maids must be seen, and not heard— Why, Mother, quo the Girl, I did but answer the Gentleman and the Gentlewoman; and I'm sure my School-mistress  told me 'twas Manners to speak when I was spoken to. So 'tis, and I thank thee very kindly Sweetheart, replied the Curate; and then turning to the Inn-keeper, Landlord, quo he, if thy Books have such a Faculty to help down good Drink, prithee let's see'em. With that the Inn-keeper fetched out an old moldy Cloak-bag, secured with a rusty Padlock, which after he had unlocked, he gave Air to Don Cironciglio of Thrace, Don Faelix-mart of Hyrcania, the History of the famous and renowned Captain, Goncales Hermandez of Cordova, with the Life of Valentine and Orson, Bevis of Southampton, and Guy of Warwick. When the Curate had viewed 'em, Neighbour, quo he to the Barber, we want nothing more now, but our Friend's niece and his House-keeper, the Court and the Window. There's no such need, quo the Barber, I'll undertake to fling 'em out o' this Window as artificially, as if I had been seven Years at the Trade; or else to carry 'em to the Chimney, where there is as good a Fire as the Hangman himself could desire for the burning of a Traitor's entrails. How, Gentlemen! cried the Inn-keeper? I hope ye don't intend to burn my Books? Only five of 'em, replied the Curate; Don Cironciglio, Faelix-mart, Valentine and Orson, Bevis and Guy. Why sure, quo the Inn-keeper, they be no Gismaticks, that you condemn 'em thus furiously to the Flames. schismatics thou meanest, quo the Curate. Well, let 'em be Zismaticks, however, as y' are stout, be merciful, quo the Inn-keeper; if ye must be burning, burn Hermandez and Garcia, with all my heart, but for the rest, I'll as soon burn my Wife and Children. Landlord, replied the Curate, as for those Books you would so fain save, they are nothing but so many heaps of lies, mere Rubbish, fit for nothing but Trunkmakers. But for D. Garcia, he was a famous soldier indeed, and so strong that he would stop the Sails of a Wind-mill in a high Wind, with one Hand; and they say, that he himself singly defended a Bridge against a whole Army of Men, with many other renowned and famous achievements, that if they had been recorded by another Historian, as they were written by himself with a more then ordinary Modesty, because he would not seem to be the Trumpeter of his own famed, he had surpassed all the Hectors, Achilles's, and Orlando Furioso's, i' the World. Pox— quo the Inn-keeper, what a Wonder you tell of stoping a Wind-mill Sail— red Don Faelix-mart, and you shall see how with one back-blow he cut five Giants as big about as the Monument, as even and as smoothly i' the middle, that you could not see where his Sword had gone amiss: And how he encountered all alone one of the greatest Armies that ever were seen, and shreded as small as Mince-meat, six hundred thousand Soldiers, all completely armed from Head to Foot; and then you would burn Guy o' Warwick. Nouns, Sir, there was never such a Knight i' the World; upon whom, as he was standing by some River or other, 'tis no matter where, a fierce Dragon leaped out of the River, and seized upon his Body; but presently the Knight taking hold of the Dragon's Throat, gripped his scalding hot Wezand so hard, that the flaming Monster no longer able to breath, sunk down to the bottom of the water forty fathom deep, and pulled the Knight after him because he would not let go his hold; but when he thought he had been at the bottom of the River, he found himself in a magnificent Palace, standing in the midst of pleasant Gardens and Paradise's; at what time the fiery Dragon turned into an elderly Gentleman, as venerable as the Master of a Company upon a Court Day, who  told him a thousand Stories as strange to him, as the lies of a Traveller to a Knot of Bumkins in an Ale-house Chimney. Go, go, y' are a Fool, Mr. person, these were brave Fellows indeed— I'd not give a Fig for your Don Garcia's, and your great Captains, they're not worth hanging to these. Upon that, Mrs. Dorothy turning to Cardenio, What say you to all this? Don't you think my Landlord in a fair way to be a second Don Quixote? Truly I think him in as beat'n a Road to it, as from London to Highgate; for I see he believes all that he reads in these Romances to be Articles of Faith, and I defy all the Virtuosi to convince him to the Contrary. But, Landlord, quo the Curate, continuing his Discourse, do you believe, as you hope to escape Purgatory, that there were any such Persons i' the World, as Cirongilio of Thrace, and Felix-mart of Hircania, and the rest of the same Tribe? Be not such a Fool— I tell thee, they were all a Company of Fables invented by a sort of idle Fellows that had nothing else to do, for the Divertisement of those that were as lazy as themselves. Such is the Folly of Men to complain of the Shortness of Life, and yet know not what to do with what they have. Believe then what I say, for by the word of a Priest, I swear to thee, there is not a Tittle of Truth in all that's written of these Knight-Errants. Who are you selling your Shells to, Mr. Curate, replied the Inn-keeper? To those that come from St. Michael? Good-now carry these Bones to another Dog. 'tis true, perhaps I am none of the wisest, yet I'de have ye to know, tho I never studied Darapti, nor Felapton, I am not so soon to be converted neither; and therefore as y' are a University Scholar, don't think to feed me with Pap; for by my Wife's first Maiden-head, I am no Child to be made believe, that these Books that are set forth with a licensed by Authority, which Authority is derived from the Council Royal, God bless 'em; contain nothing but lies and Forgeries to turn People's Brains, and stock Bedlam. I have  told ye already, Landlord, replied the Curate, these things are permitted only for the Pastime of those that have no other employment, and whose Quality and Degree exempts 'em from the Trouble of Labour and Pains-taking. Therefore it is, that in all well-ordered Common-wealths, several Sports and Recreations are allowed, as Cards, Tables, Billiards, and the like, for the Divertisement of such as neither can, neither does it behove 'em to work. And for the same Reason they suffer these sort of Books to be printed and sold; not imagining there should be any so ignorant, or so empty-pated, as to believe there is any Truth in such kind of Stories. And now give me leave to tell ye, were it seasonable, or a thing that the Company desired, I would say something concerning these Romances, how they ought to be composed, to the end they might be of Use; and perhaps my Discourse would neither be unprofitable or displeasing. But there is a time for all things, and I hope one Day to impart my Mind to those that may have Power to redress this National Grievance. In the mean time, Landlord, believe what I say, and make your best Advantage of it; and I pray God keep thee from being sick of Don Quixote's Disease. Ne're trouble your Head for that, Sir, replied the Inn-keeper; I'm sure I shall ne're be such a Fool as to turn Knight-Errant; for I find they are not so much in fashion, as they were formerly. Sancho, who was present at some part of this Discourse, hearing Knight-Errantry exploded, as quiter out of fashion, and all Romances run down for Fictions, lies, and chimeras, stood like Mumphazard, that was hanged for saying nothing, pensive, melancholy, stupid, and all-besotted, till revived with a Gill of the best, he at length resolved to tarry a little longer, and see the Issue of his Master's Journey; and in case it did not answer his Expectations, to leave him there, and then to return home to his Wife and Children, and betake himself to Hedging and Ditching, as he was wont to do. The Inn-keeper also was about to have carried away his Portmantle and his Books, but the Curate stopped him, telling him he had a mind to see some Papers that he had only cast his Eye upon, the rather because they were so fairly written; and taking out a handful at the same time, he found eight or ten Leaves together with this Title at the Beginning, The Novel of the Curious Impertinent; and after he had red a matter o' six or seven Lines to himself, Fakins, quo he, this Title pleases me, and therefore I have a mind to red the rest— Fetch us t'other Bottle, Landlord. You will be very well pleased, I'll assure ye, Sir, replied the Inn-keeper, for I have heard it red to several of my Guests that have been highly merry with it; may, I have had several Booksellers here too, that have offered me Money for the Copy to print it, but I resolved not to part with it; beside that, I dare not neither, for fear the owner of the Portmantle, that pawned it to me for his Reckoning, should come to fetch it away, and pay me my Money. For tho I am an Inn-keeper, yet I pretend to have so much Conscience, as not to do myself an Injury. You speak honestly, replied the Curate, but if I like the Story, I hope you'l let me take a Copy. With all my heart, Sir, upon Condition you'l drink a Flask or two extraordinary.  
While they two were thus discoursing, Cardenio took up the Novel, and having red a little way— Sir, said he to the Curate, I like it very well, and I believe, if you will take the pains to red it out aloud, the whole Company will be glad to hear it. Most willingly, replied the Curate; but is it not time to go to sleep, rather then red? No, no, Mr. Curate, cried Mrs. Dorothy, pray red it, I'd rather hear it then a Sermon— and besides, I want something to revive my Spirits, for I am melancholy methinks of a sudden: Sancho and the Barber made him the same request; for Sancho said he was melancholy too, and proffered to fill the Curate his Cup, whenever he called for't. Nay, then, quo the Curate, take your places, and give Attention: Thus end the Contents, the Chapter follows.   

CHAP. VI.  
The NOVEL OF THE CURIOUS IMPERTINENT.  
IN Florence, a wealthy and famous City of Italy, in the Province of Tuscany, there were two Gentlemen, Anselm and Lothaire, who lived together in such a perfect Amity and Union, that they called 'em the Two Friends. They were both young, both of an Age, both bachelors, and had both the same Inclinations; only that Anselm was more amorous and courtly, and Lothaire more addicted to Hunting. But they loved like Pylades and Orestes, would foregoe their Pleasures at any time, to serve one another; and if one had Money, the t'other never wanted. Now mark the Burden of all Novels; Anselm fell passionately in love with a most delicate, curious, peerless Paragon of Beauty, in the same City. And it fell out so pat, that her Birth, her Estate, her Alliances, were so equal to his, that he resolved, with the Consent of his Friend,( for without that, 'twas impossible for him to do any thing) to demand her in Marriage. On the other side, Lothaire was so far from displeasing his Friend, that he undertook to make the Demand; and so diligently bestirred himself, that in a few days he put his Friend to bed to his Mistress fairly and honestly; for which, both his Friend and Camilla( for that was the Gentlewoman's Name) gave him more Thanks then would ha' starved ten thousand Cats. Lothaire also, which was but Reason, went every day to visit the two married Couple so long as Honey-moon lasted; nor would he be wanting himself sometimes to fiddle, and sometimes to dance, as Occasion served. But the holidays being over, he thought it now proper, like a Man of Discretion, to be more reserved, and less frequent in his Visits; for that his Friend being married, the Case was altered, quo Plowden; yet vowing withal to meet him as often at the Tavern, as ever he did before; and there to be Cup and Can, as formerly.  
On the other side, Anselm as enamoured, and as eager as he was at his Sport, wondered his Friend was grown such a Stranger, and came so seldom to visit him; and therefore one day, when he did come, expostulated the Case with him, and  told him, That Before-George he would ne're ha' married, had he thought that Matrimony would have estranged 'em one from another: That it was usual for Women to claim their Thirds, and therefore the Law gave his Wife a Share i' their Friendship: That he hoped they two knew better then to loose the peculiar Title of the Two Friends, for the starched Niceties of Formality, or the idle Comments of Town-talk: That Camilla took his absenting himself as unkindly as he, and thought her self so happy in her Marriage, that there was nothing more delightful to her, then the sight of him that had so fortunately contrived it. In short, he used all the Arguments imaginable to persuade Lothaire to visit him as he did before, assuring him, that he could not be at rest without him. To which Lothaire answered with so much Modesty and Prudence, that Anselm began to think his Friend was in the right on't. However, to prevent all Misunderstandings between Decency and Friendship, it was concluded, That Lothaire should come twice a Week, and upon holidays too, and dine at Anselm's House. Which, tho Lothaire promised to do, for the Satisfaction of his Friend; yet he resolved with himself however, to be still careful of his Friend's Honour, whose Reputation he valued beyond his own. Quo he to himself, and he quo he'd like an honest Gentleman; A Man whom Heaven has blessed with a beautiful Wife, had as much need to take care what Friends he brings to his House, as what Orange, and Boon-Christian Women, what Ladies of Quality, and Kinswomen, came to visit his Wife. For that those Bargains cannot be driven i' the Market-place, or at Church, or at a great Invitation, or a Play-house, whither a Man cannot refuse his Wife to go sometimes, which are concluded at home by a She-friend or a Kinswoman, of whom there is little or no notice taken. How easily is a Billet-doux conveyed in a Bunch of Grapes, or a Boon Christian; nor shall she want Instruction which to choose; take this Pear, Madam, upon my word, 'tis a choice piece of Fruit, and cheap at sixpence. Anselm, on the other side, who knew his Friend's Thoughts as well as if he had been in his Belly, made these Cautions an Argument against him, urging, That for these very Reasons, it behoved every married Man, to have a real Friend about him, to give him good Counsel, and inform him when he did amiss; for that many Men might be apt to be so indulgent to their Wives, and to be so hoodwinked with Affection and Dotage, that they could not spy those Faults and Contrivances, which a discreet and discerning Friend might be able to do. But notwithstanding all Anselm's rhetoric, Lothaire still kept to his Text, and would not visit his Friend any oftener then he thought fitting, that is to say, he very seldom went to see him. show me now such another Example of real and sincere Amity; for my part, I don't believe there ever was such another as Lothaire, who was so careful of his Friend's Honour, that he deprived himself of his Company, for fear the world should misinterpret his Visits, and that at an Age that does not usually make those sober Reflections where Pleasure is concerned; so generous that he would not give Occasion to the idle world to talk, or for malicious Eyes to observe the frequent Visits of a wealthy Gentleman, and of noble Birth, to such a celebrated Beauty as Camilla, to the Scandal of his friend's forehead, upon which the vulgar would be presently grafting all the Horns in Epping-Forest, upon the least Surmises of their Malice. Yet all this while such was Anselm's Impatience, that he never saw his Friend, but he upbraided him with his Coldness, for which Lothaire had always such proper Excuses, that Anselm knew not how to be angry with him. But not long after, as they were both walking together i' the Fields, Anselm taking Lothaire by the Hand; One would think, Lothaire, said he, that considering the Favours which God had showered upon me, in making me the Son of such Noble Parents, and bestowing upon me with such a liberal Hand; but more then all this, when I find myself beloved by such a true Friend as Lothaire, and embraced by such a virtuous Wife as the fair Camilla, one would think, I say, that I should live contented as one that enjoyed all the Happiness that a Man can enjoy in this World. And yet for all this, I find myself so strangely distracted in my Mind, such odd Conundrums and Whimsies lye wallowing and tumbling i' my Brains, that I cannot tell how for the Soul and Blood o' me, to get rid of' em. I confess, to my shane, that they are only the extravagant Fancies of a weak Head, at which I cannot choose but wonder, and as often highly blame myself. But they have got such an ascendant over me, that I cannot withstand 'em; and it makes me mad to see myself almost beside my Wits. As for Example, Then thundering Jove in human Shape came stealing to Amphitryo's Bed— What a pox have I to do with Jove or Amphitryo—? there's neither Rhyme nor Reason in't— and yet these things fill my Brains full o' Sparables— At other times I dream of Lords and Citizens Wives, Ladies and their Coachmen. What-a-devil do these things concern me? And yet sometimes they make a noise i' my Noddle like so many Paper-mills. Now as I thus became a Nuisance to myself, I knew not where to apply myself for cure, but to the only faithful Friend that I have i' the World; and therefore I shall not scruple to discover to thee the Cause of my Distemper, as being confident, that no other Person under Heaven can relieve me.  
Anselm, amazed to hear his Friend talk idle at that rate, could not divine what Maggot this should be, that had so suddenly wriggl'd itself among the Tunicles of his Brain. And therefore to satisfy his Impatience, he  told him in plain English, 'twas a Violation of the League between 'em to fetch such a Compass about, before he came to the Point; that his Secrets did not use to come so hard from him; and therefore whatever it were, he desired him to out with it, since he knew his Friend was bound to conceal it, tho 'twere Treason itself. Why, faith my dear Friend, replied Anselm, nothing but shane has tied my Tongue all this while— And I could hang myself for trifling thus long, since 'tis in vain for a Man to hid his Disease from his Physician. Physician! quo Lothaire— ' Fore-George, if it be any thing of a Clap, 'tis quiter out o' my Road— No, no, replied Anselm, 'tis a serious, a very serious Business. I would try an Experiment— I would fain know, Pox on't— 'twas just at the Root o' my Tongue, and is slipped down again— I would fain know whether— Camilla be as chast, and as virtuous as I believe her to be— now 'tis out. Bless me! what a Project ha' you teemed after such a hard Labour? Why, faith said Anselm, I cannot tell whether I think well or ill, but my Opinion is this, That what ye call virtue in Women, is like your counterfeit Pieces that glister like Gold, but in the Refiners Melting-pot they vanish away in Smoke and Steam. virtue is a specious word, and makes a fine show, that oftimes covers a World of mysterious Wickedness. For I do not believe that Woman to be chast, that is never courted, or never solicited: But she that can resist the Promises, the Presents, the Tears, the Importunities, and all the Temptations of a Diabolical Lover, she's the virtuous Woman. For tho she hold out a Siege as long as Troy, if she surrender at length, I'd not give a single Mustard-seed for her virtue; nor would I give a Rush for a virtue that is grounded upon Fear, or want of Opportunity. She's only virtuous, that holds out against all the Batteries of Enticement, and the Enticements even of their own Inclinations. Now I would fain try, whether Camilla's virtue be of this Nature. 'tis true, such Experiments are dangerous, but I shall ne're be quiet i' my Mind, till I am satisfied in this Particular. If Camilla stand to her Pan-pudding; if when she has run the gauntlet through all the Temptations, Oaths, Vows, Protestations, Wiles and Stratagems of an importunate Lover, she come off without a Scar; then will I say, there's a Woman fallen to my Lot, after whom the Wise man makes Proclamation, and cries, Where's such a one to be found? But if she falter and give ground, I shall have this Advantage at least, not to have been deceived in my Opinion, and that I was not cully'd by that Confidence, which abuses so many other Men. And therefore never go about to spend words in vain, in hopes to divert me from my Design, for you may as well take the Moon by the Horns; but prepare yourself to do me this Kindness, upon the score of our long continued and inviolable Friendship. Make all the Applications to her imaginable, swear, vow, protest, fall at her Knees, whine, pine, lament and mourn; spare neither for Necklaces of Pearl, nor Gold Watches; let her not want any Rarity that Spring, Summer, or the more fruitful Autumn yields: In short, use all the Stratagems and Devices that human Wit, or the subtlety of the Devil can invent to debauch an honest, honourable, reserved, modest, godly, virtuous Woman; and believing thou canst not give me a more sensible Proof of thy Kindness, begin as soon as thou canst. Anselm here making a stop, Lothario more astonished now then he was before, stared him i' the face a good while, without speaking a word, like one that had been gazing upon something he had never seen before; till after he had recollected himself, Friend Anselm, said he, had I thought you had been in earnest all this while, I should never have heard ye so patiently, and so long, without an Interruption. Surely, either thou dost not know me, or I don't know thee. But I think I know thee to be Anselm; and I believe thou knowst me to be Lothario: Here's the Mischief on't, that I think thou art not the same Anselm thou were't wont to be, and thou tak'st me not to be the same Lothairo that I ought to be. For neither is the Kindness of that Nature to be desired by Anselm, nor to be granted by Lothario. We are to make use of our Friends to such a Degree, and no farther; and to make trial of their Friendship in things that are reasonable, not in things that are contrary to common Sense; and if not prejudicial, at least of no Advantage to the Imposer. You would have me make love to your Wife, and use my utmost Endeavours to debauch her: If you believe her virtuous, what would ye have more? Or what will my Endeavours add to her Merit? But if I do debauch her, what then? Then is your Life at an end; for the loss of Reputation, is the loss of Life; and what will the world most justly say of me, for abusing and dishonouring my Friend? By my troth, you have studied one of the most ingenious Contrivances to ruin yourself and your friend too, that ever I heard of. If you question, whether Camilla be as prudent as other Women, take her as she is, either better or worse, till ye find her worse then she is. For 'tis better to enjoy a quiet Uncertainty, then to bring an old House upon a Man's Head, by trying Experiments. Remember, friend Anselm, that the Honour of a Woman consists in the good Opinion which the world has of her; then content yourself with your own and the good Opinion of the world to boot, and never go about, out of an idle and impertinent Curiosity to lay Snares merely to show the Excellency o' your Trap; which, when all is done, does but catch prove Inclination with the Baits that are natural to it. For in short, a Woman is like a polished Glass, which is tarnish'd with the least breathing upon it: A delicate Flower, that sullies and withers with the softest Touch. To this Purpose, I remember the Advice of an grave Old Toast, to the Father of a certain young Virgin in a Comedy, to keep a diligent watch over his Daughter, to shut her up, and not to trust her to her self; and if I mistake not, the words were these.  

HE that thinks a Woman Glass,  
Let him ne'er be trying tricks;  
For as sure as God's in gloucester,  
If he lets her fall, she breaks.   

But when she's broken, the Devil himself  
Can never solder up the Wound;  
And therefore while she's whole, be sure  
To have a care, and keep her sound.   

For certain 'tis, that were there now  
More Danaë's then could be  told,  
There would not want for every one  
As many charming showers of Gold.   
And now, said Lothario, having spok'n thus much for your Interest, give me leave to say something for myself. You look upon me to be your real Friend, and yet you go about to take away my Honour; and would ha' me be the Instrument of ruining yours: Wise work in good truth. What will Camilla think, when she shall hear my lewd Addresses to her, but that I am a perfidious Son of Voluptuousness, that makes no scruple to violate the most Sacred Laws of Friendship, or to Sacrifice my Reputation to the ticklings of sensual Pleasure? Will she not have reason to be offended at a Liberty that will seem to reproach her, as if I had observed a particular Lightness and Vanity in her Conduct? Or if I find her yielding, will it become me to betray Anselm? Or if I cannot accomplish my ends, can she have a greater hatred, then for the Person, on whom she had bestowed such marks of her favour, merely to make a May-game of her Credulity? Or if I excuse myself, and say, I did it to please you; what will she think of me for accepting such a Commission? And how will she despise the Person that signed it? What will all Men of Honour think of me, for having troubled the repose of all your Family with a false Complaisance? Shall we not become the public Laughter of those that admired our strict and matchless Amity? Believe me therefore, dear Anselm, live undisturbed in an Opinion that renders thee happy; and consider that thou ventur'st thousands to a Nut-shell, in so rash and impertinent a folly. In a word, without flattery, I take it ill, that you should make me such an idle and dishonourable Proposal; and be assured, that I will never do ye this dangerous piece of Service, tho it should cost me your Friendship, which would to me be the greatest Loss i' the World.  
These home-thrusts of Lothario put Anselm into such a Confusion, that for a good while he stood as mute as a Fish, till having found his Tongue in a condition to move; Friend Lothario, said he, I have heard thee with all the Attention and Satisfaction imaginable; and have observed in thy Expressions all that Discretion and Prudence could utter: And this Refusal of thine has signalized thy Friendship to the highest degree. I confess my Request is unjust, and such a one, of which the Consequences cannot choose but be fatal; and that if I don't follow thy Counsel, I am a Mad-man, and hurry myself into a most dreadful Precipice. But I am sick, Lothario, I am sick; and of a Distemper that rages incessantly within me; and a desperate Disease must have a desperate Cure: Besides, you see that Chalk, Oatmeal, Coals, the raw Steaks of a Butcher's Arm, will never hurt those that long for' em. I concealed my Infirmity a long time, in hopes I might surmount it; but 'tis become my Master, and my deplorable Condition obliges me to seek for aid. Forsake me not therefore in my distress, dear Friend— Never stand arguing with a man that has lost his Reason— Why— if I have a mind to be a cuckolded, why should you contradict me? Prithee try Camilla, gently at first, for fear of dashing, I dare say she won't surrender at the first Assault; and perhaps that small Experiment may satisfy me, that I may return to my Senses again without any more. If thou art successful over the left shoulder, and art forced to raise thy Siege from my beloved Lady Vienna, then shall I be happier then the Great Mogul, and the King of Persia; and thou wilt have the Honour to have outdone all the Physicians in London, where I think there are more then enough; and to have cured one of the oddest Frenzies that ever was heard of. And for Camilla, let me alone to put it off with a Jest, and pacify her well enough. But do it, dear Lothario, do it for my sake, do it for her sake, do it for heaven's sake, do it for thy own sake, and for the sake of all that is dear to thee i' the World; or else I must be forced to employ some body else.  
Lothario finding Anselm so resolutely bent, and the danger of a Refusal, determined to accept the strange Commission, the rather because he was satisfied that he had discharged his Conscience to the full, both like a Gentleman and a Friend; resolving however to carry his business so cunningly, as to satisfy the Hypochondriacal Anselm, and yet not offend Camilla neither. And having thus concluded within himself; You shall not need, quo he to Anselm, to employ any body else, for I find my Complaisance too weak to withstand any longer the force of your Entreaties. At which words Anselm embraced him with that Affection, as if it had been Camilla her self triumphant over all the seven deadly Sins.  
After that, they drank a chirping Cup together, and Anselm drew out a draft of the Method which Lothario was to observe; not forgetting what sort of Tunes he would have for the Serenades, and what sort of Songs he would have for the Tunes, which he offered to make himself, if Lothario thought he could not be at leisure, for Courting his Wife. Moreover, he promised to sand Lothario Money to defray the expenses of his Entertainments, his Coach-hire to and fro; together with what Watches, Rings, and Jewels he should think convenient for Temptation Presents: For all which Lothario took his word, without troubling a Scriv'ner to draw up Articles. Which done, Anselm carried Lothario home to his House, where he found Camilla in a twitter, for his having stayed till Dinner was almost spoyled. After Dinner, and a Game or two at Back-Gammon, Lothario took his leave for that time, and retired to his Lodging, very much disturbed in his mind about the hard Duty which his Friend had imposed upon him. That Night he lay tumbling and tossing, and considering with himself how to manage his Business; and the next day away he went again to Dine with his Friend, where Camilla received him as her Husband's Acquaintance, with all the becoming freedom imaginable; as one in whose Company she knew her Husband delighted, and to whom she was her self not a little engaged. They had no sooner closed up their Stomacks with their Pippins and Carraway Comfits, but Anselm, rising hastily from the Table,  told 'em, that he had urgent Business that called him abroad, and therefore begged of Lothario to keep his Wife Company till his Return; and notwithstanding all Lothario's entreaties, that he might bear him Company, and Camilla's endearing Prithee my Hony's and Sweet-heart's, to retain him at home, nothing would do; he had no sooner combed out his periwig, but away he flung, leaving Lothario and his Wife in the Room together. And then it was, that Lothario found himself at the strangest Non-plus that ever he was in his life; not knowing what i' the World to do, to avoid the danger that threatened the forehead of his Friend. At length he feigned himself to be very sleepy, and after he had seemingly endeavoured to wake himself two or three times, he loll'd backward in his Chair, and betook himself to Dog-sleep; for as I may tell to you, he was no more sleepy then when he waked i' the Morning. About two hours after, Anselm return'd, and finding Camilla i' the Room, and Lothario fast asleep, as he thought, he conjectured, he had tired himself with talking, and therefore stayed till he was awake, to know how far he had proceeded. Lothario answered him, that he did not think it convenient to provoke Camilla too far at the first dash; and therefore he had only discoursed her at a distance, concerning the Perfections of her own Beauty, and amused her with the general Talk of the Town, of the Happy Choice that Anselm had made of a Wife; not doubting but to insinuate himself by degrees, as having prepared her to hear stories of another Nature the next time: Observing the Devil's Method, who when he has a design to deceive poor Mortals, does not show his Cloven foot at first, but transforms himself into an Angel of Light. Which beginning extremely pleased Anselm. Several days thus past over, wherein Lothario spoken not a word to Camilla; only he made her Husband believe he had used all the Art and Arguments, with which the Devil had liberally furnished him, but could not make the least Impression upon her Affection: On the other side, that she did nothing but cry fie, and out upon him; and that she did not think he had been such a one, and at length threatened to tell her Husband, and never to come into his Company more, if ever he offered her any such idle Discourse again.  
Happy had Anselm been, if this would ha' given him Satisfaction: But 'tis not to be avoided, where the Devil owes a man a shane; for the Devil scorns to take whitefriars for such a Debt. Thus far, said Anselm, Camilla has withstood the Batteries of Words, now let's see how she will resist the force of Deeds. To morrow I'll sand ye in two hundred guineas for a Present, and two hundred more for a Garnish of Diamonds; for Women love to see their Stomachers twinkling with Jewels, like the Sky in a frosty Night; and if Camilla refuses Them, I'll never trouble thee farther. Well, cried Lothario, I'll go forward, since I ha' begun; but I'm confident you'd as good ha' played away your Money at In and In i' the Temple-Hall— However, the next day Anselm, who like a Merchant that stands upon his Credit, was too punctual to fail of his word, sent in his Friend the four hundred guineas, which plunged Lothario again into new Cares: But still he concluded to say, that Camilla was not to be moved, and that he was afraid of incurring her hatred by teizing her. And indeed he might easily have come off with Honour, had Anselm been Master of himself; but his Brains were so turned in his Skull, that nothing would content him. One day therefore, after he had left Lothario and Camilla alone, as he was wont to do, he withdrew himself into an upper Room, where he could see all that passed between the two supposed Lovers. But when he had stayed there above an Hour, he observed that in all that time, Lothario did not so much as open his Lips, which made him believe, that what he had said of Camilla, were all mere Shams. Upon which, returning into the Room, and taking Lothario aside; What a scurvy Humour is Camilla in to day, quo he? She has pissed upon a Nettle, I think, quo Lothario; for she's as froppish, as if she had lost the first Present that you made her: so choleric, so pettish, so peevish, so waspish, that I durst not speak a word to her— Ah, Lothario, Lothario! cried Anselm, Is this the Effect of your Promises? Is this the Discharge of a Trust, which I expected from your Friendship? I ha' stood upon the Watch, where I have all this while observed, that you have not spoken aword to Camilla— there's Courtship for mine A— and not for a brisk Lady— Why don't ye give me leave to make use of some body else, if you are so tender-Conscienc'd?  
Lothairo finding himself so trapp'd, that he had not one hole to creep out at, and being in the Number of those that could not tell a lie, and stand in it, thought it convenient to play another Game; and swore more Oaths then are sworn of a Night in a Gaming-Ordinary, that it should cost him a fall, but he would do his Business. Anselm believed him, and to give him the more Liberty, resolved to go into the Country for a matter of eight days. Now was there ever such a Puppy i' the world? when he had all things at home to his own Heart's content, a fair Estate, a handsome, loving, obsequious Wife; yet all this would not content him, but that he must be studying, and searching out new Passages to Nova Zembla, new Hudson's Bays, to his own ruin? But no more of these Digressions, let's go on with our Story.  
Industrious Anselm went the next Morning into the Country; but taking leave of his Wife, My Dear, quo he, urgent Business calls me away, however, I leave ye my friend Lothario, to whom I desire ye i' the mean time to be as kind and civil as to myself. My Dear, quo Camilla, this is your Order, but a strange Injunction. Joy, quo she, d' ye understand what ye do? for it troubles me very much to obey; for that it was beyond the Limits of Decency, that Lothario and she should live with that Familiarity together in his Absence. If ye doubt that I am not able to govern your House, I beseech ye, my Dear, stay and be a Witness yourself of my Management, that if I do amiss, I may be better informed by your Instruction. No more Words, cried Anselm, with a Matrimonial Frown; and so saying, flung out of her Company.  
The next day Lothario came to visit Camilla, who received him with all the Modesty imaginable; and she had taken such care, that she would not be a moment in the Room, without some body by her, especially Lyonella, a Maid that had been bread up with her, and for whom she had a very great Kindness.  
For the three first Days Lothario said nothing to her, tho he had Opportunity enough while the Servants were at Dinner. Of which Camilla being well ware, ordered Lyonella for the future to dine before the rest, that she might continually have her by her. But the giddy Girl, having other Crotchets in her Head, and not caring to stay long in a place, many times took Occasions to leave Lothario and her Mistress alone. Nevertheless Lothario still forbore to take Opportunity by the Forelock, whether it were, that he could not find in his heart to injure his Friend, or whether he thought it too much below a Gentleman to wrong a Lady that treated him with so much Civility; or perhaps because, tho Camilla were beautiful and free in her Behaviour, yet the Gravity and Reserv'dness of her Carriage struck such an Awe into him, that restrained the loose Attempts of his irregular Desires. But at length this Constraint that Lothario put upon himself, and all his long Silence, produced an Effect quiter contrary to his laudable Intentions. For at length the Charms of her Beauty made that Impression in his Mind, which he had been all along so much afraid of; and while he only thought to behold her with a modest and becoming Respect, he began to admire her, and to look upon her with so much Delight, that he could not unfix his Eyes from their beloved Object. In a word, Love stolen insensibly into his Heart, and had made a great Progress before he perceived it. But when he found himself over Shoes, over Boots, and that his Heart was all of a Blaze, beyond the Quenching of the City Engines; then what a Toil, what a Bustle, what a Clutter was there? What eager Disputes and Contests, fiercer then these of Whigg and Tory, between Treachery and Honour? What Duels and Combats between growing Passion, and Breach of Friendship? What Hiccups and Checks of Conscience, and Reproaches of common Morality? Piety also and Religion were come as far as the Grounsel of his Heart; but Satan spying 'em, presently stepped to the Door, and barred it against' em. He repented a thousand times his rash Compliance with the Folly of his Friend. So that at length it came to a pitched battle between his virtues and his Passions, under the Command of Honour and Fidelity o' the one side, impatient Desire and lawless Pleasure on the other side; and the Conflict was obstinately maintained, till Camilla's Beauty and Anselm's Destiny, to punish his Imprudence, coming in with a fresh Reinforcement, put Virtue and Christianity to flight, with the loss Honour and Fidelity slain upon the place. And now Lothario, believing the Resistance of three Days sufficient to excuse his Disloyalty to his Friend, as one that thought himself no longer obliged to hold out, where he saw no possibility of being relieved, let loose the Reins of his Passion, and boldly discovered the Violence of his Love to Camilla. On the other side, Camilla, strangely surprised to find her self so vigorously, so suddenly, and so unexpectedly assailed, said not a word, but rising hastily from her Chair, retired into her Chamber. But this disdainful Repulse nothing daunted Lothario, rather it begot in him a higher Esteem of her Person; and that esteem adding fuel to his Flames, he resolved to prosecute his Design. In the mean time Camilla, after a long Consultation with her self what Course to take, at length concluded to withdraw her self from Lothario's Company; and in the Evening sent a lackey away to her Husband, with the following Letter to recall him home.   

CHAP. VII.  
The Sequel of the Novel of the Curious Impertinent.  
My Dear;  
YOU have shew'd an extraordinary Confidence in leaving me alone, and I find myself highly obliged to ye for it. But I cannot think it so discreetly done, or that you are so jealous as you ought, of a Happiness, which you pretend so highly to esteem. For my own part, considering the real and tender Affection I have for ye, I am not able any longer to endure your Absence, finding myself so melancholy, and so disturbed i' my Thoughts, that if you do not speedily return, I must be forced to go home to my Father. For, to tell ye Truth, I am afraid that the person, whom ye have entrusted with the care of your Family, minds more his own, then your Concerns. But you are wise and prudent, and therefore I shall say no more.  
By this Letter Anselm saw that Lothario had been true to his Promise, and that Camilla had done her Duty; and being overjoyed at so happy a Beginning, sent back word to his Wife, That she should by no means stir from her House, for that it would not be long before he terurn'd.  
Camilla was in an Amaze to red Anselm's Answer, as that which put her into a greater Confusion then she was in before. For neither could she well stay at home, where her Chastity was so brisk'ly assailed by Lothario, neither durst she return to her Father, for fear of displeasing her Husband. At length, after long Debate with her own Thoughts, unfortunately she choose the worst Resolution, which was, to stay in her House, and to keep Lothario Company, as she was wont to do, for fear of giving an Occasion of Suspicion to the Servants. She repented also, that she had written to her Husband, afraid that she had thereby made him jealous of Lothario; especially believing her self so secure of her self, that she could be in no danger of any Attempts that he could make: So that by writing to her Husband, she had only discovered her Weakness and the Mistrust she had of her own Constancy. With this Resolution, so prudent in Appearance, but so fallacious in the Event, Camilla suffered her Ears to lye open to Lothario's Temptations; and he spurred on by his Passion, and finding the Opportunity so favourable, managed his Artillery so like a cunning Marksman, that he never missed a Shot; and so mollified her with the Charms of his endearing and amorous Discourses, that Camilla's Constancy began to totter; insomuch that she had much ado to stifle the Discoveries of a surrendering Compassion, which Lothario's Tears, and tender Expressions had wrought in her Breast. All which being diligently observed by Lothario, redoubled his Passion, and gave him full assurance that he should not find Camilla so invincible as Penelope. Upon this, Lothario fell on Pell-mell again, and cunningly stormed her weakest, and most defenceless part, with the tickling Praises of her Beauty. For there is nothing sooner lays in Ruins the lofty Towers and Fortresses of female Vanity, then when that Vanity itself is the Engine dexterously managed by Adulation and Flattery. So that had Camilla been a Tower of Brass, I question whether such Underminings as these would not have levelled her with the Earth. He wept, he begged, he vowed, he swore and forswore; yet with such a rarely counterfeited show of Truth and Reality, that at length, eluding all Camilla's Care of her Honour, he vanquished that which he never dreamed, tho most desired, to triumph over. Camilla surrendered, Camilla yielded: An evident Example, that the Passions of Love are only vanquished by flight, and that there is no encountering hand to hand such potent Adversaries. However, Lionella the Chamber-maid, forsooth, was only privy to her Mistress's failings; from whom 'twas impossible for those two false Friends, and new Lovers to conceal the Secret. Nor would Lothario discover to Camilla, that Anselm had laid this Trap for himself, lest she should think his solicitation to have been merely accidental, and what he never intended, had not the Opportunity been thrown into his Hands.  
Soon after Anselm return'd, and wonderfully pleased with Lothario's fulfilling his Promise, with his usual Impatience, went to visit his dear Friend, to know of him, what farther Progress he had made. Anselm, said Lothario, embracing him, thou mayst boast thyself the Husband of a matchless Wife, and one whom all other Women ought to look upon as the Ornament of their Sex, and a Pattern by which to govern themselves. S'life— I ha' been all this while basting Flints with Butter, talking and swearing to the Wind— She laughed at my Tears— and scorned my Presents— I found her chast, even to Admiration— and immovable as Pen-men Maur. In a word, her virtue is equal to her Beauty, and thou art happy among Men— And therefore here, my dear Friend— here's your Money again— for, alas! had it been a whole Mine— or the whole Cargo of the Plate-fleet, I found Camilla was not to be tempted by all the Gewgaws in both Exchanges. And therefore Anselm, satisfy thyself with the peaceable Enjoyment of thy happy Fortune, without making any farther Trials; which is the best Counsel I can give thee, as a Friend, and the only fruit which I desire to reap by my Complaisency to thy extravagant Humour.  
Anselm having heard this pleasing Fable, was ready to leap out of his Skin for Joy, extolled his Friend to the sky, and gave him more Thanks, then if he had redeemed him from the Turkish Gallies; but not being as yet fully satisfied, he desired him to continue his Courtship, tho not with the same Importunity as before; and in regard that Verses would cost him nothing, he likewise entreated him to sand her now and then a Copy, under the borrowed Name of Cloris; of which he would take no farther Notice, then as only sent to his Wife for her Approbation, as being intended to another. To which, Lothario, whose Courtship was no longer now a burden to him, readily consented. And thus the impertinent Cully, and the disloyal Friend being both agreed, Anselm went home; and after he had embraced and kissed his Wife; Honey, quo he, what's the reason you sent me such a Letter into the Country—? Why truly, my Dear, answered Camilla, methought at first, that Lothario began to be a little more familiar with me in your Absence then became him; but afterwards I found 'twas a mere Fancy o' my own; however, I was glad of any Pretence to hast'n your Return— Puh— cried Anselm! a mere Fancy indeed— for to my Knowledge he's up to the hard Ears in Love with a young Lady i' the Town here, to whom he writes Verses under the Name of Cloris; besides, I am so well assured of his virtue and Friendship, that there's no room for the least Suspicion of Lothario— Who, my Friend Lothario—! I'll trust him, tho 'twere as long as an East-India-Voyage— This Fable of Cloris might have bread ill Blood between Camilla and her new Gallant, had not Lothario  told her before of his Intention to put this same shame of Cloris upon Anselm, that he might have the more Liberty to writ to her at any time, without being suspected by her Husband. And some few Days after, as they were sitting all three together, Anselm desired Lothario to repeat some of those Verses which he had made in the Praise of Cloris; which he might be the more bold to do, in regard that Camilla knew not who she was. What if she did, replied Lothario? I should be ne're a whit the more scrupulous for that; seeing a Lover never injures the Person he loves, tho he complain of her Rigour, at the same time that he praises her Beauty. However, let 'em be good or bad, here they be, such as they are, which I made Yesterday upon Cloris's Ingratitude— They're short you see, but whether as sweet, that you must judge.  

I.  
IN depth of silent Night,  
When all men are asleep;  
Or each one kissing of his own Delight,  
I lye alone and fond weep  
For Cloris, my dear Jewel.  
Cloris, ah Cloris— that same sacred She!  
That for to bauk a common Simile,  
No Tygress is;  
But yet as fierce a Leopardess,  
All covered o'er with Beauty-spots, but cruel.   

II.  
When Morning comes, the same Complaints I make,  
And half asleep, and half awake,  
I make enquiry where the charming Whore is?  
Streight my thoughts check me for abusing Cloris—  
And I confess, 'twas rashly done— for why?  
Cloris, that I'd so fain enjoy,  
Has but one Fault,  
She's lovely, but confounded coy.   

III.  
Then up I get, and go to visit Cloris—  
But Mrs. Mary with her Flim-flam Stories,  
Cloris is sick, quo she, not to be seen,  
Or gone to Temple-Church or Lincoln's-Inn.  
Thus I return'd undone,  
And come again i' the Afternoon;  
But then she's got to Lantralow,  
And Hell can't move her for an hour or two.   

IV.  
Thus Phoebus sets, and Night comes on again,  
And then of Cloris I to heaven complain,  
Of heaven to Cloris,  
For mustering in her Face those killing Glories;  
Believing too,  
The Gods might remedy the Matter;  
But after all, I'm ne're the better:  
I Cloris woe,  
And pray the Gods to mollify her Heart;  
But, Oh! what signifies it? not one F— t:  
The Gods are deaf, and Cloris will not hear,  
And all because she's coy, that is so fair.   
The Verses pleased Camilla, but Anselm extolled 'em to the Skies. For he thought it unreasonable, as one who thought he had not been served so himself, that a young Lady, because she was a little more then ordinary Snout-fair, should be so cruel to a Gentleman that sought her early and late with so much Affection. Why, said Camilla, do all Lovers speak truth in their Verses? As Poets, answered Lothario, perhaps they may strain a little, but as Lovers, they speak less then they might do. 'tis too true, replied Anselm, as being resolved to justify Lothario whatever he said, and to keep up his Reputation with Camilla. A needless Toil, God wot, to disguise his Thoughts to her, that was already so much devoted to Lothario, that she never minded her Husbands Artifices to ruin himself. For now Camilla was desperately in Love with Lothario, and whatever he said, was acceptable to her, without any need of the witty Cuckold's blind Apologies. Which was the reason that she desired Lothario, if he had any more Verses about him, to let her hear' em. Why Faith, Madam, answered Lothario, I have one Copy more i' my Pocket; of which I have no better Opinion then of the former, however, they're at your Service.  

I Can't believe, that ever Men could bear  
The pains and torments which they swear  
They suffer for a Womans Beauty.  
Then they must die, as now  
Poor I resolve to do.  
For Cloris false Disdain is such a Curse,  
That could a Beast but love, 'twould kill a Horse.  
Go hang yourself— th' ingrateful Cloris cries.  
What Lover now, but up would puke  
His very Soul at such a fierce rebuk?  
Besides— the Man that never lied,  
Has sworn he can't out-live fair Cloris Pride;  
And shall I be forsworn,  
When I can die— and laugh at Cloris scorn?   

II.  
No— now I think on't, I will die  
To show the World the Rigour of the Maid—  
That I should be so ill repaid  
For all my Services and Trouble,  
Thus to be made a mere Town-Bubble.  
And then that she should have a Heart  
So quiter regardless of my smart,  
While panting, gasping on the Ground I lie,  
To see me at her Velvet Slippers die.   

III.  
But when by Death I have thrown off her Fetters,  
Then let her see  
My Love and Constancy  
Deeply engraved upon my Heart,  
In Poticary's Letters.  
Then like some Sister, Sermon-terrify'd,  
Reflecting on thy Murd'rous Pride,  
Cloris, make hast into thy Closet,  
And there take off a Rats-bane Posset,  
To expiate my injured Ghost,  
That for thy sake an Amorous Body lost.   
Anselm, who to the unmarrying of himself, was still wedded to his own Design, applauded these Verses no less then he had done the former. Like a kind cuckolded, that never thinks the Chain of his entanglement long enough, continually caressing the Person that daily licked his Cream-Pot, and left him only the Whey; while the Legerdemain his Wife played him all the while, only served to advance her the more in the good Opinion and Affection of the Knight of the Forked Order.  
A while after, Camilla being alone with her trusty Lionella, Nothing vexes me, quo she, but that I'm afraid I yielded up my Fort a little too soon; and that Lothario, when he considers my weakness, will despise the Happiness that cost him so little. And yet his Enchantments were such, that I don't believe St. Winifred her self could have withstood 'em— Lord! Madam, why should you think so? quo Lionella— Rather believe your easy kindness must redouble his acknowledgement. Let me tell ye, Madam, if the Gift be worth giving, the Gift is never a whit to be the less esteemed, because easily partend with by the Donor— Come— come— Mistress, That which is readily given, is twice given— That's answered by another Proverb, cried Camilla, The more Cost, the more Worship— That's nothing to the purpose, answered Lionella; for if it be true What I have heard, Love observes no certain Rules: Sometimes it flies, sometimes it goes a foot— Sometimes runs, sometimes walks, as if he were following a hearse— Sometimes as cool as a Blood-stone, sometimes all Fire and Tow— And here the Wood and the flamme met as it should do— The fuel was dry, and the flamme was hot— Nature will have its course— If you the sooner yielded, 'twas because Lothario was the more violent. Anselm was gone, but no body knew how soon he might return— And therefore Love, like a Politician, always takes Opportunity by the fore-lock. And this, Madam, I know as well by Experience, as by Hear-say— for I shall give ye to understand one day, that I am made of Flesh and Blood as well as others. Nor did you yield so soon neither, till you saw his very Soul in his Eyes, in his Sighs, in his Vows, Promises, and Presents; and you beholded him in his virtues, and the Perfections of his Mind, a Person fit for your Embraces. And therefore, Madam, never cling up your Guts with these Hypochondriacal Scruples, but be merry and cheerful; and believe Lothario has the same esteem for you, as you have for him. Believe that he does not only Challenge the three F F F's, which all true Lovers ought to have, but you may run through the whole Alphabet in his Praise. As for Example: He is Amorous, Bountiful, Courtly, Desperate, enamoured,( I omit the F's, as unquestionable) Gallant, hare-brained, Jocund, Lusty, mildred, Noble, Open-hearted, Patient, Quaint, Rich, Serious, True, Valiant, Wise, the Devil take X, there's nothing will fit him, Young, and your Zealous Adorer. And now, Madam, what would ye ha more? Camilla could not choose but smile at her Maids Alphabet; yet on the other side, she could not but wonder to hear so young a Questrel as she, discourse with all the Experience of an Orange-Moll, or a Betty-Mackarel. Which she perceiving— By my truly, Mistress, quo she, don't you believe I ha' spent my time idly; for I must tell ye, I ha' brought, a Young Mercer's apprentice i' this Town to my Lure already— I warrant ye, Madam, he's my own— 'tis true, he's not out of his Time— But what o' that?— Dukes-Place is free for all comers and goers— Nay, to tell ye the truth, Madam, the business is done already, one way or other— 'tis no matter which way, so't be done—  
Camilla was not a little troubled to hear her Maid talk at that rate; but then again considering, that it was not for Satan to correct Sin, all she could do, was to desire Lionella to be careful how she discovered to her Sweet-heart the Intrigue between her and Lothario; and so to manage her own concerns, that neither Lothario nor Anselm might discover her Amours. Which Lionella not only promised, but also swore with all Exactness and Duty to her Mistress, to perform. Nevertheless the Lecherous Baggage, finding she had the Key of her Mistress's Secrets, and that her Mistress was now become her Slave( a main Misfortune that attends the forbidden Pleasures of Women) and therefore knowing no Reason why she might not have a little sport as well as her Mistress, became so bold, as to invite her Sweet-heart to Anselm's House, and let him into the very Apartments belonging to her Mistress; who now( so strangely had her own misfortunes turn d the Tide) afraid of her own shadow, was forced to turn Pandress to her Servant, and to be serviceable to her, in assisting her to conceal her Paramour, lest her Husband should come to know it.  
Yet all her care and caution could not so contrive it, but that one morning Lothario discovered Lionella's Gallant coming out of Anselm's House: Which so surprised Lothario at first, that not believing his Eyes, he took it for an Apparition; but perceiving the fellow rid Ground, like one with his Nose muffled up in his Cloak, newly disimbogu'd out of Whetstone's Park; and thereby conjecturing that he was one who was unwilling to be known, and at the same time never dreaming of Lionella, no more then he did of the Empress of Morocco, suspected him to be some body that Camilla treated with no less Courtesan Civility then himself. Which awakened such an inveterate jealousy in his Soul, that he resolved to be forthwith revenged of the poor Lady. To which purpose, quitting all his former Considerations, and his reflective Humour, he briskly enters Anselm's House, and going up into his Chamber, without giving him time to rise, Anselm, said he, I have been for some days striving with myself to conceal from thee a Secret, which it highly imports thee to know; but at length the Friendship which I owed thee, will no longer suffer me to conceal it. Know then, in short, that I have won the Fortress, and Camilla can no longer boast her Constancy. If I did not sooner make thee this Discovery, 'twas, because I was not well assured whether it were the weakness of thy Wife, or a trick to try whether I spoken in earnest. Therefore I stayed a while, expecting she would have  told thee of my Importunity; but when I found she kept the Secret close, then I made no further question, but that she resolved to keep her word, in allowing me the Liberty which I desired, as soon as thou wert gone into the Country. However, Anselm, let not this Secret, which I have entrusted in thy Bosom, transport thee to Extravagance; for after all, Camilla has not yet in Act offended; so that perhaps she may recollect her self, and repent the Condescension she has made. And therefore, as thou hast followed my Counsel hitherto, be ruled by me yet a little more: Pretend to go into the Country for two or three days, and find some way to hid thyself in the Chamber, then we shall see how she will behave her self, and what Resolution it will become thee to take.  
Anselm stood like one that had met his Father's Ghost, to hear Lothario thus discourse, at a time when he least expected such a Morning Salem; when his Thoughts began to be at rest, as being fully satisfied in Camilla's Conquests. But then, as one that had lost his Senses, sadly beholding Lothario, You have done, said he, what I expected from your Friendship: now advice me what course to take; for I depend entirely upon your Discretion. Lothario, on the other side, not knowing what to say to him in that pensive Condition, embraced Anselm, and brushed away in hast out of the Room. But when he was gone, he began to repent of what he had done, by exposing Camilla so inconsiderately, of whom he might have taken his Revenge with less Danger, and less to her Reproach. However, not being able to recall Yesterday, nor to find any Expedient to reconcile the matter, he resolved to tell Camilla himself, and that with all the speed he could, as one that had free Access to her at all times.  
And now was Anselm just gone abroad, when Lothario entered; to whom Camilla, finding they were both alone together, My dear Lothario, said she, I have a thing to tell thee in thy Ear, that troubles me more then any thing i' the World; and the rather, because I dread the Consequences of it. Lionella has a Sweet heart, and the Baggage is grown so impudent, that she brings him into her Chamber every Night, and there keeps him till Morning: Judge ye now how this wicked Wench exposes me to scandal; for what will People think, to see a Young Fellow let out at the Back-door at such unseasonable hours? And that which vexes me most is, that I dare not so much as murmur against this insolent Slut, for fear of bringing an Old House over my own Head: For if she once begins to open against me, I am a lost Woman— Sweet Meat has always sour sauce, Lothario— prithee consider and study my Repose. At first, Lothario thought that this same story had been onely a Device of Camilla's, to make him believe that the fellow he saw come out of the House, was Lionella's Sweet heart; but when he saw her all in Tears, and found what she said to be true, he was no less perplexed then She. However, at length he gave her to understand that there was a worse mischief had befallen 'em then all that; and after he had begged her a hundred Pardons, he up and  told her what the transports of his jealousy had bewitched him to discover to Anselm; and that he had persuaded him to hid himself in his Closet, that he might be a Witness of their farther Proceedings.  
Such a terrible Thunder-clap as this had like to have overwhelmed Camilla to the Earth: But as if her Indignation had supported her, she flew out in a great rage against Lothario; called him ten thousand Traytors, and upbraided his rash and inconsiderate Folly; and began desperately to threaten her own Life; insomuch that Lothario threw himself at her feet, like one in despair, not daring so much as to look up, or speak a word. Till at length his Tears and his Sighs mollified Camilla, who having a prompt and ready wit, as most Women have, who tho they cannot writ like Scotus or Thomas Aquinas, yet are plaguy nimble at an Amorous Contrivance, began to take heart a' grace, and having thought upon an Invention to repair the folly of her Gallant, she the more easily pardoned him a fault which he had never committed, but out of too much Affection: Only she bid him be sure to keep Anselm steady to his Resolution, of hiding himself in the Chamber; assuring him that it would be a means to procure a Liberty to enjoy one another with more freedom then ever. Lothario pressed her to tell him her Design, that he might be the better able to observe her Directions; but she excused her self, only bid him come when she sent for him, and answer to every Question that she should propose, punctually, as if he thought Anselm did not hear him. The next day Anselm got a Horse-back, under pretence of going to visit a Friend in the Country; and presently returning home again, went and hide himself privately in his Wives Chamber, where he settled himself to his hearts content, without being disturbed by either his Wife or Lionella, who had no desire to trouble him.  
And now Camilla and Lionella, being well assured that he was safe in his lurking-hole, entered the Chamber; where Camilla had no sooner set her foot over the Threshold, but after she had fetched a deep sigh, Ah! Lionella, quo she, thou never couldst divine, I know, why I have so often asked thee for thy Master's Dagger; but now what thinkest? Were it not better for me to strike it to my Heart, then thus be exposed to his continued Importunities—? But stay, I'll first sand for this persidious Lothario, and know of him, what he saw in my Face, that should encourage him to make his debauched Addresses to me, so offensive to my Ears, and no less injurious to the best Friend he has in the World. Look out, Lionella, into the Street, and call him, for I am confident the Traitor stands watching under the Window for this Opportunity, so favourable as he thinks for the Satisfaction of his lewd Desires; but he shall find that my Desires and his are not the same— For God's-sake, Madam, cried the witty Lionella, what d' ye intend to do with that same Dagger—? Will you kill yourself, or Lothario? Forbid it Heavens! for either way you lose your Credit, and your Reputation— Alack-a-day, Madam, you will do much better to dissemble the Injuries offered you by a lecherous Ruffian, then to let in a lustful Hector upon a couple of feeble Women, not able to help themselves. Who knows, when he finds us thus all alone, but that he may bind us both, and then ravish us—? Or if he should be a little civil to you for my Master's sake, he will be sure to fall upon my poor Bones. And o' t'other side, suppose we should kill him— for I find thats your Design— what good will you get by't, Madam? Never go, Madam— if I don't tremble to think on't. Let Anselm do as he pleases, answered Camilla, for my part, I am resolved upon Revenge: Nay, methinks the time that I lose makes me guilty of the Affront I have received; and that I commit as many Defilements of my Husband's Bed, as I tarry Minutes from Revenging his Dishonour and mine.  
Anselm heard all these female Rodomantado's behind the Tap'stry, and still made various Comments to himself upon every word Camilla spoken: But when he saw her so fully bent to kill Lothario, he was then about to have discovered himself, to save his Friend. But at length resolving to see what Mettle his Wife was made of, he determined to stay till there might be a real Occasion for him to interpose. In the mean while Camilla, having over-strain'd her self with the Violence of her Passion, threw her self upon her Bed, and dropped into a Swoon; or at least, Anselm took it to be so; at what time Lionella fell a screaming, as if her Mistress had been breathing her last Gasp; and made such pitiful Moans and Lamentations, that no Man▪ but would ha' thought her the most afflicted dansel upon Earth. Presently Camilla recovering out of her Trance, would to God, Wench, cried she to Lionella, thou wouldst go and call this Infidel, for a second Fit will utterly disenable me to take my Revenge, and then my Resentment will vanish in fruitless words. I run, Madam, replied Lionella, wiping the Tears from her Eyes. But I beseech ye, Madam, give me the Dagger out o' your Hands first— Do as I bid thee, cried Camilla, make hast, and fear nothing— I am resolved to revenge myself— I am willing to die— but first Lothario's Blood shall give me satisfaction for the Injustice he has done me. However, Lionella was loathe to leave her Mistress alone, nor would she stir till Camilla began to rate her for her slowness. While she was gone, Camilla fell a walking about the Chamber like a Dunner that had over slept himself, trudging to find the Gentleman at home: by and by she flung her self upon her Bed; then up again; discovering her self so strangely nettl'd, as if she had had a Gad-Bee cling'd to her Tail— No, no, cried she, no more Consideration— hang pondering and thinking, his Death is determined— he has cost me showers of Tears, and his Life must pay me Interest— He shall never boast unpunished, that he has attempted Camilla's Virtue. Uttering these words, up she got again, and about the Room, with her Dagger in her Hand, her Eyes sparkling with Fury, and enlivening her words with ghastly Looks, that would ha' cheated Beelzebub himself. Anselm, struck with Admiration to see what his Eyes beholded, desired no more to cure him of those Jealousies with which Lothario had turmoiled his Breast; yet fearing, lest the Fury of his Wife might prove fatal to his Friend, or at least, not knowing how far her Passion might attempt upon her self, was about to have made his personal Appearance to atone her Rage; at what time Lionella return'd, with Lothario in her Hand. No sooner Lothario entered, but Stop, she cried, Lothario, venture no farther at your Peril; for if ye stir a foot, expect this Dagger in your treacherous Heart. Budge not then a hair's breadth, till thou hast answered me these two Questions; and answer me quick and short, without Quirks, and Tricks, and Circumlocutions, mental Reservations, or Evasions. In the first place, Dost thou know Anselm, and what Opinion hast thou of him—? In the next place, Dost thou know me? Lothario was not such an Oufe, but that he knew Camilla, being privy to Anselm's being hide in the Chamber, understood how to play her Game; and therefore to correspond discreetly and opportunely with her Design; Madam, said he, I could not imagine, that you had sent for me upon this raving Account, I was wrapped up in a better Conceit of my Happiness; so that if you did not intend to have kept the Promise that you made me last Night, you might have sent me word so, and not have laid a Snare for me, to the Breach of your word, and vast Injustice to my injured Affection. However, Madam, to answer exactly to your Questions, I do know Anselm; he and I have known one another from our Infancy; I forbear to speak of our Friendship, you are a sufficient Judge of it; and if I may be thought to have surpassed the Limits of that cordial Amity, blame that same Deity called Love, that obeys no Laws but his own. And for you, lovely Camilla, had I not known ye so well, I should ha' been more innocent, and my Soul had been at more Repose— If so, unjust and treacherous Friend, cried Camilla, if thou wert so well acquainted with us both, why dost thou violate a Friendship so sacredly observed by my Husband? And how dost thou dare to appear in my sight, after such a piece of Treason committed, no less offensive to me, then to himself? What was in your Thoughts to court me with your Lutener's lane Addresses? Who had informed ye, that I was such a light Hussey—? When did I ever give thee the least Encouragement, that might flatter thy Hopes? On the other side, Did I not always disdain thy Presents? Did I not always with a serious Indignation, reject thy Vows and Protestations? 'tis true, I was to blame for not chastising thee severely; but tho my sottish Prudence would not then permit me to complain to Anselm, for fear of setting two such loving Friends together by the Ears, and sending ye both to Barn-Elms, wi' your Seconds, yet finding now myself too guilty of that Crime, I'll be myself my Judge and Executioner; yet e're I die, I'll tear that treacherous Heart of thine from thy ingrateful Breast, to gratify my Vengeance— And so saying, she flew with that incredible swiftness upon Lothario, and counterfeited her Malice so exactly, that he himself could scarce tell what to think; especially seeing himself so hardly put to't, that he was forced to use his utmost Skill and Strength to defend himself. For certainly, ne're did Woman paint out her Despair in such lively and natural Colours, as would ha' deluded the Supreme Arch-devil of Delusion himself: Nay, she went so far as to breath a Vein, and draw Blood to confirm her Imposture. At length, like one that found she could not have her Ends of Lothario, Well— said she— then live a Miscreant as thou art, since I have not Strength to rid the World of such a Pest— However, thou shalt not hinder me from that Revenge I owe my own disloyal Heart— and with that, flying out of Lothario's Arms who held her, like one that had as yet some Wit in her Anger, she struck the Dagger slightly into the fleshy part of her Arm next her Shoulder, and at the same time fell flat upon her Back in a Swoon. This last part of the Show, so rarely well acted, especially when they saw the vermilion liquour of Life come trickling down her Smock-sleeves, startled even Lothario and Lionella themselves: Lothario was for sending for the Surgeon, Lionella looked as pale as Bagg'd-Holland; but not finding the Wound to be of much more Consequence then a Pendant-hole i' the Ear, they could not choose but smile one upon another; nor could Lionella forbear whispering Lothario i' the Ear, Match me now this, quo she, at either of the two theatres.  
On the other side, Lothario believing it no less proper for him to act his Part, fell a cursing the day of his Birth, the Nurse that gave him suck, the Air that afforded him Breath, and imprecated a thousand Maledictions not only upon himself, but the Person who had been the Cause of all this Mischief; then thumping his Breast, as if he had been beating Hemp upon his Ribs, he roared and howled, and with a million of Woe is me's, lamented, wept, and blubbered over Camilla's Body; and this with a Passion so lively, and with a Grief so real, to all outward Appearance, that you would have sworn him to have been the most forlorn and sorrowful Person that e're was overwhelmed in Misery. In the mean time Lionella took up her dear Mistress in her Arms, and having laid her upon the Bed, begged of Lothario to go fetch a Surgeon; and withal, asked his Advice, what Excuse they should make to Anselm, should he return before she was cured. To which, Lothario, knowing that Anselm heard him; Do what you think fit, said he, for I am so unable to give Counsel to others, that I know not what course to advice myself, only take care she do not bleed to death; and as for my own part, farewell Mankind, for I'm resolved to go where mortal Eye shall never see me more; and so saying, he flung out of the Room, with all the Marks of Despair, that Urbin, with all his Fancy, could have pencil'd. But when he was alone, where no body saw him, he could not forbear to across himself from his Forehead to his Stomach, in Admiration of Camilla's subtlety, and to see how rarely Lionella humoured the whole, as if the Jade had been begot a' purpose for such Intrigues.  
Nor did Lionella trouble her self to staunch Camilla's Blood, till she had bled enough to ratify the Cheat; and then washing the Wound, which was not so big as a Sparrow's Eye, all the while she was dressing and binding it up, managed her dissembling Tongue with that admirable Discretion, that Anselm would ha' sworn his Wife had been a second Lucretia.  
On the other side, Camilla lay raving and reviling her self, for having missed her Revenge, and seemed to be enraged, that her Misfortune had preserved a Life, which she so much detested. Which Scene being over, Camilla advised with her Maid, whether or no 'twere proper to inform Anselm of what had happened? Heav'ns forbid, answered Lionella; for he'll be sure to be challenging Lothario; and what Woman of virtue would venture the Life of a Husband, whom she so entirely loved? 'tis very true, quo Camilla, and therefore I'll follow thy Counsel. But, said she, thou must invent me some Story or other to tell him, when he shall come to see the Wound. Troth, Madam, replied Lionella, you must pardon me for that— for I could never tell a lie l' my life, tho it were to deny the pinching of a Box of Marmaled, when I went to your Closet— If a Bottle o' Wine be not missed, I can be silent, and drink it with the Cook-maid and the Coachman— but if it be asked for— I can as well be hanged as deny it. Neither would I, replied Camilla, tell a lie for all the World, tho it were to save my Honour; and therefore I think it best to make an ingenious Confession without any more ado. For to tell ye the truth, an honest Woman ought to make as absolute Confession to her Husband, as to her Ghostly Father himself. Madam, replied Lionella, never trouble yourself; I make no question but your Wound will be cured before he returns: And therefore let it only be your Care to settle your Mind, and calm the Disorders of your Countenance; and for the rest, leave it to God and a good Conscience, that never desert the Innocent.  
While these two Female Hypocrites were thus sporting with Anselm's Credulity, poor Jack Adams, who had not lost one Tittle of a Word they said, felt his Soul caper in his Breast for Joy, that he was now the happiest Man under Heaven's blew Canopy; and waited impatiently for Night, that he might go and make his trusty faithful Friend, the full Partaker of his Felicity, whom he looked upon as the sole author of his life Content; and to congratulate with him for the precious Pearl which he had found, in being thus undeceived, and assured of the virtue of his undefiled Spouse. On the other side, Camilla and Lionella finding themselves at the End of their fifth Act, let fall the Curtain, and made their Exit, to give him the Opportunity which he desired, and which he as greedily laying hold of, posted away to Lothario's Lodging; and finding him at home( as one that expected his Visit) he threw his Arms about Lothario's Neck, and after he had given him more Thanks then there are Pebbles upon Goodwin-Sands, thundered out such a Volley of Encomiums in praise of Camilla's virtue, that Lothario checked and peach'd by his own guilty Conscience, as knowing how he had betrayed him, and unjustly tasted of his forbidden Fruit, could not tell what Answer to make him; nor could he any way comply with his Friend's Joy, which he saw to be so excessive.  
On the other side, Anselm could not choose but take notice of his Friend's Indifferency, but believing it proceeded from his Sorrow, that his noun dear Camilla had hurt her self; a Misfortune, of which his Friend could not but in some measure think himself the Occasion; he begged him not to afflict himself, for that her Wound was but very slight; and assuring him besides, that both she and her Maid were resolved to say nothing of it. And therefore it became him to be so far from perplexing himself at such an inconsiderable Accident, that he ought rather to rejoice with him, as one that had not only contributed to mary him to one of the fairest young Ladies in Florence, but by his Industry and fidelity had convinced him, that he was owner of the most virtuous and beautiful Wife in the World; a Woman that for her virtue, if she had her due, ought to be the Theme of all the Poems and Sonnets of the Age, to eternize the Memory of her Chastity. To which Lothario replied, That there was nothing more just, and that therefore it should be the sole employment of his Muse, to serve her in the raising of so noble a Monument. This was the Issue of Anselm's politic Design, now a notorious cuckolded, but the most joyfully cozened to his Heart's content, of any Man that ever Midwife handed into the World: And at the same time he took Lothario by the Hand, and lead him home to his House, fully believing the Subverter of his Honour to be the Instrument of his Happiness. Camilla received him with a lowering Countenance, but an amorous Heart; and for some time they enjoyed the Benefit of their wanton Treachery, till at length Fortune turning honest, discovered the Fraud that had been with so much Artifice concealed; and Anselm's impatient Curiosity cost him his Life.   

CHAP. VIII.  
The Conclusion of the Novel of the Curious Impertinent.  
THE Curate had not much more to red of the Novel, before he came to the Conclusion, when Sancho, like a Fellow frighted out of his Senses by a Cow in a Church-yard, came thundering down from the Garret, where Don Quixote was taking his natural Rest, and crying out as loud as if the House had been a' fire, Help, help, for the Lord's sake, come away quickly, for I have left my Master engaged in one of the most desperate Combats that e're was undertook by human Force. I am the arrantest liar that ever spoken with a Tongue, if at the first Blow which he gave the monstrous Giant, my Lady the Princess Micomicona's mortal Enemy, he did not pare off his Head as cleverly as I ha' seen a gardener ship a Cabbage from the Stalk. How! Sancho, cried the Curate, what— hast thou lost thy Wits? How the Devil can this be, when the Giant is not within two thousand Leagues o' this Place— Are thy Master's Arms two thousand Leagues long? With that, they heard his Master i' the Garret tearing his Throat, and crying out, lye there, Cut-throat— Villain— traitor— I ha' thee fast now— Dog in a Doublet— What's become o' thy terrible Scimitar—? No, no, not so invincible neither as thou thoughtst thyself: And all the while they heard the Noise of Don Quixote's Sword clashing against the Wall, as if he had been hewing down that side of the House. Why don't ye stir, Gentlemen, quo Sancho; what d' ye sit gaping one upon another for? Pox on ye for a Company o' Cowards, why don't ye go and part the Fray? Tho I believe there's no need o' your Assistance— for, if I mistake not, the Giant is already gone to give an Account of his wicked Life i' the other World; for I saw his Crimson Blood run about the Room like a River, and the Stream was so strong, that it carried his Head along with it, which was as big as a Bushel, or at least, as an Elephant's. Now all the Plague's of Egypt light upon him, quo the Host, for I'll be burned, if this Don Quixote, or Don Devil, have not been quarreling with the Boracho's of Wine that stand in his Cockloft; and this same Beetle-head takes the Wine for Giant's Blood. With that, he followed the rest of the Company into the field of battle, where they found Don Quixote in the strangest Equipage that ever Mortal appeared in. For he was in his Shirt, if so it might be called, and not rather a Shift, consisting of two foul Napkins, which being tacked together over each Shoulder, hung like a Herald's Coat. As for that before, it hardly covered the half of his Hips, and that behind wanted a full Foot of the t'other's length: So that his Shanks were easy to be seen long and lither, hairy as an old Baboon's, and as dirty as a Kennel-rakers. Upon his Head he had a Woollen-Cap so black and greasy, that you could only discover, by the help of a Magnifying-glass, that in diebus illis it had been read. He had the Coverlet of his Bed wrapped about his left Arm, and his Sword drawn in his right Hand, with which he laid about him Fore-stroke and Back-stroke, and all the while rending his Throat, and vowing Massacre and Destruction, as if he had been engaged with Millions. But the greatest wonder was, that all this while his Eyes were shut, for he was perfectly asleep; only in a Dream, no doubt, that he was battering the mazzard of the Giant Pandafilando. Or else, as his Imagination was wholly possessed with these Fancies, he might in his Sleep have taken an easy Voyage to Micomicon, where he thought himself Rib-roasting the Princess's Enemy; and whatever he had heard tumble, he took for the Leg or Shoulder of some vanquished Giant. But by Misfortune, the most of these Monster-murdering Blows fell upon certain Boracho's of Wine that stood in the Chamber; so that the Room would have carried an ordinary Wherry. Which so enraged the Vintner, that he flew like a Mad-man upon D. Quixote, and beat such a Reveillez with his double Fists upon his dry Bones, that the knights War with the Giants had soon been at an end, had not Cardenio and the Curate stepped in to the Hero's Rescue. And yet for all the Vintner's Thumps and Bruises, did not this poor frantic wake( well for the Vintner, who perhaps might else ha' slept the Sleep of Death) till the Barber with a Pailful of could water washed not only his linen, but his whole Body from top to to, and then he began to open his Eyes; yet did not that wake him neither so fully, as to make him perceive the Condition he was in; so that Mrs. Dorothy entering the Garret, and seeing her Champion in his Cobweb Lawn, and short Measure to boot, mourning for his Lawndress, tripped out o' the Room again, as unwilling to behold her Protector's Infirmities.  
During this hurly burly, Sancho had been looking for the Giant's Head, which he saw drop to the Ground, but not being able to find it; Now, said he, I see there is nothing but Enchantment in this House. For in this very place it was, that not long since I received in dry Kicks and Fisty-cuffs about some two Thousand Marks, wanting three, for which I never gave any Acquittance, and yet could never see from whence they came, or who were my liberal Benefactors: And now the Devil will not let me find the Head of this Giant, tho I saw it cut off with both my two Eyes, and the Blood gush out like the water from a Brewer's Pump. Enemy to Heaven, and all the Saints, what dost mean by all this peddlers French, cried the Inn-keeper? Dost not see, Blockhead as thou art, that the Pump and the Blood are nothing else but my Boracho's that are bored like so many Cullenders, and that the Chamber is all over-flow'd with Wine? I wish a' were swimming in Hell that has done me this Spoil— That's no business of mine, replied Sancho, but this I know well, that this same Head, could I find it, would be worth to me a good Earldom, and now for want of it, my Earldom is sunk again to the bottom o' the Sea, for ought I know. Upon which the Vintner, no less enraged at the Stupidity of the Squire, then for the Damage the Knight had done him, swore by the Religion of all his Ancestors, they should not escape as they had done the time before, but that in despite of all their Huffing, and bounce, and vapouring, and hectoring, maugre all the privileges of their Knighthoods and Shitehoods, they should pay him to the utmost farthing for mangling his Boracho's and spilling his Wine.  
At the same time the Curate held Don Quixote by the Hand, who believing he had finished his Adventure, and that he was in the Presence of the Princess Micomicona, fell upon his Knees before the Curate, and with a submissive Voice; Your Grandeur, said he, is now secured, most Renowned and Sovereign Lady. No longer need you fear the Usurpations of that fell and barbarous Tyrant, that would have dispossessed ye of your Native Right; and I am discharged of my Promise, seeing that through Heaven's Assistance, and by the Favour of Her, by whom, and for whose sake I live, I have restored ye to the sceptre of your Ancestors. Now, Gentlemen, cried Sancho, what d' ye think on't, was not I in the right on't, when I  told ye how he was in Combat with a Giant? I was sure I was not drunk; and now I think the Town's our own, and my Earldom is secure— At which the whole Company, all but the Inn-keeper, fell out a laughing till the Tears trickl'd down their Cheeks, as big as Pease. Only the Inn-keeper could find nothing to be merry at, but cursed and banned the Knight, and the Giant, and all the Generation of Knights and Giants, so enraged was he against the whole Progeny of Combatants-Errant, for the loss of his Wine. However, at length the Curate, the Barber, and Cardenio, persuaded Don Quixote to go to bed, where he lay with the greatest Satisfaction that ever Mortal had, who had vanquished his Adversary in Chancery; but they had much ado to appease the Inn-keeper, who would fain ha' been anatomizing Don Quixote, for the Slaughter of his Boracho's. On the other side, the Hostess tore her Hair with both Hands, howled and took on, as if her Father, and Mother, and all her Kindred had been carried into Captivity by the Moors. Could this Devil-Errant, quo she, find no way to break his Neck before he came to my House. Ten thousand gangrenes devour his Entrails— I never saw the Peer of him— the Leathern-jaw'd Rake-hell is like a Monkey broken loose in a Dairy— he never comes to my House, but to ruin me— The last time they rid away with the Reckoning, he and that Dog's-head i' the Porridge-pot, his Squire— pretending themselves Knight-Errants, with a million a' Poxes to 'em; and that it was contrary to their Wild Irish Laws of Diabolical Chivalry, to pay for what they call for— All the Misfortunes that Astrology and Palmistry fore-tell, bring 'em safe to the Gallows— and may their Order, and all their Laws be burned under their Noses as they hang— and now here he's come again with his Knighthood and his Valour to encounter my Boracho's, hack the poor Goat-skins to pieces, and spill me more Wine, then all his Knighthood was worth— I wish I could see as much of his Blood— He a Knight! he a Rat-catcher—! But I'll be revenged on him, or else let me be carted for a Bawd, and lose the Name of honest Woman— Nor could he scape the Prayers of Maritornes, who, to comply with her Mistress, wished hearty that he might never meet with a Mistress handsomer then her self, and die under the Rigour of her Scorn to boot. But the Curate, a Man of Peace, found out a way to heal all the Wounds, and make amends for all the Blood that Don Quixote had  shed, by promising Payment for all the Damage he had done. And as for Sancho, who was a little down i' the Mouth, because he could not find the Head, Mrs. Dorothy assured him by way of Consolation, that if the Knight his Master had cut off the Giant's Head, she would give him the best Earldom in her Kingdom. Thereupon Sancho swore by his first nights Lodging with his Wife, that he saw the Head fall, by the same token, that it had a Beard above an Ell long; but the Reason why he could not find it was, because the House was enchanted, as he had found by Experience.  
And now the Curate finding the House restored to its former tranquillity, desired leave to conclude the Novel of the Curious Impertinent; which being granted, he thus red on:  
Anselm being so well assured of the virtue of his Wife, was the most contented cuckolded i' the World. On the other side, Camilla purposely lowered and frowned upon Lothario; and Lothario requested Anselm to excuse him from frequenting his House, as one that found his Company was no way acceptable to Camilla. But the deluded Anselm could by no means endure such a Separation, and therefore would not let his Wife be quiet, till he had brought her to a perfect Reconciliation.  
In the mean time Lionella, swayed by the frailty of her flesh, insatiable in her desires; and as she was grown Lawless beyond her Mistresses control, being resolved to make use of her time, gave those Reins to her impotent heat, that preferring the Precept of Gather your Rose-buds, before all the Commandments, she caressed her Paramour Day and Night in her Master's House, without any consideration of what might happen either to her Mistress or her self. And unluckily it fell out, that one Night Anselm heard a noise in her Chamber. Upon this, his Curiosity inquisitive to know what was the matter, he perceived the Door held against him: which resistance kindling new suspicions in his sick and weak Brain, his jealousy forced open the Door, at what time he observed a certain Mortal in Breeches leap out of the window into the street. Hoytie toytie, quo he, what's here to do? And with that he stepped to the window, thinking to lay hold o' the Person, or at least to have a sight of his Physiognomy: But missing both his aims, by reason that Lionella held him fast in her Arms, he began to grow angry. Lionella besought him not to make a bustle, assuring him, that it was only a concern of her own; and that the Gentleman was her Legitimate Husband, lawfully and duly espoused, as ever two Beggars were married at the Minories. Anselm would not believe her, but transported with Fury, or at least seeming so to be, vowed to stick her to the wall with a Dagger which he had in his hand, if she did not tell him the truth. Lionella, who was more accustomed to other sort of Weapons then to steel Poniards, was so dismayed to see the bright Instrument of Death gliss'n at her Breast, that all her quick Inventions, all her Excuses, and Chamber-maid Evasions having left her, and her constant Friend, the Devil, not having an Opportunity to whisper her i' the Ear, she had not one word to say; but falling at her Master's feet in such a panic Dread, that she hardly knew what she said, she besought him to spare her Life, and she would make him such Discoveries, as should make his Ears tingle. Be quick then, Baggage, cried Anselm, or by this Candle that burns— And then heaving up his Dagger-hand— Oh, for the Lord's sake, cried Lionella, have mercy on a Sinner, but till to morrow morning— And then if I do not disclose the very in-side of my Breast, do you yourself ripp it open for me— Only this I swear i' the mean time, and you may believe me upon the words of a dying Maid( and I may safely so now call myself, my Soul being almost frighted out of my Body) that the Person that shot himself out of the window, was only a Sweet-heart of mine, that has promised me Marriage so faithfully, that I could not deny him a small Kindness before hand— I am sorry with all my heart, Sir, the noise disturbed ye. Anselm finding the first part of her Confession so ingenious, granted her the time she desired. However, fearing she should make her Escape, like a half-witted Fool, he secured her by halves; for he only locked her Chamber Door, and took the Key in his Pocket, never minding the Casement; and so believing her as safe as the Wise Men a' Gotam's cuckoo, away he went to bed to his Camilla,  told her what had happened, and what Ear-tingling Discoveries her Maid was to make him next Morning. Camilla, on the other side, never questioning, but that those Ear-tingling Discoveries would deeply concern her, said nothing; but having tired poor Anselm by her more then usual Caresses, and laid him in a profound sleep, up she gets, slips on her Morning-dress, pockets up all the Gold and Jewels she could find, and away she trips to Lothario; tells him the whole story, and conjures him by all the Kindness he had for her, and by all their stolen Pleasures, to secure her somewhere, where she might be safe from her Husbands fury; vowing to follow him, tho it were in the Habit of a page., all over the World; believing, that since she had lost her Honour, she could make an excellent Mistress for a Commander in a long campaign. The sight of Camilla, and the story she  told him, put Lothario into such a Consternation, that he had much ado to catch his Wits again, that fluttered about the Room like Birds got out of a Cage. But finding the Case to be such, as would admit of no delay, he Saddl'd his double Gelding, and away he troop'd with her, and carried her to much such another House as Mother Creswel's, and left her in the Custody of an Aunt of his, not so mean as Mrs. Buly, and yet a little below the Degree of Madam Bennet. Tho others say, he carried her to a Nunnery, and desired his Sister, who was the Abbess, to take care of her. However it were, Anselm was no sooner waked, but never minding his Camilla, out he jumps from his Bed, slips on his Breeches, and hey for new Discoveries— which he found, I think, with a vengeance. For in the first place, having unlocked Lionella's Chamber-door, he discovered that the bide was flown: For Lionella had let her self down out of the Window into the street by the help of a long Sheet; or if one were not long enough, you must suppose she made use of two— Humph— quo Anselm, this 'tis not to observe Old Proverbs;— For instead of locking fast, had I bound fast, I had found fast.— Well— discovering that he had missed that Discovery, Anselm returns to discover his misfortune to Camilla: But looking into the Bed, he discovered that Camilla was not to be discovered neither— There was the Form, but Puss was started— Away goes Anselm, and visits every Room within doors, Buttery, Kitchen, Cellar, Garrets— Calls Millie, why Millie— Nay, he did not leave the House of Office at the lower end o' the Garden unsearch'd— Still no Camilla— At length returning to his own Chamber, and finding Millie's Closet-door open, and her Cabinet unlocked, he made another Discovery; for all the Jewels and Money were gone— All the Queen Elizabeth's, Two and Twenties, Rose Nobles, even to the Edward Shillings, and Harry Groats, all were vanished— But then to see how poor Anselm looked like a Dog that has lost his Tail!— He stood indeed, but like one o' the Heads upon London-Bridge— able neither to speak nor breath— You might ha' heard his Heart-strings snap like Virginal wires in a wet season— There were only two or three that held, or else t' had fallen to the bottom of his Belly— Well, in this condition away he creeps to his dear, dear, dear Friend Lothario— But when they  told him he was gone too; nay, rid away, rid away a Horse-back— And that he borrowed a Pillion of one of his Neighbours— Then he fell a scratching his Head, as if a' would ha' digged up all his hair by the Roots— These new Discoveries, and no Discoveries, that would ha' made all the seven Wise Men o' Greece run mad— Discoveries that he had lost his Wife, his Friend, and his Honour— No Discoveries, because he knew not where to find, or how to regain either the one or the other. Now, what would ye have had a poor Gentleman ha' done in his condition? Would ye have had him ha' gone to the Civilians for a Divorce to Cancel his Marriage? Would ye have had him ha' gone to Furnival's Inn, or Staples-Inn, for a Writ of Clausum fregit against Lothario? Or would ye have had him repaired to St. Ant'lin's for some Drams of Consolation, or a Lecture of Patience? No— he was still for a Friend in a corner, where he might unload the burden of his Grief: And it seems he had such a one in the Country. To that purpose therefore, he causes his Horse to be Saddl'd, and away he rides to find him out. But' ere he was got half way, not able to bear the weight of his Affliction, he alights, and holding his Horse by the Bridle, down he lays himself at the foot of a three. Where he had not restend long, but a Gentleman riding by, he desired him to stop, and asked him, what News? News! replied the Gentleman; why, did you not know two such Persons as Anselm and Lothario; two such Friends, that the like Patterns of Friendship were never known i' this World? Yet for all this, the News this Morning in all the Coffee-Houses i' the Town is, that Lothario last Night ran away with Anselm's Wife. And this was first discovered by Camilla's Chamber-maid, who was taken by the Watch sliding down by a long Sheet from a window in Anselm's House into the Street, like a Cupid descending from the top of a Play-house. But is it not known, Sir, replied Anselm, which way Lothario and Camilla road together? Troth, Sir, you ask me a Question I am not able to resolve ye— Nor is it to be thought they were such Fools, but that they knew whither to go, before they went; for a Plot's no Plot, unless it be well laid. And having so said, he road on. But no sooner was he got out of sight, when poor Anselm, overwhelmed with a thousand Thoughts, Well— quo he, ill News is like a Train of Gun-powder, no sooner is the fire at one end, but 'tis as soon at the other. From what a Salisbury-Steeple-height of Happiness am I fallen to the lowest Abyss of Misery? And then looking up with an Eye of Reflection upon the vastness of the Precipice, such a Dizziness seized his Brain, that had it not been for some few gulps of Dr. Stevens's Water, that he had in his Pocket, he had died i' the High-way.  
Finding himself therefore to be somewhat relieved by his Cordial, up he got again, and road the t'other half way, which brought him to his Friends Door; where being arrived, he was met by his Friend, who seeing him look like a solitary Widow of a week's standing; melancholy, pensive, sorrowful, dejected, pale and wan, he prudently forbore the usual compliment of, I am glad to see ye well, and more discreetly asked him, What he ayl'd? To which Anselm return'd no other Answer, but only desired him to Order his Bed to be got ready, and to lend him a sheet of Paper, and a Pen and Ink. I do not find but that his Friend was a civil well-bred Gentleman; and therefore seeing him in that condition, he would not trouble him with unseasonable and impertinent Consolations; but that after he had shew'd him up to his Lodging, he left him to his Soliloquies. So that Anselm finding himself alone, began to reflect upon his former Felicities and his present Calamities. But then the sad Ideas of his misfortune represented themselves so lively before his Eyes, that finding his Heart no longer able to support the weight of his Head, an Inundation of fatal Apprehensions overwhelmed his Vital Spirits. So that now perceiving himself sentenced to Death by his Folly, and that he was to end his days upon the Scaffold of his own Curiosity; and knowing how greedy People are of Harangues upon such Occasions, he thought it expedient, according to the Mode( as being the shorter and less troublesome way) to leave a Paper behind him, to show the Occasion of his Death, and how wrongfully he died. induced by these motives, he began to writ; but Grief, his Executioner, in a niggardly humour, unwilling to see so much Paper wasted, strangled him before he could finish his Speech. Soon after, his Friend, officious to know what he wanted, and what he would have to Supper, softly entered the Chamber, and there found poor Anselm with half his Body fallen upon his Breast, his Face upon the Table, and his Feet resting upon the Ground, with a Pen in his Hand, that was Key-cold, and resting upon a sheet of Paper, bescrawl'd with these few lines.  
An Impertinent Curiosity has cost me my Life. If the News of my Death shall reach Camilla's Ears, let her know, that I Pardon her, since I never expected I had married into the Family of Perfection, or ever took her for Nature's Miracle. For if she yielded, and I myself was the Master-Wheel that moved the Devils Temptation, tis but just—  
Thus far had Anselm written; and here, 'tis probable, that by some mistake i' the Sign, his Executioner was quicker then the poor Sufferer intended. However, 'tis no wonder, that a man in his Condition should be thus overwhelmed by Death. For they say, that Cuckolds breeding Horns, are like Children breeding Teeth: Some breed their Teeth with little trouble, others with so much pain, that it kills' em.  
The next day Anselm's Friend gave notice of his death to his Parents, who, for ought I find by the Story, were nothing concerned at it.  
As for Camilla, she was in the same condition, just ready to follow her Husband; but don't mistake me, 'twas not for the death of her Husband, but for the absence of her dear Lothario. Some say, she lived pretty honest, till hearing that Lothario was slain, either in Europe, or Asia, or Africa, or America, or somewhere; but she then launched into the World, and proving a Soul, split against the two common Rocks of Clap and Brandy; so far from being the theme of all the Poets of the Age, that there was not so much as one Ballad-maker at her Funeral.  
This Novel, said the Curate, seems to me a strange Party per pale Business. For a Man to tempt, and for a Woman to be tempted, is no wonder; nay, for a Woman to be overcome by that Temptation, tho she were one of those that stand so demurely at the Bull and Mouth a Sundays, is no News— But for a man to labour and toil so industriously to cuckolded himself, is to me a Mystery. Yet if there be any that are such Widgeonly Dolts, 'tis my Opinion, they ought to be served the same sauce that Anselm was— However, as long as I live, they shan't scape my almanac. For tho a Lover might be so contravene, for a Husband to be such a Coxcomb, is hardly to be imagined.   

CHAP. IX.  
Recounting several Rare Adventures that happened in the Inn.  
AT the same time, the Inn-keeper, standing at the Inn-door, to see what Company he could spy upon the Road; A hey-boys, cried he: Here they come Trill-lill, y fackins— A jolly Crew I'll warrant— If they do but stop here now— By St. George, and his fair Lady Sabrina to boot, we'l sing Old Rose to Night— What a noise does that bawling Oat-stealer make there, quo the Curate— What Company's that which is coming? Four Gentlemen, replied the Inn-keeper, a Horse-back, upon the ran dan, like young Citizens between London and Brainford— Gentlemen! They may be Knights, for ought I know, for they have launces and Bucklers all, and every one a black Mask over his Nose— Hoy-day— there's a Gentlewoman too upon a Gonhelly follows behind 'em a Tittop, a Tittop, but whether foul or fair, no body can tell; for she's under a black Cloud as well as the rest— How far are they off, quo the Curate?— Close at hand, replied the Inn keeper. Presently Mrs. Dorothy clapped on her Mask too; and Cardenio, that was not ashamed to show all that he had, but a little before, now not thinking his Clothes good enough, went up to Don Quixote's Chamber. Presently the Masquerades came thundering into the Inn-yard, and alighting, immediately the person that seemed to be the most sparkish above all the rest, went to the Lady, and taking her down from her Side-saddle in his Arms, seated her in a Chair just at the entrance into the Chamber where Cardenio was gone to hid himself. All this while not one of the Company had pulled off their Masks, or so much as spok'n a word, only the Lady fetched a deep Sigh as she sate, and at the same time let fall her Arms, as if she had been dropping into a Swoon. The Curate, whose Curiosity was strangely heightened by this Disguise and profound Silence, followed the lackeys into the Stable, and enquired of one of 'em, who these Sparks were? As I'm a Sinner to heaven, answered the lackey, I know not how to satisfy ye farther then this, That I believe 'em to be all Persons of Quality, especially the Person that helped the Lady down, because the rest give him a world a' Respect. But who is the Lady, quo the Curate? Nay, Sir, he must be a Conjurer that can tell ye, for me, replied the lackey; for all along as we came, I never saw so much as the tip of her Chin; but tho she hide her Face from my sight, she could not stop my Ears, for they were Witnesses of her continual Complaints, and her Sighs, so loud and so mournful, as would ha' made a Crocodile to weep in earnest. Nor is it a wonder we should know so little, having served 'em but two days, from the time they met us upon the Road, when they  told us, they were going to Andaluzia, and would pay us well for our Pains, if we would attend 'em thither. What! quo the Curate, did they never talk, nor call one another by their Names? No, Sir,— they travelled together more speechless then their Horses; for they did not so much as neighie one to another. So that we heard nothing but the sad and doleful Lamentations of the poor Lady, whom we suppose to be some Fortune, whom these Gentlemen have stolen out of some Boarding-School, and are carrying her away to be married against her Consent. That may very well be, replied the Curate, nor is it the first time such Pranks have been played i' this Country. And so leaving the Stable, he return'd to Mrs. Dorothy, who, out of a Female Compassion of her Sex in distress, was officiously proffering her Service to the Lady, and whispering her i' the Ear, as may be supposed, to know whether she had any Occasion for private Retirement( for the House of Office is a Place where the Female Sex at the same time frequently discharge their Back-sides, and disburden their Hearts.) Truly Mrs. Dorothy was passing kind, she proffered to attend her into her Chamber, unlace her Stays, pull off her stockings, and help her to bed: But after all, the Devil a word would the Gentlewoman in the Mask speak. Upon which, Mrs. Dorothy concluded, that she was taken with a dangerous Disease called the Mullegrubs. And at length the Spark that had taken her off from her Horse, addressing himself to Mrs. Dorothy, Madam, said he, you may spare yourself the Labour— All the Kindnesses you proffer that Lady, are but Fish of two days old— There's no more Gratitude in her, then there grows Plum-pudding in a Bean-shell; and therefore, Madam, unless ye have a mind to hear a Company of Stories and lies, never desire her to open her Lips. The Spark had better a' held his Peace— for upon his so saying, the distressed Lady found her Tongue again. No, no, Mr. Foul-mouth, said she, you that never spoken Truth i' your life, never found me such a liar, as you pretend to make me. But because you can't make a Fool of me, and have your Will, therefore I tell Stories— But I must tell ye, Sir, 'tis my Constancy, and Scorn of your Treats, your Guinies, your Point-Laces, and your Gold Watches, that has reduced me to this Condition. Mercy upon me! cried Cardenio, who distinctly heard every word the Lady said, What Voice is this I hear? Presently the Lady hearing Cardenio's Exclamation, gave a sudden Start, and rising from her Chair quiter another Woman, would have entered the Chamber from whence the Voice came, but was prevented by the Spark that stood by her. However, in the midst of that restless Commotion of mind she was in, her Veil fell from her Head, and notwithstanding her inward Anguish, and the Paleness of her Cheeks, discovered a most incomparable Beauty. On the other side, the Spark that rudely held her down by the Shoulders, was so earnestly busy'd to keep her from rising, that his Mask dropped from his Nose, not daring to stir his Hand; at what time Mrs. Dorothy standing by the Disconsolate Lady, and looking up in the Spark's Face, presently knew him to be Don Ferdinand, as one that had not only seen, but felt him too more then once or twenty times before that. This caused such a Fermentation of various Passions, and that Fermentation brought such a Qualm over Mrs. Dorothy's Heart, that she fell down in a Swoon. Immediately the Curate, for young Parsons are generally very handy about Women, pulls off her Mask from her Face, to give her Air; at what time D. Ferdinand was no less astonished to see that it should be Mrs. Dorothy. Never was Bell-founder so confounded when his Mettle miscarries; however he would not let Lucinda stir, for she it was that he held all this while( see by the way how Murder begins to come out) and she it was, who struggled with all her might to get out of D. Ferdinand's Clutches, as mad as a Cow to come to her Calf, to get to her Cardenio, whom she knew by his Bleating. On the other side, Cardenio hearing the Shriek that swooning Mrs. Dorothy gave, and believing it had been his Lucinda, whom he also smelled by a particular Steam that she had about her, flung out of the Chamber like one half hared out of his Wits; 'twas a thousand to one his Soul had not broken her Neck for hast out at his Ears. For he never could endure that any body should handle Lucinda, but himself. And now the Game begins: Astonishment upon Astonishment, Amazement upon Amazement, Wonder upon Wonder. Lucinda stared upon Cardenio, He upon Her— Is't thou, quo he? Is't thou, quo she? Ferdinand stared upon Mrs. Dorothy, she upon him. Cardenio stared upon Ferdinand, Ferdinand upon Cardenio; and so they stared upon one another to the end o' the Chapter. At length, after they had stared out their Stare, Lucinda was the first that broke silence, and addressing her self to D. Ferdinand; Hands off, for shane, quo she, good my Lord Ferdinand; and at last, if ye know how to be so, be civil, show yourself a Gentleman, and don't think to hector me out of my Maiden-head that I reserve for one that better deserves it. You know that all your Prodigality, nor all your Menaces could ever move me— my Resolution is fixed; and therefore be assured I'll rather mary a Small-coal-man or a Chimney-Sweeper, and cry Hogs-Puddings about the Streets, then mary such a Roister as your Worship— Here stands Cardenio, to whom I have long since demis'd my Heart, with all its Appurtenances, to have and to hold in Fee-Tail to Perpetuity. Give him therefore quiet Possession, as Law and Justice requires, or if you intend to be a continual Plague to me, terminate my Life and my Misfortunes both together.  
During these Expostulations, Mrs. Dorothy being by this time come to her self, and understanding 'twas Lucinda that spoken, yet finding that D. Ferdinand would neither let go his hold, nor give any Answer to the reasonable Requests Lucinda made him, up she rose, and advancing towards him with her Handkerchief before her Eyes— Sir, said she, if y' have any spark of Grace or Gentility, look upon a Woman, whom your Perjuries have made so— a Woman, to whom once you promised Mountains of Happiness, but have now rendered miserable. Consider, Sir, that in the sight of heaven, you are my lawful Husband— You cannot forget the time when you entered into the Obligation— and tho there were no Witness to it, you cannot but know, that you sealed it at the same time with your own Seal— What a murrain— how many Wives would ye have—? As many as the ancient Jews—? If so, Sir stay till the Law allows it— the West-Country Knight has not yet got his Bill past— In the mean time consider what an Injury you do your own Sex— for what Maid will ever trust a young Man again, for your sake? I pitied your Sighs, your Sobs, your Tears, and your Lamentations— I had Compassion upon your Moans, and your Groans, and the mournful Out-cries of your Impatience, and believing I might believe a Person of your Quality, I was at length, tho you well know it was a long time first, prevailed with by my Commiseration, and trusted to your Honesty— But what Maid will ever pity a Person of Quality more? 'twas this Compassion of mine, that for the Relief of your crying Necessities, and impatient Distresses, made me venture the Disgraces of a great Belly, and who knows but that I might ha' come to the Misfortune of being hanged for stifling the poor Baby in a House of Office? And can you turn away your ungrateful Eyes from one that has so deeply hazarded her Honour and her Life, upon the Confidence she had of your virtue, and your Justice? If I were more forward then I should ha' been, were not you more hasty then I? And therefore do but mary me, 'tis all I desire— then keep as many Misses afterwards as you please, I'll never say, Love, why d' ye so? I'll never be moody when ye come home fuddl'd, nor upbraid ye for losing your Money at Play; but mary me, I beseech ye— save my Life, and take my Goods— When you first courted me, you  told me I was fair; and am I so much older since that? Be not so scrupulous, Sir, especially in such an Age of Liberty as this is, when any thing will serve for a Wife— And your Wife I am as sure as Eggs be Eggs, if you are but half as true and real to me, as one Pick-pocket is to another. As for Lucinda, you see she belongs to another Man. And why should you that have a Park o' your own, be so strangely absurd, that nothing will serve ye, but to hunt in another man's Enclosure? If this that I have said will not prevail, red Baxter's Saints Everlasting Rest, and see what Rest you are like have either in this, or the other World, after so many falsify'd oaths and Perjuries as you ha' committed.  
D. Ferdinand being thus rallied between Jest and Earnest, found himself shot between wind and water. On the one side, her undeniable matter of Fact had vanquished all the Arguments of his libertine Folly, and the Tears and Sobs that seconded her serious Admonitions, had stuck so many crumbs in the Throat of his Conscience, that finding himself so run down both by Reason and Morality, he quitted Lucinda, and ran with his Arms expanded like the overflowings of a Cherubim, and embracing Mrs. Dorothy; My dear Dolly, quo he, no longer now plain Dorothy, but laced Madam Dorothy, live and be a Lady, since Fate will have it so. 'tis true, I did debauch thee— but before all this Company, here's my hand upon't, I'll mend thee up again as sound in Law, as e're thou wert i' thy life. For thine, my dear Dolly, is only a Stitch fallen i' thy Reputation, which the Needle and Thread of Wedlock will repair at any time. With that he gave her a Kiss, and at the same Instant breathed a new Soul into her Body.  
On the other side, Lucinda had been so long supported by D. Ferdinand, that finding her self at Liberty, she was like to ha' fallen to the Ground, had not Cardenio, who all the while stood behind D. Ferdinand, because he would not be seen, caught her up in his Arms For tho she were glad to see that all things fadg'd so well with Mrs. Dorothy, yet some little Qualms of Envy at that good Fortune in another, which she thought as due to her self, made such a deep Impression upon her Spirits, as made the whole Frame of her Microcosm begin to totter. But then, fair Lucinda, cried Cardenio, considering the Feebleness of your Condition, you cannot be better then in the Arms of him that has always loved ye from his Infancy. With that, Lucinda turning her Head, and perceiving him to be her beloved Cardenio, Heav'ns! she was ready to jump out of her Skin; up she leaped as nimble as a bide, and darting her self about Cardenio's Neck; And is it thee, my dear Husband, quo she? What Miracles are these? Did I ever think, by such a strange Accident as this, to meet again the Joy and Comfort of my Life? And then seconding her amorous Expressions with amorous Actions, forgetful quiter of either Time or Place, she joined her Lips so close to his, that Cardenio might easily feel her Mind, and know what she would ha' been at, had the Opportunity been favourable.  
But these Endearments between Lucinda and Cardenio, did no way please D. Ferdinand: For, notwithstanding all his new Engagements to Mrs. Dorothy, he had still an aching Tooth after Mrs. Lucinda. And he could not but think he had some Right to her too, considering the Money she cost him. So that he began to change Colour, and fall a handling the Hilt of his Sword with his Right Hand; cursed Symptoms of Mischief in his Mind. Which my Lady Dorothy observing— ran to him, and catching him about the Middle, Sir, said she, since you have now been pleased to own me for a Wife, be pleased to hear me when I utter Reason— How! quo D. Ferdinand, what, breaking Covenants already! No, Sir, quo my Lady Dorothy— I neither chide ye for being fuddl'd, nor tax ye for losing your Money; nor am I going about to persuade ye from keeping a Mistress; be as modish as you please, Sir, but never meddle with other Men's Wives. There are single Gentlewomen enough i' the World, that would be glad to serve ye— And therefore why should you meddle with Madam Lucinda? In the first place, you see she can't endure ye: And by my new recovered Happiness, I swear, were I a Man, I'd not give my old Shoe-strings for a Woman that did not love me as well as I loved her— Besides, Sir, you see her Affections at present are engaged quiter another way— So that you may as well think to remove Bow-Steeple, with all the Bells in't, to Highgate, as think to unsettle her Love in the Honey-moon of her doting fondness. And therefore seek not to sunder thus an amorous Pair, that Heaven seems to have so pleasingly united. Surely your heat for me cannot as yet be so extinguished, but that you may find Divertisement sufficient, at least, till you find my Passion begin to cool— Come try me, Sir, I'll find ye Sport enough, I'll warrant ye; for I may talk a little freely now— We were severed by Disaster, and now here we are met again together by a Miracle; which, as it is the Work of a superior Power, never oppose Fate, nor seek to unravel a Bottom, which the Destinies are so harmoniously winding up; nor spoil the last Scene of a Tragi-Comedy, that begins to conclude so naturally, that all the Poets in Town, could never ha' brought it so exactly to pass.  
While my Lady Dorothy was thus laying the Law to D. Ferdinand, Cardenio who held his Lucinda, as the Lobster held the Hair upon Salisbury-Plain, watched D. Ferdinand's Sword-hand, for fear of being surprised, as being resolved before he would part with Lucinda again, to have ventured half a dozen Oylet-holes in his Skin. But D. Ferdinand's Friends and the Curate perceiving how the two Desperado's looked one upon another, like two Boar-Cats, ready to dispute the Possession of Madam Grey-Maulkin, to prevent Mischief, ran to D. Ferdinand, and besought him to consider, that he had already before 'em all acknowledged Madam Dorothy for his Wife; and therefore to hinder another from what he could not enjoy himself, was like Hunt's Dog, that would neither go to Church, nor stay at home. Then the Curate stepped in, and desired him to consider what would become of him, should he be Lungs or Liver-tapp'd in an unjust Quarrel; That he did ill to show his boisterous Propensity, and his ranging Humour to a young Lady, that had the same Advantages of Form and Beauty with the person for whom he contended— withal, the Curate bid him beware what he did, for that such Rudenesses as those would bring him within the Verge of the Spiritual Court— and that the Law took its Course as well against the Lord as the Peasant— That he must be forced to come in a Witness against him, upon his Promise to Madam Dorothy, which would go a great way in her Cause, and would procure her Alimony in spite of his Teeth— and therefore it would be much better to perform that willingly which he had promised to do, then to be forced to it to his Dishonour, and for the whole Court to cry out shane upon him.  
D. Ferdinand, who was not so resty neither, but that he might be curbed by Reason, finding that his own Friends forsook him, and that no body took his part, surrendered at length to Reason and Necessity; and then embracing once more his almost-forgotten Object of Matrimony, Lady, said he, dry up your Tears, for I can no longer suffer her to weep, to whom I have given my Heart; forget the Injuries and Injustice I ha' done thee, for which my Repentance and Lucinda's Beauty, may in some measure excuse me. But since I now perceive there is not a T— to choose, let Lucinda contentedly enjoy her dear Cardenio, and let my Nut-brown Dolly be the Blessing of my Life; Boys and Girls be the Consequences of our Amours, and be thou sure to save a Portion for thy second Daughter, out of House-keeping. And with that, he embraced his beloved Madam Dorothy with such an amorous Heat, and such a tender Affection, that he who breathed nothing but Duels and Sa-Sa's but just now, himself was ready to melt into a Deluge of Cow-baby Tears.  
On the other side, Lucinda and Cardenio had no such Command over the sluices of their Eyes, but that the Surplusage of their Joy caused a kind of April-Shower in the midst of the Sun-shine of their Content, to trickle down their Cheeks; so strangely overjoyed they were for the Felicity of their Friend, no more expected then their own sudden Accumulations of Happiness. But those Tears of Affection being soon dried, all their Sorrows were as soon forgot, and they fell a kissing, Ferdinand and Dolly, Cardenio and Lucinda, like young Citizens and their Wives in an Epsom-Coach. Only Sancho, who wept for Company's-sake, could not so soon recover from his Melancholy, in regard it proceeded from another Cause. For he, alas! was sorely grieved, that Mrs. Dorothy was not the Princess of Micomicona, and that he had lost all the hopes of his so long gap'd-for Earldom.  
At length Lucinda and Cardenio return'd a thousand Thanks to Don Ferdinand for all his Favours in the Surrender of his Copy ●old, which they did in that Courtly Language, that Don Ferdinand being at a stand for verbal compliments, repaid 'em in silent Embraces only, and close Hugs; which was all he could do at that time to display the Testimonies of his Satisfaction. At the same time Don Ferdinand requested Madam Dorothy to tell him how she came into a country so far distant from her own; who thereupon repeated to him all that she had recounted to the Curate and Cardenio, with such a Grace, that her Husband in Posse was ravished at her Discourse, and vowed, That if all her Curtain-Lectures proved no worse then her Story-telling, he should think himself blessed in a Bed-fellow.  
After that, Don Ferdinand related what had befallen him at Lucinda's House the Night that he should have been married; how he found the Letter in her Bosom, wherein she declared, that she was married to Cardenio; which transported him to that degree of Rage and Fury, that he would ha' killed her, but that her Parents prevented him( for to say the Truth, 'twas an ugly Disappointment.) That after this confounded balk, he flung out of the House, and resolved to be revenged upon her, the first time he met with her. That afterwards he was informed, how that Lucinda had taken a Ramble, and was run a Wild-goose Chase, but whither all the Conjurers and Saffolds in London could not tell— but that at length he heard she had sheltered her self at a famous Boarding-School i' the Country, where he lay perdieu for some Days, to watch her Motions; and observing that she was wont to walk out i' the Evening to a certain Cheese-cake House, about a Mile from her Habitation, to spend her sixpence with some of her Companions, in Tarts and Bottle-drink, he got three of his Acquaintance, besides himself, well mounted, with a leer Hobby for Lucinda; and meeting her returning i' the mid-way home, notwithstanding all her squealing, and her squaling, having fixed her in her Saddle, he lead her such a Race, while the Gentleman that followed, whipped on the Hobby behind, that they soon got out of the reach of Pursuit. After which, they wandered up and down from place to place, till guided by their good Fortune, they arrived in that Inn, where so many miraculous Accidents had befallen' em.   

CHAP. X.  
Being a Continuation of the History of the Famous Princess of Micomicona, with other Delightful Adventures.  
SAncho, who listened attentively to every word was said, was almost at his Wits end, to find all his Hopes blown up like a Chymist's Furnace, when he thought himself sure o' the Philosopher's ston; and that the Princess of Micomicona was metamorphosed into Mrs. Dorothy, and the Giant Pandafilando into Don Ferdinand; while Don Quixote lay snorting and snoring at his ease, regardless altogether of the important Interests of his poor Squire. In this forlorn, afflicted, and melancholy Condition Sancho entering Don Quixote's Chamber, who now began to be awake; Your Worship now, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, said he, may take a Nap for seven Years together, if you please, without vexing or tormenting your Soul about restoring the Princess Micomicona to her Throne, or fighting any more Giants; for your Quietus is already signed, the business is done, and all things are concluded. I believe what thou sayst, replied Don Quixote; for it is not above three minutes since I had so much leisure as to take a little breath: For I have been engaged for these fifteen hours in the most dismal, desperate, dreadful, furious, terrible Encounter with a huge, horrid, grizzle-bearded, Sawcer-ey'd, Whale-mouth'd Giant that ever was recorded in Story, true or feigned: The Father of all the Devils made me sweat for't, as if I had been i' the Bagnio. But at length, with a true right Bear-Garden Butcher's back-stroke, I fetched off his Head so smooth, and so clean, and hit the joint so like a Shrieves Carver, that were the Giant alive again, I am confident ha' would thank me for putting him so soon out of his pain. The Rogue was vengeance full of Blood too, Sancho; for it spouted out of his Vena Cava, and Vena Porta, the great Aorta, the Axillaries, Pulmonaries, and Jugulars, like so many Rivers, and made such an Inundation, as would ha' carried a Western Barge— Vengeance full of Blood! Vengeance full of T— quo Sancho; for the monstrous Giant that you slay was no other then a great black Boracho, with above forty flasks of read Wine in his flagitious Wemb. I say Flasks, because they are a little bigger then your ordinary Quart-Bottles. As for the Blood that made such an Innundation i' the Room, 'twas nothing but that same read Wine which your hare-brained Worship spilled— I wish your Worship choked when you did it— And then for the Head you cut off, 'twas the Whores that brought me into the world, I think, for Satan has carried it away— Hoy day, Sancho— quo Don Quixote, what's the matter? why sure the fellow's not in his wits— what! ha'st been eating o' wild Parsenips?— I' my wits, quo Sancho! yes, and out o' my wits too, to see what a reckoning your Worship has to pay— Pray now rise, will ye— and see how the face of the world is changed below. The Queen is changed into an ordinary Chamber-maid, that they call plain Doroty; and several other wonders, that will make your hair stand an end. No Wonders at all, Sancho, replied Don Quixote; for as I  told thee before, so I tell thee again, there is nothing but Enchantment in this House. All this I should be willing to believe, replied Sancho, had my tossing in a Blanket been an Enchantment; but it was not so, for it was real and true. I remember that the very Inn-keeper below stairs held one corner of the Instrument of my Misery; and tossed and laughed, and laughed and tossed more then any of the rest. Now, I'll never believe, tho I am no Schollard, but an ignorant Sinner, that when a man knows the faces of the Persons again, there can be any Enchantment i' that case, but bare ill Luck, such as mine was.  
Well— well— quo Don Quixote, let 'em be Enchantments, or no Enchantments, I'm sure there's something more then ordinary i' the matter; and therefore gi' me my Clothes; for when I come to examine the business, I shall soon smell it out.  
While Don Quixote was dressing himself, the Curate gave Don Ferdinand and the rest of his Friends a short account, what a sort of Person this Famous Knight was; and how they had laid their Plot to cure him of his Extravagancy. But now, added the Curate, our first Design is spoyled, and we must seek out some other way to get him home, in regard that Madam Dorothy is otherwise now concerned. To which, Cardenio replied, that Lucinda should act her part. But Don Ferdinand was resolved that Madam Dorothy should go on with her Cue; the rather because that being Neighbours in a manner, they might be more ready to assist one another. While they were thus confabulating, enters Don Quixote, in his one likeness, buckl'd up in Iron from top to to, as if Vulcan had been his tailor, Hosier, and Shoe-maker; for as for Trimming he had none, but his Target upon his shoulder, and his Lance in his fist, and Mambrino's basin, battered as it was, upon his Head: So that nothing more was to be seen of him but his tanned Countenance, his meager Cheeks, and his hollow Eyes. Such a strange Figure of a Mortal Wight, strangely surprised Don Ferdinand, and those that were with him, who had never seen this Illustrious Knight before. They could not but with Admiration behold his Ell-long Visage, his Box-Complexion, and the strange disorder of his Whiskers; and with a kind of aweful Silence listened to hear what the Rusty Apparition had to say to' em. Presently Don Quixote, resting against his Lance, and fixing his Eyes upon Madam Dorothy,  
Madam, said he, I understand by my Squire, that you are fallen from the Garret into the Coal-hole; that is to say, that from a Queen, you are come to plain Mrs. Doroty: Which if it be done by the malicious Contrivance of the Grand Enchanter, the King your Father, if he were afraid I could not give you that Assistance which was requisite; I say, the King your Father was deceived, like an Old Dotard as he was, and little red in the Histories of Chivalry. For had he red 'em but as often and as seriously as I ha' done, he would ha' found, that they are full of Accide●●● much more surprising, and incomparably more difficult to be perform●● which yet have been accomplished by Knights far inferior, tho I say it th●● should not, to me in Reputation. 'tis no such great difficulty, as People think, to lop off the Head of a Giant, tho he were as big about as the Duomo i' the stock-market, and as high as the Monument. 'tis not long since I proved the truth of this in an Encounter with two of these Heav'n-Scalers; of which I say no more, because I hate to be caught in a lie. Not with two Giants, with your good leave, Sir, but with two harmless Boracho's of Wine, quo the Inn-keeper: And so saying, he up with a Bottle to have thrown at Don Quixote's Head, had not Don Ferdinand commanded him to be quiet. And then Don Quixote proceeding; I say then in short, Thrice Illustrious and Dis-inherited Lady, that if this be all the Reason, why your Father has thus transmogrify'd your Person, you need not fear to depend upon me; for there is not any Danger, Peril, or Hazard in the world, that I do not surmount by the sharp edge of this Sword; and with this Sword it is, that after I have laid at your feet the Head of your so redoubted Enemy, I will restore ye to the Throne of your Ancestors, and be the daring Under-Sheriff that shall put ye into the quiet Possession of your own.  
Here Don Quixote stopped, in expectation of the Princesses Answer: At what time, Madam Dorothy, knowing she should please Don Ferdinand in carrying on the Design— with a Princely Air, and majestic Seriousness, Whoever  told ye, said she, that I was Transmogrify'd, most Valiant Knight of the ill-favoured Face, deceived ye with a vile Untruth; for I am the same to day that I was yesterday. 'tis true, perhaps some Change in my Fortune may have happened to me for the better since I saw ye last; but for all that, I have still the same Necessity to be beholding to the force of your Invincible Arm. And therefore, I beseech ye, good Sir Knight, of your accustomend Generosity, restore my Father his Honour again, and never question but that he was a Person of Prudence and Fore-sight, that could find out a Means so easy, and so secure; nay, the very Probatum est that could Cure all my Misfortunes. And in truth it was a wonderful thing, and happy I'm sure for me, that I met with such a Champion; as being fully satisfied, that had it not been for your Pleasantries, and the chimeras of your Noble and Love-sick Brain, I had never been in the Condition wherein I am. And I believe the greatest part of these Gentlemen are of my Opinion, as having been Witnesses of what has befallen me since our first meeting. In short therefore, we have nothing more now to do, then to set forward to morrow Morning, and for the Success, I leave it to Heaven and your Courage.  
When Mrs. Doroty had thus discreetly spoken, Don Quixote, turning to Sancho with the frowns of Choler and Indignation, Sirrah, Sancho, said he, now do I find thee to be the arrant'st Varlet, Scoundrel, and Rascal that ever was whelp'd in Pickt-Hatch— Did not your Rogue-ship tell me, that the Princess was turned into plain Doroty? And that the Giant's Head which I cut off was the Whore your Mother's? What a lying Ragamuffin were't thou to tell these Stories? By the fair Dulcinea's Virginity, a little matter would make me wring off thy Capon's Neck, and make thee an Example to all Sons a' Whore lying Squires, that ever for the future should have the Honour to follow the heels of a Knight-Errant. Abate your Passion, Sir, quo Sancho; for tho I might be perhaps mistaken in the change of Madam the Princess of Micomicona; yet, as to the Giant's Head, or rather the head of the murdered Boracho's, and the Blood that was  shed, which was no other 〈◇〉 read Wine, by all the Seven Champions I aver it to be truth what I 〈◇〉 and will justify't to the Beards of all the Knight-Errants i' the world. ●●n't tell me, Sir! for there are the wounds and gashes i' the Boracho's still to be seen; and if y' have any Nose, you may go up and smell what sort of liquour 'twas made that Lake i' the Room. For my part, I wish the Princess may not be changed for your sake, for else I'm afraid you must pawn even Rosinante himself for the reckoning. Sancho, replied Don Quixote, gi' me leave to tell thee, th' art a Buffle-head, and a Dunder-head, and a Cuckow-brains; and so I ha' done with thee for the present. 'tis more then enough, Sir Knight, quo Don Ferdinand: And now, since the Princess is resolved to stay till to morrow Morning, let's resolve to spend the Night as merrily as we can. To morrow we'll all accompany the renowned Don Quixote, to the end we may be witnesses of his Prowess, and those Acts of wonder which we make no Question but he will perform, in the accomplishment of this enterprise.  
No, Gentlemen, 'tis I that shall have the honour of your Company, and who must think myself for ever engaged to ye, for your good Opinion of me, which I shall endeavour to preserve with the loss of my Life, and more then that, had I more to lose, which God knows I ha' not, considering the Mortgages upon my small Estate. But, Sir, for Lives, had I as many as a Cat, they were all at the Princesses Service.  
In this manner how far Don Quixote and Don Ferdinand would ha' galloped on in lofty compliments, the Lord of Oxford knows, had they not been interrupted by the arrival of a Traveller that entered the Inn. By his Habit they took him for a Slave, that had made his escape from Argier: For he was clad like a sailor, in a short loose Jerkin without a Collar, and Drawers of blew linen, such as you shall see hang out at the Slop-sellers Shops, and a Cap upon his head of the same; with a Scymitar that hung from a Swash that was gird about his waste. He was followed by a woman upon an Ass, in Moorish Habit, having a Veil upon her head, that covered her Face, and under her Veil a little Bonnet of Tissue upon the top of her Crown. The rest of her Apparel that appeared, was only a long Simarr, that reached down to her heels. The Slave was a Man about forty Years of Age, proper and well shaped; and by his mien he appeared to be a Person of some Quality. He asked for a Chamber as soon as he came into the Inn, and seemed to be very much troubled, when they  told him there was ne'er a one empty. However, he took down the Moorish Lady in his Arms from her Ass. At what time Lucinda, Madam Doroty, and the women of the Inn, attracted by the Novelty of a Habit which they had never seen before, accosted the Female Stranger; and after they had stared and gazed upon her, as long as Breeding and Good Manners would give 'em leave: Madam Doroty, who had observed that the Slave was much discontented for want of a Chamber, addressing her self to the Stranger, Madam, said she, never wonder to find so little Breeding in a Carrier's Inn, where only a forced put constrains any Persons of Condition to stop; and therefore since the Woman o' the House has so little manners, as not to proffer a Stranger her own Chamber; if you please to join Company with us, pointing at the same time to Lucinda, you will meet with those that will be glad to serve a Stranger in your Condition. For we are neither Sluts nor Pick-Pockets, but civil honest Gentlewomen as any in all this Country. But to all this, the veiled Lady answered not a word; only she rose from her Seat, and laying her Arms like a St. Andrew's across upon her Breast, bowed her Head, to signify that she was sensible of their Kindness, and return'd 'em Thanks. By which the witty Madam Doroty rightly guessed, that tho she might understand somewhat, yet she could speak nothing of the Language. At length the Slave, who had been all this while providing for his Ass, returning from the Stable, and seeing the Ladies so busy about the Moor, after he had made his obeisance to Madam Doroty and Lucinda; Ladies, said he, this young dansel speaks no Language but her own, which is the reason she cannot answer to your Questions: O' my word else you should not find her derogate from her Sex; for she has Wit at Will, and Tongue at Command. Sir, said Lucinda, we ask her no Questions, only we offer her our Company, and the best Accommodation we have. Ladies, replied the Slave, I return ye a thousand Thanks, both for her and for myself; and I put the higher value upon your Civility, because I find it to proceed from Persons of Worth and Merit. Pray, Sir, tell me one thing, I beseech ye, cried Madam Doroty, is this Lady a Moor, or a Christian? For by her Silence and her Habit she does not seem to be of our Religion. Madam, replied the Slave, she is a Moor by Birth, but a Christian in her Heart, and desires nothing more then really so to be— How! cried Lucinda, interrupting him, was she never christened then?— And then whispering Madam Dorothy i'the Ear; Is it safe, quo she, to converse with a Pagan? Which the Slave over-hearing, Madam, quo he, the reason why she is not christened, is only because we have not had an Opportunity since she came from Argier, for that's the Place of her Nativity. Besides, 'tis fit that a person of her Years should understand her Catechism before she be baptized. Pray, Sir, quo Madam Dorothy, is she modest and virtuous? For I'll assure ye, I take her so to be? Chast and Spotless as the Morning light, replied the Slave. Why then, quo Madam Dorothy, let's never trouble ourselves any farther; baptize her as soon as ye can, and i' the mean time, give me a virtuous Moor before an impudent, lascivious Quistrel of a Christian. This short Discovery of the Slave set all their Curiosity agog to be diving a little farther; but they did not think it seasonable to ask any more Questions as yet, believing that Time and Conversation would bring out the rest. Madam Dorothy therefore, who, for ought I find by the Story, was the cunning'st gipsy i' the Pack, taking the Female Stranger by the Hand, and seating her in a Chair close by her side, desired her to lift up her Veil. Whereupon the Moor looking the Slave full i' the Face, and demanding, as it were, with her Eyes, what it was the Ladies desired, and what it became her to do; the Slave  told her in arabic, That the Ladies desired her to lift up her Veil, and withall allowed his Consent. But then, what a Magazine of Beauty did she show! Madam Dorothy thought her fairer then Madam Dorothy, and Lucinda thought her fairer then Lucinda: Nay, all the standards by confessed, that if there were any difference, the Mooress had the Advantage. And as it is the Prerogative of Beauty to command the Hearts and Affections of all the World, or like a Grocer's empty Sugar-Chest to draw to it all the Flies i' the Parish, the Mooress had now got a new Crowd of Liquorish Servants, all striving who should be most obsequious, most officious, and double diligent to serve her. D. Ferdinand desired the Moor to tell him her Name; who answered, that her Name was Lela Zoraida. But the Mooress understanding by the Answer what the Question was, with an extraordinary Vehemency( tho such as extremely became her, because pretty and handsome) cried out, No— no Zoraida— Maria— Maria— as much as to say in plain English, her Name was Mary, and not Zoraida. For the Mooress not understanding the way of Godfathers and Godmothers, had made choice her self of a Christ'n Name; or whether it were that the Slave did not think it worth while to trouble either Godfathers or Godmothers, since there were neither Midwives nor Nurses to gratify. However it were, Madam Dorothy and Lucinda, who intended to have invited themselves to the Christ'ning, perceiving themselves disappointed, fell a crying for madness. And yet who knows, but that Fortune had contrived it for the best, to prevent a torn Whisk, or a scratched Face about Who should name the Child. Nor could Madam Dorothy be got out of her Pouts, nor hardly be brought to own the Name; but Lucinda, the better natured of the two, embracing the Mooress, Ay, ay, Mary, Mary's the word, quo she, and therefore dear Madam Cake-bread set your Heart at rest. To which the Mooress answered not a tittle; for indeed it had been somewhat preternatural for the Child to have spoken before it was christened.  
But now 'twas Supper-time, and the best Entertainment that had been seen i'that Inn for many Years; D. Ferdinand having sent about for all the Rarities to be had i' the Country. Don Quixote was forced to take the upper end of the Table, who seeing he could not avoid it, would needs have the Princess of Micomicon sit by him, as being under his Protection. Lucinda and Zoraida sate next to Madam Dorothy; Lucinda the uppermost of the two, as being the better Christian, and D. Ferdinand and Cardenio opposite to them. The Curate and the Barber sate below the Ladies, and over-against them the Slave and D. Ferdinand's Friends.  
At Supper they were as merry as Mice in a Chaff heap, for they were all good Company, and every one with a full Discharge i' their Minds from all Disquiets and Disturbances whatever, from the Beginning o' the World to the Date of the Release. But that which augmented their Divertisement, was the pleasant Discourse of Don Quixote, who inspired with the same Raptures, as when he preached after Supper to the Goatherds, in a kind of Bachanalian Fury, thus began:  
Ladies and Gentlemen, they who make Profession of Knight-Errantry, have one great Advantage, that they are every Day accustomed to the sight of Accidents altogether wonderful— I would fain know, whether the best Astrologer or Figure-caster of 'em all, that should come this very Minute into this Castle, and see us sitting together, as we do, could find out with all their Scheams, and their Houses, and their Scrawls upon Paper, who we are. Who would imagine this Lady that sits here by me, to be so great a Princess as we know her to be? Or, that I were the famous Don Quixote, Knight of the Ill favoured Countenance, and her Protector? And now dares any Man deny, but that this Profession surmounts all other the Inventions of Men? Or that it is not so much the more to be esteemed, as being more exposed to Hazards and Dangers then any Profession i' the World. And therefore if any one should presume to tell me, that Learning is to be preferred before Arms, I'd tell him, he was the Son of a Whore, and, a'ly'd. 'tis true, I know, those Champions of Learning will tell ye, that the Labours of the Mind are much greater then those of the Body; whereas there is nothing but vigour and Strength required for the Exercise of Arms: as if there were no difference between a soldier and a Porter, and that there were not a great deal of judgement and Conduct to be used in Fighting, as well as Strength and vigour. For Example, as if the General of an Army, governor of a great and considerable Garrison, had not as much heed of a cunning, contriving, plodding Head-piece and Vigour of Mind, as force of Limbs. Is it by the Strength of his Body that he finds out the Designs of the Enemy, or that furnishes him with subtle Artifices to oppose the Stratagems of a politic and experienced Adversary? Can any Man deny, but that it is his Wit, his judgement, his Ingenuity, and acquired Skill, that teaches him the over reaching Part of War? Therefore says the Proverb, Policy goes beyond Strength. Since then it is an undeniable Truth, that Wit is as requisite in a soldier as in a Scholar, let us consider the End of both. I ha' nothing to say to those that study really and sincerely for our Salvation; I mean those that trouble their Brains to reck'n by the Rule o' Three, how many Mites there are in the Liver of a Cod-fish, or about fixing Wings to mens Shoulders; your Astrologers and Astronomers, and those sooty Refiners of Nature, called chemists, that lye toiling, and moiling, and watching Moors Heads and Crucibles, for the Philosopher's ston, till all their Gold and Silver be evaporated out o' their Pockets; your Frisesomorum and Barocho Men, your Scotists and Aquinatists that torment their Pia matters about how many Angels will stand upon the Point of a Needle; your Men of politics, and Erecters of Common wealths and Utopia's; what do all their Studies, their Labours and Inventions signify? They are only Mispendings of that leisure and quiet which they enjoy by the Souldiers maintaining Peace, both at home and abroad. For Peace is a Blessing that only God and the soldier bestows upon Kingdoms and Nations, supported by his Valour and Industry. The Lacedemonians and the Romans were then most victorious and fortunate, when Learning least flourished among' em. Oh! but you'l say, Learning teaches us Civility. Civility! with a Pox— as if there were more civil Men, or greater Courtiers i' the World, then your Knight-Errants. Whereas on the other side, there are not a more contentious, inveterate, malicious, foul-mouthed sort of People i' the World, then your learned Men; always quarreling and scribbling one against the other, reproaching, back-biting, nick-naming, and spitting their Venom one at another, like so many Cats in a Moonshiny-Night. Nay, you shall have too critics ready to stab one another with a Mahometan Fury, and scolding at each other like two Rag-women, about the misplacing of a G, or an L. Whereas the soldier before he goes to't, embraces his Enemy; and when they have pushed and hacked one another as long as they can, if neither fall, they embrace again like Twins out o' the same Womb.  
While Don Quixote thus discoursed, there was not any one i' the Room that took him for a Fool. For because the greatest part of 'em were Gentlemen of Fortune that professed a Military Life, and the Ladies, as generally they are, being great Admirers of Souldiers, they listened to him, as one that was haranguing i' their own Praise.  
Then Don Quixote proceeding;' All the Hardships, quo he, that a Student endures, is only Poverty: Not that all Scholars are poor neither, but I lay it thus to drive the Argument as far as it will go. For he that is poor, is miserable. And Poverty may be divided into three Parts, Hunger, could, and Nakedness, and sometimes all three together. Yet is this Hunger never so continual, but that the Scholar sometimes does eat; sometimes he gets to be a Tutor, and then he eats at the Stewards Table; sometimes he gets sixpence or Twelve-pence for inditing a Love-Letter, and then he goes and solaces himself at Fetter-lane end. If he be a could, for four Farthings he may smell to a Fire at the next Ale-house; which, tho it may not roast him, will abate the Rigour of his Sufferings; and then, tho at Night he sleeps in a Garret, yet is he safe from the Weather, not to mention those other Trifles of Shoes out at Toes, and stockings out at Heels, want o' Shirts, and a flapping greasie-brimm'd Felt, with a thread-bear, thin, transparent, what shall I call't— for 'twill not bear the Name of Garment, which, I confess, are very great Hardships; yet sometimes by their creeping and cringing, their flattering and colloguing, they creep into the Affection of some Person or other, that gives 'em a gentle Lift at first, and then helps 'em up by degrees, till at length, by a strange Indulgence of Fortune, they arrive at the Haven of their Wishes, and from contemptible Poverty, and pinching Misery, come to wallow in Plenty, and frisk it in the voluptuous Pastures of Honour and Preferment. But then, they prove the most ingrateful, proud, imperious, unsufferable Bubbles of Vain-glory i' the World; so that many times, and most frequently they forget their own Benefactors, and are not ashamed, if they want but a Stick to light their Oven, to burn the Ladder by which they first ascended to their Advancement.   

CHAP. XI.  
Containing the farther curious Discourse of Don Quixote upon Arms and Arts.  
WE have hitherto discovered the Poverty of the Scholar, let us now examine whether the soldier be any richer then he. How, the soldier rich! yes, as a new-shor'n Sheep— Certainly there is not a more honourable sort of Misery i' the World, then his. Gentlemen Souldiers! Gentlemen beggars. 'tis true, he looks a little uppish at first, with a Months Pay before-hand, but when he has been a Month upon Service, out at Heels, out at Elbows, ragged as a Forest-Colt, Shirtless, and Pennyless, chewing over in thought the last good Meal which he eat three days ago, till he meet with another big, or a Flitch o' Bacon, for which he ventures his Conscience, and the Curses of the poor People from whom he robs it. By this time he begins to admire, whether there be any such thing as Money in Nature, or no, for his Pay comes very slow, or never. Were he one of the Grandees of the World, he would give an Earldom or a Dukedom for a Bag-pudding, and looks upon Esau as the only man that ever knew how to value Victuals, when he sold his Birthright for a Mess a' Porridge. He is bound to endure all Weather; sometimes marching all the day long with his Gun freting the Skin from his Shoulders in a sultry Season that would bathe him in Sweat, had he any Moisture to exhale from his Body, which his Stomach has sucked before from all parts to sustain Nature. Sometimes poaching through thick and thin up to the middle Leg, and all the while the Rain pours down upon his Thread-bare Tatters: not his alone, but the Condition of the whole Army, looking like the Picture of Pharaoh's Host half drowned in pursuit of the Israelites; and all the day long the dry Crust new soaked with Aqua coelestis in his Snapsack, serves him both for Meat and Drink. Yet after all this tiresome March, had he but the Comfort at Night of an Inn, and a warm Chimney-corner, 'twould be something tolerable, nay, he might think himself happy to lye with the Horses i' the Stable; but to be chamber'd in the open Field, where tho he has the Liberty to make his Bed as wide as he pleases, and to tumble from one side to t'other, without rumpling his Sheets, yet to be plagued with two such Bed-fellows as Dung-wet and Hunger, and to be so wretched as to be forsak'n of his own Vermin, without any other Consolation then certain Whiffs of Mundungus from a Pipe as black as a Brewer's Chimney; What can be more miserable then this? And yet these are the Hardships which a soldier endures, and to which he is subject every day, as being Necessities which are not to be avoided. But suppose he do light by the way into a poor Man's Cottage, where he practices his Courage and his Valour upon the single Cock and Hen, the wretched Labourer has, or the only Loaf of Bread and piece of Bacon, for which three or four Children will cry when he is gone; yet that Exigency which constrains him to commit such an Act of Barbarism, as to tear the Bread out of the Mouths of those that are as miserable as himself, does but list him among the worst of Robbers, and entitle him to the lowest degree of sharking beggary. Bring him into a warm Garrison, there's nothing for him but could Comfort still. If he chance to out run the Constable in a Groat-Ordinary for Dinner, he must go supperless to Bed. His Landlord snips away half his Sustenance in Gains. For the Cheese, the hard, dry, course Cheese is valued according to Arithmetical, marked out according to Geometrical Proportion, which measures out but a short Allowance to the poor soldiers hungry Belly. All the Food he eats is so course and dry, that it turns to Excrement, while the Ferment of the Stomach can hardly extract a Chylus sufficient to supply the craving Functions of the Entrails. Yet all this while the poor half-starv'd soldier must help to repair Breaches, must watch, must fight, must stand Sentinel; stand, do I say! yes, a' must stand, because sometimes his Feet are half frozen to the Ground; a' must stand, because a' shall be hanged if a' stirs; let him stir if he dare, tho he hear the Enemy mining under his very Heels; and tho he be sure at the same instant to be sent of a dead man's errand to the Stars, and never to drop down again but in a Shower of shattered Limbs. And now would I fain help him again, if I could, with a Day of battle, the soldiers Harvest, the blessed time that he shall receive the Reward of all his Labours; but instead of the Spoil and the Plunder, with which he thinks to enrich himself, comes a Bullet that makes a hole through both his Cheeks, and carrys away his Tongue along with it, or else at one Blow draws all his Teeth; a Kindness in some measure, considering what useless things they are to him. Or, if one Bullet spares his Cheeks, or his Tongue, or his Teeth, another breaks a Leg, or an Arm. Or, if he does escape safe and sound, what is he the richer? For he must have so many Witnesses of his Valour, so many Testimonials of his Courage, that he must be in more Battels then ever Caesar fought, before he shall be advanced to the Degree of a sergeant. Then again, Gentlemen, I pray ye now consider how few there are that have gained by the Wars, how many have perished in battle, and lost both their Hopes, and their Fortunes at the same time. The number of the slain is innumerable, but for those that have enriched themselves by going a Solgeering, as they call it, not enough to fight a pitch'd-Battel at Draughts upon the back side o' the Tables. But it is not so with your Men of Learning, they are never reduced to so much Want, nor exposed to so much Hazard and Danger of their Lives. I ha' known a Man o' Letters that has been a Prisoner for Debt, and wanted Bread, yet by the Favour of his Keeper, having been let out of a Sunday, has got his Noble or ten Shillings, and a good Dinner besides, for talking an Hour to the People. Besides, it is much more easy to reward two or three thousand Men of Learning, then thirty or forty thousand Souldiers. For there be those Dignities and Places to be bestowed upon the one, of which the other are not capable; whereas the latter must be rewarded by the Wealth and Substance only of the Prince or Potentate, whom they serve. But this does no way demolish my Assertion.  
And therefore I return to my first Undertaking, which was to prove the pre-eminence of the soldier before the Man of Learning; and this I shall do by Reasons which I shall produce in favour of both. First, the Men of Learning say, That the Men of Arms cannot subsist without 'em; for tho the Souldiers have their Laws among themselves, to which they are subject, yet those Laws were made by Men of Learning; and that they are as well the Interpreters, as the Dispensers of those Laws. But by their Pardons, and with their good Leaves, let 'em not be so nimble-chapp'd; for I say that Arms are the Support of the Laws: They defend Common-wealths and Kingdoms, secure the High-ways, preserve the Frontier-Garrisons, scour the Seas of Pirates and Rovers, and, in a word, are the Security of the public Safety. Besides, is it not a general Maxim, that we esteem that most, which costs us dearest? Oh, is it so! pray gi' me leave then— I would fain know what it costs a Man of Letters to become learned? You'l say, Time, Patience, Watching, drudging at his Book, spare Diet, poor Habit, and the Want and Privation of a thousand Pleasures and Delights of this World. Well— and what's all this to the purpose? As if a soldier were not put to these, and other Hardships and Inconveniencies ten thousand times more dismal and disastrous. For what Hardship is it for a Scholar to encounter a whole Army of Celarent's and Barbara's, Camestres's and Festino's, or to be Sorbonicoficabilitudinistally confounded with a Legion of Quinta Essentia's, Genera Generalissima's, or an Host of Praedicaments, that will never break his Bones, nor his Brains neither, unless the Curse of running mad were entailed upon him from his Mother's Womb, and for three Generations before? On the other side, look but through a ten foot Prospective Glass( for I'd ha' ye be sure you be out of reach, for fear of Harm watch, harm catch:) I say therefore, look through a long Glass, and see a Company of Souldiers storming a strong Bulwark resolutely defended, and see how boldly they venture up the Scaling-ladders, tho they are sure to be roasted with Bombs and Fire-balls, and then basted with whole Pail-fulls of boiling led, or scalding Oil, which, if it do chance to wash his thin Jacket, all the Honour he has, is to tumble to the Ground, and die roaring like Hercules in Deianira's Shirt. Could ye, like Aeneas in Venus's Cloud, so stand with Safety and Conveniency, as to observe two Men of War, within a Ship's length one a' t'other, vomiting twenty Pounders one at another, till the Decks and Gun-rooms swim with Blood, strewed over with whole joints, Heads, Arms, and Shoulders, Legs, Thighs, and Bodies equally divided i' the Waste with Chain-shot, instead of Persian Carpets and sweet Herbs. By and by the two Spit-fires lay their Iron Claws one upon another, and lye grappled Yards-Arm and Yards-Arm together: In this Condition what has the poor soldier to do? Stand he must, or leap into the Sea, which is no less ready to swallow him, and as hungry after his Perdition, as Death itself; and all the while upon that little piece of Timber that preserves him from one surrounding Danger, he sees a thousand more menacing his Destruction; muskets, Cutlaces, Half-pikes, Hand-Granado's, and the Devil and all. All his Hopes are in the Strength of his Arm, and his Resolution: He must either make his way by main force, or die; he must bear down all before him, or perish. However, here a man has some Sport for his Money; here is doing for receiving Mischief. But to ha' seen Opdam in his Chair losing his draft, when the Silver Tankard of Lemonade was just at his Nose, and sent of a sudden to the Coelum Empyraeum, and never know who hurt him, there's the Plague on't: That's the thing that spoils the Honour of Knight-Errantry; for a Person of Quality, a Man of Courage and Gallantry, that had a fair Play, would drive a Regiment before him; but to be killed at a distance, is that would vex a Saint. Now tell me, whether the Hardships which your Men of Letters undergo, are like to these? Tell me, whether the fierce Disputes between the Sorbonists and Jansenists will hold Comparison with these bloody, frightful Encounters? O happy Age, that never knew those dreadful Engines of Death! and a thousand times more happy Ignorance, that never found out that Infernal Mixture of Sulphur and saltpeter; and may he be well rewarded in Hell, that first discovered that damnable Invention that gave the basest, vilest, Coward, to him that perhaps winked when he shot, the means to bereave at a distance, the bravest, the most valiant, the stoutest Knight that ever brandished Weapon, of his Life, in the full Career of his Renown; while a pocky, confounded little Gobbet of the basest Mettle i' the World, discharged from the rusty Piece of the basest Scoundrel, Rake-shame, Hen-roost-Robber upon the Earth shall of a sudden, unexpected, unthought of, spat out the Brains of a Person that deserved to ha' lived many Centuries of Ages: So that when I consider these things, I begin to repent that ever I embraced the Profession of Knight-Errantry in such a detestable and unworthy Age. For tho there is no danger, how terrible soever, that can terrify me, yet it troubles me to think that I should be subject to such an idle Hazard, least a Thimble full of Powder, and a little lump of led no bigger then a Nutmeg, should put a stop to my Courage, and prevent me from making known to the utmost ends of the World the strength of my Arm, and the keen edge of my Sword. But let Fortune dispose of me as she pleases, my famed and Reputation must be so much the greater, since I expose myself to greater Dangers then all the Knight Errants of former Ages.  
Thus did the Hero's Tongue run on with a Continuando, but his Teeth were idle all the while; for he was a Man that never minded his Victuals, when he was in a Discourse of Knight-Errantry: Tho Sancho were so kind as frequently to put him in mind of the Meat that was before him, and to follow the good Example of those that he saw so smartly laying about 'em for their Lives; and telling him withal, that it would be time enough to talk out his Talk when his Belly was full. On the other side, they that heard him, and had given as much Attention to his Harangue, as the season would permit, could not choose but look one upon another with Admiration; that a Person who discoursed with so much Wit and judgement upon other Subjects, should lose himself so ridiculously at last, in his freakish and detestable humour of Knight-Errantry. However, the Curate applauded him, and  told him, that he had spok'n a great deal of sense, in preferring the Sword before the Gown; and that for his part, tho it were against his Interest to say so, as being a man of Letters, and one that had taken his Degrees; yet he could not choose but be of his Opinion.  
At length, Supper being ended, and the Cloth taken away, while the Hostess, her Daughter, and Maritornes were getting Don Quixote's Chamber ready for the Ladies, Don Ferdinand desired the Captive to relate the story of his Life; for that in all likelihood by his coming in Company with the fair Zoraida, there must be something in it more then ordinary. Which Request being seconded by the Curate and all the rest that were i' the Room, the Captive replied, that he could not deny to satisfy their desires, only he was afraid lest he should spoil a good story in the telling: For, said he, the Story is a good one, I must confess, and contains such unlikely Truths, that will seem to surpass all the Fables that ever yet the Invention and Industry of Man contrived. Which words made 'em all presently prick up their Ears, and put themselves into a listening Posture, as if they had been to hear the Last Speech and Confession of some Eminent Offender upon the Scaffold. At what time, the Captive perceiving their Attention so well prepared, thus began.   

CHAP. XII.  
The History of the Slave.  
I Was Born in a Village seated among the Mountains of Leon, of Parents that had more Wit then Money; or rather that were more beholding to Nature for Parts and Endowments, then to Fortune for Lands and Tenements. Yet in a place where Poverty itself seems to reign, my Father might have had the Reputation of being a Rich man, had he taken the same care to preserve, as he did to spend what he had. Which expensive and lavish humour he learnt by being a soldier, having spent his Youth in that Pious School of War, which makes a Miser liberal, and a Liberal Man a Prodigal; and where one that pretends to Thrift, is looked upon as a Monster, and unworthy the Profession of Arms. But at length, my Father finding the bad Effects of his Profuseness, and how destructive it was to that Provision which he was to make for his Children, who were all now at Age, he resolved to rid himself of that same dirty Arable and Pasture that fed his Prodigality, and to quit that troublesone Title of Landlord, before the Taverns got all. To which purpose, calling my two Brothers and myself into his Closet, Children, said he, I know my own Infirmity, that when I am fixed at the Tavern, with my Cronies about me, I never think of my Boys at home; I would be loathe that all, or any of ye, should come to the Gallows, because I never heard that any of your Ancestors were hanged before ye. Neither do I like the cursed Trades of Bully-rocking, or game, which are both pernicious, and will bring ye to die in a Brandyshop. But this I know, that since ye are begot, ye must live; and ye are now all of ye of Age to shift for yourselves; and to betake yourselves to some laudable Profession, that may one day advance ye both to Honour and Estates. To which purpose, that I may contribute as far as my late Repentance will give me leave, I have resolved to divide all that I ha' left into four equal parts; of which I intend three Divisions for you, and the fourth for myself. We have a Proverb, which in my Opinion contains a world of Truth, as all Proverbs are grounded upon long and sage Experience. The Church, or the Sea, or the Court. To teach us, that they who have a design to raise their Fortunes in the World, must apply themselves either to Learning, or Trade, or to the Service of his Prince. And thus I would have one of ye to follow his Studies, the t'other to turn Merchant, and the third to be a soldier. But herein you must advice with your own Genius's; for tho a Dunce may attain to good Preferment, yet he must be sure of Courage and Resolution, that advances himself by the Sword. In eight days I will be ready with your Proportions, and give 'em ye in ready Money, which will be the least trouble. Now, tell me what ye think of my Proposals; or whether you believe my Counsel worth following.  
When my Father had done speaking, I earnestly desired him not to sell his Land, of which he might dispose without asking us leave, and  told him that we were young enough, and had the World before us; and at last, I made my choice to be a soldier. My second Brother, filially obedient, had the same sentiments that I had, and choose to be a Merchant, and so took his Fortunes in the Indies. The youngest, and the wisest of us all, made choice of the Church, a Harbour where a man of Complaisance may be always certain to ride secure. And thus having concluded among ourselves, and made our Election to my Father's content, he embraced us all three, and at his time prefixed he gave us our Dividends in ready Cash, which amounted to a thousand pounds a piece; one of my Uncles having purchased the Land, because it should not go out of the Name. All things were now ready for our departure, and we all agreed to take our several Roads the same day; but a certain scruple gripping my Conscience, that my Father should be left with so small a pittance to support his Old Age, I return'd him six hundred thirty odd pounds of my share, assuring him that what remained, would be enough to buy me an Ensign's Place, and to spare for bodily Furniture. My Brothers, following my Example, did the like; so that we restored him back eighteen hundred ninety nine pounds of his Money again, like Sons full of Affection and Duty as we were, and to our Credit be it spok'n. And then it was that we took our leaves of our Father and Uncle with clear Consciences and lighter Pockets then we needed, after they had laid a strict Injunction upon us to sand 'em weekly tidings how we throve in the World. And now, behold the three Brothers partend, as if one should take the Road for Oxford, the other for Plymouth, and I for Flanders; whither indeed I went, and there purchased a Colours under Duke D' Alva, where, how I behaved myself, I shall not trouble this Company to relate. But hearing that Don John of Austria was made General of the Christians against the Turks, away I posted with Letters of Recommendation to Genoa, and there arrived the same day that Don John entered the City; where I had presently a Company conferred upon me, and was shipped in a Man of War, that with several others was bound to join the Venetian Fleet: By which means it came to pass, that I was present at the battle of Lepanto, so advantageous to all Christendom; where among some that were slain, and others that enjoyed the Honour of the Victory, I had the misfortune to be taken Prisoner. For Uchali, King of Argier, a famous and desperate Pirate, being grappled with a Maltese, wherein there were but three Knights left alive, and those every one sore wounded, our Ship bore up to their Relief; at what time, I forsooth, to show myself worthy of my new Preferment, must needs be jumping into the Enemies Vessel: And this happened just i' the neck, when Uchali, a cunning Gamester, having got clear of the Maltese, sheer'd away from our Vessel: So that none of my Souldiers being able to follow me, Peel-Garlick was left all alone i' the power of the Turks: Who, after they had wounded me in several places, for I resolved they should pay dear for their Bargain, made me a Slave; and I was carried to Constantinople, where Selim made my Master Uchali his Admiral at Sea, for having so valiantly behaved himself in the Engagement, and brought away the Flag of the Order of Malta: For as for his running away at length, it was not imputed to him for a Crime, because he saw the battle was lost. After Uchali's Death, I fell by Lot to the share of a Venetian Renegado, whose Name was Aranaga; formerly one of Uchali's Slaves himself, but one that knew so well how to please his Master, that he won his very Heart, and became very Rich; but was certainly one of the cruelest Rogues that ever defied Humanity; afterwards also advanced to be King of Argier, whither for that reason I was carried: And truly I was glad I was got so near within the smell of my Native Country, fully persuaded that I should find some way or other to make my Escape; for I could not find in my heart to despair. And therefore when one Project failed, I presently set my Brains at work for another. And thus I spent my time, brewing every day new Designs, being shut up in one of those Prisons which the Turks call Stoves, where they put their Christian Slaves, as well those that belong to the King, as to particular Persons. Now the King's Slaves are never put to work, no more then are they that have once treated concerning their Ransom; however, they are kept close i' their Stoves, for fear they should run away like slippery Tenants, and never pay▪ for their House-rent. For my own part, as soon as they knew me to be an Officer, it was in vain for me to pled Poverty; I was looked upon as a Person of Quality, and put among the Slaves for whom Ransom was expected, with a Chain so light, that it only shew'd me to be upon Terms for my Liberty, and that I was not one who was long to wear it. Yet can I not say, that I was free from Hunger, and many other Miseries, besides that Azanaga's Cruelties continually terrified me. Who, besides that he was wont, for every small Offence, to hang and impale his poor Captives, had a particular Humour to cut off their Ears, merely to pickle 'em instead of Mushrooms, for sauce to his Mahometan Fricassees. But to say no more of his Cruelty, nor my own Fears, and to come to the Point, you are to understand, that the Windows of a House belonging to a very rich Moor, very near as rich as his Kinsman Pluto himself, looked into the Court belonging to our Prison; which Windows, according to the Custom of the Moors, are very narrow holes, and those too closed with wooden Lattices. Now it happened one day, as I and three others of my Companions( for the rest were gone forth to work) that is to say, as four of us were trying in the Court-yard how well we could leap the Almond-Jump in our Chains, casting up my Eyes to the Window, I saw descending from the Lattice a long Reed, with a Handkercheif tied to the end of it, which the Hand that let it down, caused to dance i' the Air, as it were a signal for some one of us to come and take it. Whereupon one of my Companions went to ha' laid his Paws upon it, but then it presently mounted again out of his Reach; which he taking for a rebuk, return'd to his Sport. Then a second tried, and then the third, but were all tantaliz'd alike; till at length seeing the Cane descend a fourth time, I resolved to try my Fortune; but then it was easily seen for whom the Handkerchief was intended; for as soon as I came near the Window, the Cane fell down at my Feet. Presently I took up the Handkerchief, and as hastily untying the Knot, I found a Nest of small pieces of Money, to the value of one of our Crown-pieces. You may well conjecture I did not weep to see such an unexpected Relief in the Condition I was in, and that I should be the only Object of the Charity. And then looking up to see from whence the Blessing came, I could discover no more then only a lily-white Hand that closed the Lattice at the same time. However, we all return'd our Thanks by bowing to the Window, after the Turkish manner, with our Arms a across upon our Breasts. Which we had no sooner done, but there presently appeared out at the same Window a little across made of Reeds; and then we concluded, that some Lady that lived in that House had taken Compassion upon us; but why so particularly to me, thought I; and with that I began seriously to consider with myself, whether I had ever made water under the Window, or no, but could not for my life remember any such thing. Then we imagined she was some Christian Slave, whom her Master had married. For your Moors, as black as they are, love white Flesh for all that. And then we thought again, that having been once a Christian, she might be so still in her Heart. But all our Divining signified nothing to us that were no Conjurers; and therefore we took the common Road of Enquiry. But after all the Enquiry we could make to the utmost of our Power, all that we could learn, was only this, That it was the Habitation of a certain rich Moor, whose Name was Agimorato, who had been one of the chief Magistrates of Argier, and far richer then ever was old Audley; a mere Miser, born to get a Mountain o' Money, and leave it when he has done. Ceasing therefore any farther Enquiry, we only adored the blessed Window every Day, from whence our comfortable Benediction fell. But notwithstanding all our Eye-worship, the celestial Casement did not open again in fifteen days; so that we looked upon our late Refreshment, as only some few heat drops of Female Charity, and despaired that ever the blissful Window would open again. But fifteen days after, when dreaming least of any such thing, being the same all four together in the Stove, without any other Company, down came the angelic Reed and Handkerchief a second time. Upon which, we made the same Trial, as before, but with the same Success; for still the coy Handkerchief would not suffer itself to be touched by any but myself, enfolding a Present of forty Crowns of Spanish Gold, and a Letter written in arabic, with a fair across at the bottom of the Writing. Upon which, we return'd to our Station, and made our Obeysances, as before; and after I had made a sign that I would red the Letter, the white Hand vanished, and the Lattice of Consolation closed again. This Accumulation of Fortune's Favours filled us with new Joy and fresh Hopes: But in regard that none of us understood arabic, we were at a strange Loss where to find an Interpreter, not knowing whom to trust in such a ticklish Case as this was, as being loathe to hazard ourselves, but much more afraid to injure our Benefactress. At length my Curiosity to understand the Depth of such an Intrigue as this, constrained me to trust a Renegado of Mercia, who pretended a great Kindness for me. So that after I had used all the Caution imaginable to engage him to Secrecy, and pawned all the Credit I had with him in Mountains of Promises, if the Success were answerable to such a Foundation laid in Miracle, I desired him to red me a Letter, which I  told him I had found in a hole in our Dungeon. The Renegado took the Letter, and after he had red a Line or two, he asked me for a Pen and Ink, and a piece of Paper; all which I had ready prepared i' my Pocket( for Slaves that have Money may have any thing.) And then the Renegado retiring, in a short time gave me the Letter back again, and the Translation of it, with this farther Advertisement, That Alla signified God, and Lela Marien, the Virgin Mary. The Substance of the Letter was this.  
When I was a Child, my Father kept a Christian Slave in the House, who taught me the Prayers of the Christians, and informed me of many things concerning Lela-Marien. This Slave is since dead, and I know she was not cast into the eternal Fire, but is with God; for she has appeared to me twice since her Death: And both times she charged me to retire among the Christians, to see Lela Marien, who has a great love for me. I have seen out at this Window, several Christians, but I must confess, I never saw any one that looked like a Gentleman but yourself. I am young and handsome, and in a Condition to transport a vast Estate along with me. Consider whether you will undertake to carry me away: It shall be your fault, if I be not your Wife; or if you will not mary me, I make no Question but that Lela Marien will provide me a Husband. 'twas myself that wrote this Letter, and I would have you be careful whom you trust; no Moor, whatever ye do, who are all a Company of Traitors. For if my Father should have the least inkling of my Project, he would thrust me into a Well, and cover me with Stones. I have tied a Thread to the end of the Reed, with which you may fast'n your Answer. If you can meet with no body that writes arabic, tell me your Answer by Signs, which Lela Marien will instruct me to understand. God and she preserve ye, and that across which I kiss as often as the Slave commanded me  
It will be needless, Gentlemen, to tell ye how we were all transported with Joy when we red this Letter, since every one knew they should be the better for my Success. The Renegado too, believing it might be likewise to his Advantage, as one that could never beat it into his Head, that we had found such a Letter by Accident, but that it was purposely written to one of us Four, with great Importunity requested us to tell him the Truth, and to rely upon his Fidelity, as one that would venture his Life to procure our Liberty. And so saying, he drew out of his Bosom a small Crucifix, and swore by him that suffered upon it, that he would be secret to whatever we should entrust him; to which he was the rather encouraged, because he saw so great a Probability for us all to recover our Liberty by means of the Person that had written the Letter: And he accompanied his Oath with such a Shower of Tears, and so many Marks of Repentance for his turning Infidel, that we discovered the whole Mystery to him, and shew'd him that heavenly Window from whence our Gold'n Showers fell down. Who, thereupon, promised he would use his utmost Industry to learn who it was that lived in that House; and that when I had written my Answer to our obliging Benefactress, he would transcribe it into arabic for me: The Substance of which, I remember much to this purpose.  
The true Alla preserve ye, Madam, and the thrice happy Lela Marien, who has inspired ye with those blessed Thoughts of turning Christian. Your Design is pious and generous; and therefore you may be confident of our Endeavours, who are all your Vassals to serve ye with the loss of our Lives. Fear not then, Madam, to writ, and give me notice of what you resolve to do. We have among us a Christian Slave who writes arabic, as you will find by this Answer. As for your Offer of being my Wife, I should be the most ingrateful person living, should I not accept it; and if I should not honour, while I have Breath, the Person that throws her self into my Arms. The great Alla and Lela Marien preserve ye.  
Two days after, when there was no body in the Stove, I went into the Yard, where I had not stayed long, before I saw the Reed appear again, to which I fastened my Answer. Nor was it many Hours after, before the Comfort of our Lives hung out another white Flag of Peace, which dropped, furled up at my Foot, with above fifty yellow Boys in it, which was so far from being any Affliction to us, that we never questioned a fertile Harvest of our Enterprizes, when watered by such Gold'n Showers as those. The same Night our Renegado came to us, and informed us that the House belonged to Agimorato, one of the richest Moors in Argier; and that to inherit all his Wealth, he had but one Daughter, who was the most beautiful Person in all Barbary, and had refused all the considerable Matches that had been offered her: To which he added, That in her Infancy she was bread up by a Christian-Slave, who had been dead for some years. All which agreed with what we found in the Letter. Thereupon we consulted with this Renegado how to make our Escape, and carry away the lovely Mooress. But before we came to a Result, we resolved to stay till we heard farther News from the fair Zoraida( for that we understood to be her Name) seeing that without her Assistance, all our Consultations signified not a Straw.  
The four following Days the Stove was full, and so nothing was to be done; but the fifth, none but our own Number being left, our Paradise opened again, and down dropped the crumbs of Comfort wrapped up in clean linen, but never till I was at hand to take it up. For if I were making water at what time the Hand appeared, the Hand would never let go till I had done. And this time too Zoraida doubled her Files, no less then a hundred yellow Boys, all good Men and true, together with a Letter; of which to the best of my Remembrance, these were the Contents.  
I know not which way we shall take to get into Spain, for Lela Marien has not yet informed me, tho I have earnestly besought her in my Prayers. All that I can do, is to furnish you with Gold enough to ransom yourself, and your Companions, and for one of the ransomed Captives to purchase a Bark to convey us all away. For my part, I intend to spend all this Spring with my Father and our Slaves, in a Garden adjoining to the Gate of Barbazon, near the Sea-side. Thence in the Night time you may take me without any Danger, and convey me to the Bark. But remember, my dear Christian, that you have promised to be my Husband. For if thou fail'st me, I will pray to Lela Marien to punish thee. If thou canst not confided in any person to buy the Bark, ransom thyself quickly, and go thyself; I know thou wilt not fail to return, as thou art a Gentleman and a Christian. Make it thy business also, to know where our Garden stands. In the mean time do but walk in the Court when the Stove is empty, and I will give thee what Money thou desirest. Alla preserve thee, dear Christian.  
When our Company heard this Letter red, there was not one but offered, if he might be first ransomed, to go and purchase a Bark, and as soon as he had done, to return again with all the Speed and Sincerity imaginable; and had it been possible to ha' gone with their Bodies alone, would ha' left their Souls behind 'em in pawn, till they came back according to their Words; but the Renegado, who knew that one Christian was not to believe another in these nice points, would by no means consent, that any one should be singly ransomed, till all were redeemed together. For that he had known by Experience, that several Slaves had been singly ransomed to fetch Conveniencies for those who tarried behind, in Expectation of the released persons Return, who might as well have expected the Vessel hoped for, to come by water out of the Clouds, as by Sea. Upon whom the love of Liberty, and the dread of returning into Captivity so far prevailed, that when they were once free, they forgot there were ever any such things as Gospels or Evangelists, upon which they had sworn not to leave their Friends i' the lurch. And therefore, said he, give me the Money which you design for the Purchase of a Bark, and I will buy one here, even at Argier itself, under pretence of trading to Tituan, and upon the cost; so that being Master of the Vessel myself, and under no Suspicion, it will be easy for me to serve ye all together; especially when ye have purchased your Liberty by the Lady's Assistance; for then being Free-men, you may go aboard without Interruption, at Noon-day. Nor do I fore-see but one Difficulty i' the matter, which is, That the renegadoes are not permitted to buy Barks, but only great Vessels to pirate upon the Seas. But for that I have an Expedient i' my Head, which is, to take in a Moor of Tagarino for a Share both of the Vessel and Gains, and so under-hand become sole Proprietor myself, and by that means bring all our Designs to Perfection. Truly we considered with ourselves, that Necessity had no Law; that if we should seem to mistrust the Renegado, to whom we had already discovered so much, it might incense him, and force him to disclose our whole Design; not only to our Destruction, but to the Ruin of the Lady, whose Life was more dear to us then our own; so that at last we resolved to put ourselves into the hands of God and the Renegado; and to that purpose I ordered him to Transcribe a Letter, which I had written to Zoraida; that we were ready to follow her Advice, which seemed to be no less then what Lela Marien had inspired into her Breast; renewing my Promise withall to mary her. And I commended her, to make sure of a Husband as well as of her Religion.  
The next day the Stove was empty, and then it rained handkerchiefs; which at several times furnished us with a thousand Pieces of the same coloured Metal, that reconciles and sets all the World together by the Ears; makes Friends Foes, and Foes Friends. Which made me so in love with handkerchiefs ever since, that I can never come into a Gentlewoman's Company, but I am always either snatching, or stealing her handkerchief; nor do I ever return 'em again, tho the young Ladies beg their Hearts out, and protest never so much they were presented 'em by their Sweet-hearts, or Valentines, or any other the dearest Friends they have i' the World. Such a passionate Affection for handkerchiefs did Zoraida's fortunate linen engrave in my Memory. So that when ever I see a young Gentleman filching a Ladies handkerchief, I ask him presently, whether he were ever i' the Stoves at Algier?  
But to return to my Story: At the same time I found a Note in one of the blessed handkerchiefs( for I can never speak of handkerchiefs without an Epithet) to let us understand, that the next Friday she was to go to her Father's Garden; in the mean time, that if we had not Money enough, we should but give her notice, and we should have as much as we desired: For that she was Mistress of all her Father's Cash. And i' my Conscience she spoken Truth: For the next Thursday the t'other thousand Peruvians fell down prostrate at the Toes of my Shoes; at which I never murmured i' the least, but presently with a confiding Soul gave five hundred Crowns to our Renegado, for the Purchase of a Bark. The rest of the Money I put into the Hands of a Venetian Merchant, of my Acquaintance, who ransomed me for eight hundred Crowns from the King my Master; promising to pay the money upon the first Return of a Vessel, which he suddenly expected from Italy. For had my Friend paid down the money upon the Nail, the crafty Azanaga would have suspected, that he had had it a good while in his Custody, and had made use of it himself. The same Night I had another Note from Zoraida, to let me know, that the next day she was going to the Garden, and therefore desired, as soon as I should be redeemed, to let me see her. To all which I answered as much to her Satisfaction, as lay in my Power.  
In the mean time, I made it my business to agree for the Ransoms of my Companions, lest, seeing me at Liberty, and themselves still in Captivity, they should suspect me to be forgetful of their Condition, and enter into Combinations against me. For there is no trusting to the Devil in such Cases, who takes all Occasions to work upon men in Misery, to do mischief. To which purpose, I put all the rest of my money into my Friend the Merchant's Hands, with Orders to Redeem my three Companions, at as low a rate as he could, upon his Credit: Which he soon after accomplished.   

CHAP. XIV.  
Wherein the Captive goes on with his Story.  
AND now the Renegado within the space of fourteen or fifteen days had purchased a very good Bark, that would conveniently carry thirty Persons. And first of all, that there might be no suspicion of his Design, together with the Moor that he had taken in for his Partner, he made two or three slight Voyages upon the cost of Barbary, driving a Trade in dried figs; and every time he put to Sea, he never failed to come to an Anchor in a little Creek, within Musket-shot of Agimorato's Garden. And sometimes he would go ashore, and walk up to Agimorato's House, to beg Fruit, which the Moor would bestow upon him, tho he knew him not: which he did to try whether the Access to the Garden were easy or no. By which means, when he saw that his Partner wholly confided in him, that he might cast Anchor where he pleased, and that I and my Companions were at Liberty; he came to me, and  told me, that all the business I had to do, was to pick out a parcel of sturdy Fellows, that could tug at an Oar, and would help to cut a Throat or two at a dead lift; to consider who I intended to take along with me, and then to look after the main Business, which was, to get Zoraida ready against the next Friday, at what time he resolved to be gon. As for Rowers, kind Fortune( for had not Fortune been kind, this story could never ha' gone on so cleverly) I say then again, Kind Fortune helped me to a Crew that were out of Employment, by reason their Master stayed at home from Cruising that Summer, to look after a new Ship that he had upon the Stocks; whom I ordered to stay for me such a day hard by Agimorato's Garden, where I would give 'em their Hire: For I knew Sea-men too well, to give 'em money before-hand. For then when I wanted 'em, I must ha' been forced to have hunted all the Brandy holes i' the Town, before I could ha' found' em. And now, quo I to my Brains, Brains, if ever you will show yourselves to be Brains, now show your Quickness, your Craft, your wily Contrivance, and the Perfection of your Invention— for now am I going about a Design, that requires the Assistance of all Lucian's Council of the Gods, the Subtlety of fifty Bawds, the dexterity of threescore Heiress-stealers, and the acuteness of threescore and ten married Wives, that are resolved to cuckolded their Husbands. For I must confess, when I considered the hazards and difficulty of the enterprise, I was at my Wits end. And sometimes when I bethought myself how uncomattable young Virgins were i' that place, Despair so seized upon my Spirits, that I was once about to ha' given over the Design. But then, quo I to myself, I never yet heard i' my life, when a young Lady had resolved upon a Bed-fellow, but that she would have him by hook or by crook; and therefore, quo I to myself, sure Zoraida has laid all her Plots so well beforehand, that if I am not a mere ninnie, it must be impossible for me to fail. This cheered my Spirits, and revived my Hopes again; so that I resolved, fall back, fall edge, to speak with her. To that purpose, two days before our departure, I ventured boldly to the Garden, with an Excuse ready coined i' my mouth, that I came to pick some green Herbs for a salad: And so it happened, that the first Attempt that I made, the first Man I met was Agimorato himself; who asked me in the Language of the Galley-Slaves, what I looked for, and to whom I belonged? To whom I answered, That I was Arnaut Mamy's Slave, as being a Person that I knew to be of his familiar Acquaintance( for tho I had never conversed with the Book-seller that resolves Cases of Conscience, yet I made no scruple to tell a lie to a Moor) therefore, I say, I  told him I was Mamy's Slave, and that I came to gather a salad: Wherein however there was something of Truth; for tho I only pretended an Errand for a salad, yet I was sure I came for the best Flower in his Garden. After that, he asked me, whether I had offered Ransom, and how much it was? And upon the same Subject put me sundry Questions, and I gave him sundry Answers. But now to the Point— For as Agimorato was thus gratifying his Curiosity, Zoraida, who saw me at first when I entered the Garden, appeared her self to make it a complete Paradise. And as the Barbary Ladies never scruple to show themselves to the Christian Slaves, notwithstanding my being there, she came directly to her Father, who as soon as he spied her, called her himself.' Slife— such a Charming Beauty, and so much Wealth as glitter'd upon the Ornaments of her Head, where she had more Oriental Pearls to cover her Hair, then she had hairs to cover; the sparkling Diamonds, and other Precious Stones about her Wrists, and on the bufkins that she wore upon her Feet, brought my very Soul to stare out at the Casements of my Eyes, and with Admiration to behold the dazzling sight. What a Devil, thought I to myself, ails this Virgin, that has so much Beauty, and so much Wealth, to quit her Native soil, merely to run away with Heaven knows who, and a tattered, ragged, abject, miserable Slave to boot? And then was I i' my Dumps again, as one that could not imagine that such a Morsel was ever designed for my Tooth. But then recollecting with myself, that the Celestial Bodies, who are themselves subject to Excentric Motions, govern the Humours of Youth and Beauty; and calling to mind, that once a prisoner in Ludgate became the Master of his Mistress, and so to be Lord Mayor of London; I did not think it reasonable to call Destiny to give too strict an Account of her Actions, but rather resolved to lay myself at her feet, believing she had some Christmas Gambol to play, and then to sit and laugh at it when she had done. perilous Zoraida therefore, as I  told ye, came to her Father; to whom Agimorato, Look ye, Child, said he, this is one of my Friend Arnaut's Slaves, and comes to pick a salad for his Master. Very likely, Sir, said she; and then turning to me, and what, quo she, have you paid your Ransom then? Madam, I have, said I; and I think my Master valued me sufficiently, to make me pay eight hundred Crowns in Gold. I assure ye, my Friend, cried Zoraida, had you been my Father's Slave, he should not ha' partend wi' ye for twice as much. For you Christians are such cunning Dissemblers, that for the lives of us, we Moors can never understand your Qualities; so that ye cousin us still of above three parts of your Ransoms. Y' are all Captains and Commanders after y' are redeemed: But while y' are Slaves, you'd make us believe your Parents were so poor, as if y' had all been begot upon Dunghills. Madam, said I, I am not to answer for what others do; but for my part, I deal candidly with my Master, as I intend to do with all the World. And more then that, Madam, I love to be true to both Sexes, to the utmost of my ability, in whatever I promise. Very good, replied Zoraida; and when d' ye think to be gone? To morrow, Madam, said I; for there is a Vessel in Port ready to set Sail, and I am unwilling to lose the Opportunity. Besides, I have such an eager desire once more to re-visit my Native Country, and to see what are become of my Friends and Relations, that it makes me the more impatient to lay hold upon the first Occasion. 'tis an even wager then, said Zoraida, that you are married in your own Country. Not married as yet, replied I; but I have passed my Word, to mary as soon as I come there. And is she handsome too, to whom y' have made this Promise? cried Zoraida. Madam, said I, she is so handsome, that I may safely say, I never saw a Person more like her i' the World then yourself. At which words, Agimorato smiling: I do not wonder, Christian, said he, thou art so hasty to be gone, if thy Mistress be as handsome as my Daughter, that has not her Peer for Beauty in all the Kingdom of Barbary. Look upon her well, and thou wilt find it to be true what I say. But while Agimorato pleased himself to find his Daughter pleased with this sort of Divertisement, a Moor came running towards him in all hast to tell him, that four Turks had clambered over his Wall, and were gathering his Fruit before 'twas Ripe. Which put him into a great Disorder, as he that would have rather a' had so many Swine in his Garden, which he could ha' driven out again when he pleased. But the Turkish Souldiers were a Masterless sort of Beasts, of whom the Moors stood almost in as much awe, as the Christian Slaves of their Masters. Thereupon Agimorato ordered Zoraida to go in adoors, and bid me take what Salading I pleased, while he went to persuade those Dogs of Turks, as he called 'em, out of his Ground; leaving me and Zoraida together, who pretending Obedience, seemed to make toward the House; but when her Father was out of sight among the Trees and Currant Bushes, swiftly returning with Tears in her Eyes, And are ye going then, Christian, said she; are ye going in earnest?— I am going, said I; but, Madam, take me not for such an Infidel, to be gone, unless I carry along with me the Treasure of my Soul. Therefore I come to give ye notice, that all things are prepared against next friday: Manage your Business then so, as to be ready against the Time, and fear nothing— For tho you have saved me the expense of a thousand Lovers Oaths and Protestations, which are often as false as Hell, never believe I'll forfeit my Credit and my Reputation to so much Love and virtue as yours. And this I uttered with such a Reality, and so sensibly proceeding from the bottom of my Heart, that where my brok'n Language failed, the very motions of my Lips and Eyes supplied the defect of my Expression to convince Zoraida of my Sincerity. Insomuch, that throwing her tender Arm about my Neck, she slowly moved in that posture with a trembling place toward the House; and in that posture it was that we met Agimorato returning, after he had persuaded the liquorish Turks to quit his Garden. True it is, that we plainly perceived he had descried the Loving Embracements of his Daughter, and I trembled for fear of my dear Zoraida. But here it was that I found that presence of mind, which always succours the Female Sex in their Amorous Contrivances. For instead of taking away her Arm, which would but have put Agimorato into a Jealous Passion, she clung more close to me, and resting her Head upon my Breast, gave way to the weight of her Body to fall which way it pleased, as if she had been in a Trance; while I on the other side made a show of supporting her with all my strength. Presently Agimorato came with more speed then a Dog-trot, to see what was the matter; and finding his Daughter in that Condition, asked her, what she ailed? To which she returning no Answer, Alas! poor Girl, said he, 'tis only the fright which these Dogs put her into, that has brought these fits upon her; and at the same instant he took her out of mine into his own Arms. At what time, Zoraida, fetching a deep sigh, with her Eyes still bedewed with Tears; be gone, Christian, said she, be gone. Why, my dear Child, why wouldst thou have him be gone? Alas! he has done thee no harm, cried Agimorato, and for the Turks, they were so honest as to quit their pilfering Design, upon my Approach. cheer up then, my Girl, and let the Christian stay, perhaps he'll tell us a Story will make us both laugh; for the Christians sometimes are notable prattlers— No, no, said I, interrupting him, let her alone, these cursed Turks, Sir, have put her too much out of humour to hear Stories; and therefore for my part, since she desires I should be gone, I do not think it proper to trouble her with Impertinencies. Only I beg of your Worship to give me leave to come now and then as long as I stay, and pick a salad in your Garden. As often as thou wilt, honest Christian, cried Agimorato. With this Liberty of his so freely granted, I took my leave both of the Father and the Daughter: Who, if there be any Truth in the Imagination of Lovers, seemed to me as if she had been parting with her own Soul, when I partend from her. For young People in love, are like your Astrologers, who believe they see Bulls, and Bears, and Rams, and Lions i' the Sky, when there are no such things. But hang a Man that has no shifts, and a Lover without his Poetical Fancies. Well! but what did I next, you'll say? Why, in the next place, being thus uncontrollable, and alone i' the Garden, I walked it round, surveyed every Corner, every Descent, and every rising Ground: I observed all the Avenues to it; all the ways out of it, and where most conveniently to attack the House, if there should be Occasion, and whatever else of that Nature might serve to accomplish our Design: And having so done, away I went to give an Account of all to my Companions and the Renegado, impatient to possess the Blessing that Fortune offered me in the Enjoyment of the fair Zoraida. Well— at length the wished-for Day arrived, and we had all the Success we could expect from a Contrivance laid with so much Discretion and Consideration. For the Renegado came to an Anchor in the Evening over-against Agimorato's Garden, and the Rowers lay ready concealed, with itching Fingers to be boarding the Vessel, and cutting the Moors Throats, knowing nothing of my Design, but absolutely believing they were to gain their Liberty by surprise, and downright Murder. Soon after I came with my Companions; at what time the Rowers rose out of their lurking Holes, and met us for Orders what to do. We saw Fortune favoured us, for by this time the City Gates were shut, and all the cost was clear a' that side. So that our first Consultation was, Whether we should first endeavour to get Zoraida into our Possession, or make sure of the Moors that rowed i' the Bark. To which our Renegado, who was by this time entered into our Council, made Answer, That the Moors i' the Vessel were most of 'em asleep, the rest in a careless Security; and therefore the best way would be to make sure of them first, that we might be absolutely Masters of the Vessel, before we went to fetch Zoraida. And so saying, he led the way, and leaping into the Bark with his Scimitar in his hand; Let not a man of ye, said he, so much as offer to stir, unless he be weary of his life. The Moors, who had hardly the Courage of so many Red-Herrings, surprised to hear their Master thunder out such big words, and seeing so many Cutlaces drawn about their Ears, not daring so much as to lay a finger upon their Arms, with which they were but ill provided neither, submitted Hands and Feet to Christian Rigour with the Patience of so many Martyrs. So that having soon bound 'em to their good Behaviour, and locked up their Tongues and their Throats, under the Penalties of immediate Death and Destruction, we left 'em with a Guard of one half of our Party, while the rest, together with the Renegado, went directly to Agimorato's Garden. Where, after we had opened the Door, we went to the House without the least Noise, or being perceived by any body. Only Zoraida, who impatiently watched for our coming, with a low Voice asked us if we were Christians? To whom I made answer, The same, and all your Servants, Madam; at what time, she knowing my Voice, opened the Door and came down to us, so bedeck'd and glistering with Pearls and Jewels, that I know not whom to liken her to; and therefore I will lik'n her to no body.  
I took her by the Hand and kissed it, so did the Renegado, and the rest of my Companions. For by Instinct of Nature in such kind of compliments, Men and Sheep are alike; what one does, they all do. Nor had it been safe for me to have stood upon Punctilio's at that time, had I been Amadis de gall himself. After that, the Renegado asked her where her Father was? who answered him, a-bed and asleep. We must wake him, cried he, and carry him along with us, and then clear the House, for why should we leave any thing behind? By no means, cried Zoraida, I would not have a hair of my Father's head touched; I have fleeced him sufficiently already, for I shall take along with me all that is of value i' the House; and therefore pray be contented without meddling with him, who will have Sorrow enough, I warrant him, when I am gone. With that, re-entering the House, before I could well persuade the Renegado not to contradict her in the least, she return'd with a Cabinet full of Gold, as much as she could lift, or rather more. At what time unluckily her Father waked, and hearing a Noise i' the Garden, put his head out at Window, and began to cry out Thieves, Thieves; Christians, Christians; which put us into a great Disorder. But the Renegado seeing the Danger wherein we were, and of what Importance it was to be speedy in the Accomplishment of a Design of this Nature, ran up presently into Agimorato's Chamber, with some of my Companions, while I stayed below with Zoraida. And now it appeared that our Renegado was in his Element when there was a Robbery to be done, and that he hunted, as Dogs do, for his own Ends. Never did Men act more cordially and vigorously like Thieves in a Burglary, while he stolen the Father, and I the Daughter. For he had not been gone above four Minutes with his trusty Companions,' ere they brought down poor Agimorato with his Hands bound behind him, and his Mouth crammed with a foul Handkerchief, to prevent his bawling; only they left him his Legs at liberty, because they would not be troubled to carry him. When the Daughter saw her Father in that Condition, she turned away her Eyes, and besought us to do him no harm; which was the least of our Thoughts, provided he did us none. However, it shew'd a great deal of good Nature in a Child to spare her Father's Life, tho she took his Goods. And thus having all we came for, deeming hast and good Heels to be our surest Protectors, we made all the speed we could to the Bark, where they that stayed behind, were in no less Expectation of us, as fearful of our Success; but seeing us return'd with our whole Prey, their very Hearts skipp'd i' their Bellies. It was now two a Clock in the Morning when we, being got safe upon the salt water, unbound Agimorato, and unstopp'd his Mouth, but threatening with a thousand Oaths to slit his Wezand, if he made the least use of his Throat. Presently the poor old Man beholding his Daughter, began to sigh, but he was more astonished to see me hugging her so close as I did i' my Arms, and she suffering it with a conjugal Patience; and no question but he would ha' made use of his Lungs, but that the Renegado stood over him with his drawn Hanger. However, Zoraida fuller and fuller of good Nature still, when she perceived the Vessel begin to make away, besought the Renegado to desire me for Love's-sake, to set her Father and the rest of the Moors ashore, for that it went against her Conscience to carry her Father away, whom she loved so dearly, as not to rob him of all, but leave him his native Country to be buried in. To which I readily consented, as desirous of nothing more then to be rid of him. But the Renegado, his Craft's-Master in such Exercises as these, showing me the Danger of landing a Company of exasperated Devils, that as soon as they had their Liberty, would be calling for help, and engage the People to sand after us some nimble frigate to pick us up again for Hawk's Meat; we all agreed, and Zoraida no less prudent then dutiful, consented not to deliver the Moors till we were upon Christian Land. So that after we had recommended ourselves to God, as well as we could, considering the undefiledness of our Consciences, and the Justice of the Fact we had committed, we rowed on merrily, steering away for Majorca. But a North-wind rising, and the Sea beginning to swell, we were forced to bear in to the cost of Oran, and to creep along by the Shore, not without some Apprehensions( for the Guilty are always in fear) of being discovered from Sargel, which lies upon that cost, about threescore Miles from Argier, or else meeting with some Corsair of Tituan, tho should it have happened to be a Merchants Ship, we had not cared; for then we had been in our own Element again, believing ourselves strong enough to ha' taken her, and so to have added to our Plunder. All this while Zoraida lay with her Head i' my Lap, either unwilling or ashamed to behold her Father; and yet for all that I could hear her very devout at her Prayers to Lela Marien for our Prosperity. Which I looked upon as a Sign that a little Christianity would serve her turn, to her Praise be it spoken.  
Well— by this time we had rowed thirty Miles, and the day breaking, shew'd us, that we were not above thrice Musket-shot from the Land, and that all the cost was clear, which emboldened us to put out to Sea. But then▪ a blustering Wind rose, that obliged us to clap on all our Sails, and steer towards Oran, running eight Miles an hour, afraid of nothing but Pirates. Under the leisure of this Gale we gave the Moors to eat, assuring 'em, that they were no Slaves, but that we would give 'em their Liberty as soon as Conveniency would permit; and having repeated the same to Zoraida's Father; Christians, said he, if I may so call ye, that act more like Turks, never think me so simplo to believe, that after you have exposed yourselves to all this Danger and hazard to carry me away, that you will be so generous as to grant me my Liberty, especially knowing what a Booty ye have. But if you will set your Price, I will give ye whatever you will demand, to release myself and my Daughter; at least, if ye will but set Her free, who is more dear to me, then my Life, and all my Estate. And so saying, he let fall such a Deluge of Tears, as if he had been going to wash his own sooty Moor's Face white; which drew from us all that little Compassion we had; at what time Zoraida turning about, and beholding her Father in that State of Affliction to which she had reduced him, could not forbear throwing her Arms about his Neck, and weeping to see him weep; and then to see them weep, you would ha' laughed to ha' seen all us weeping for Company. Tho I must confess, I cannot believe that Zoraida's Tears were any other then Tears of Course. For should I say they produced any Confession to her Father, or any other signs of Repentance then what I tell ye, I should lie most incarnately. But at length Agimorato having wiped his Eyes, observed his Daughter in all her sumptuous Raiment, and glittering with all her high prized Jewels, as if she had been going to a Feast: How now, Daughter, quo he, What's the meaning a' this? Yesterday before this Misfortune befell us, you were i' your Worky-day Clothes, and now i' the height of our Calamity you appear in all your gorgeous Gallantry, as if you were going to a Wedding? To all which Questions Zoraida, as well she might, was at a stand what Answer to make her Father; who at the same time perceiving the Casket of Jewels in a corner of the Bark, which he thought had been safe in his Closet in Argier, strangely surprised, he asked her how that came into our Hands? But then the Renegado stepping in; Come, come, Sir, said he, Catechises are for Christians, and not for you Moors: In short, Sir, your Daughter is not the Daughter you take her to be: She is turned Christian, and she it was that furnished us out of your Coffers with the means to purchase our Liberty; and thinks her self happy in embracing a Religion as full of Truth, as yours is of lies and falsehood. Is this true, Daughter, cried the Moor? My dear Father, I cannot deny it, answered Zoraida. How! replied the Moor, turned Christian! A precious Religion, by Mahomet, that teaches a Daughter to rob and enslave her Father. I am truly turned Christian, answered Zoraida, but I was not the Occasion of your Captivity; nor did I think to displease ye, but only to withdraw myself, and take a comfortable subsistence along with me, which I humbly thank ye, dear Sir, you never denied me; to the end I might go seek that Happiness among the Christians, which I could not find among the Moors. And what Happiness, confounded Devil of a Daughter, is that, quo the Moor? Nay Sir, you must ask Lela Marien that Question, replied Zoraida, she'll tell ye better then I can. Upon which, the Moor thinking himself derided by his own Flesh and Blood, with an incredible Dexterity flung himself headlong into the Sea, where he had perished without Redemption, but that his Clothes buoying him up above water, we had at length the Opportunity to hook him up again into the Vessel, half drowned and senseless. Which so afflicted good natured Zoraida, that she threw her self upon her Father, Pearls and Jewels and all, and washed him again with a Deluge of Tears, as if, poor Man, a' had not been wet enough before; but alas! she thought he had been dead, and that was only to embalm him. But because those vain Complaints signified nothing, I carried her off into the cabin i' my own Arms of Consolation, and kissed away those Tears that had sullied her fair Cheeks, telling her, that Fathers were to be forgot, when Husbands were i' the case: while the Rest took so much care of her Parent for my sake, that in two Hours he was as crank again as a Body-louse. At what time the Wind changing, Fortune guided us better then we expected, to a certain Bay secured by a Promontory, which the Moors call Cava Roumia, or the Wicked Christian Woman; having a Tradition among 'em, That the Daughter of Don Julian, who was the Occasion of the loss of Spain, was buried there. In that Place, perceiving the Wind favourable, and the Sea grown calm, we unbound the Moors and set 'em ashore, contrary to their Expectation But when we came to let down Agimorato into the Skiff, Wherefore is it, Christians, d' ye think, said he, that this wicked Woman is so desirous to see me at Liberty? Think ye, 'tis out of any Love or Pity that she has for me? No, no, 'tis only because she's ashamed I should be the Testimony of her wicked Designs. Don't you believe that she has changed her Religion, because she thinks it better then her own, but because she has heard the Women have more liberty in your Country then among the Moors. She has heard what Pranks the Women play there, how they go when they please, and come when they please; how they crow over their Husbands, nay, how they have choice of Gallants, and the liberty too to pick and choose; and that's the thing she'd be at, under the pretence of changing her Devotion. But Christian, said he, turning to myself, for I find thou art pretty intimate with her already, if it be thy Misfortune to have her, pad-lock her be sure, chain her, immure her, let her never see Sun nor Moon, but only Candle-light, when thou art with her; for of all Women, there are none more dangerous, nor more certain to show a Man a slippery Trick, then your Women that counterfeit Religion to cloak their mischievous Designs. And then turning to Zoraida, while myself and another held him, for fear he should a' done her a Mischief; Quistril without shane, said he, ingrateful, and inconsiderate Off-spring of my Loins, whither do thy youthful Ardours so impetuously hurry thee? thinkest thou all the Moors are Eunuchs but myself that gave thee life? cursed be the Hour I did it, and cursed be all my Care to breed thee up. Is it for this thou send'st me home to empty Chests and Coffers?— Here I stopped the stream of his Passion; for finding the Storm of his Rage begin to rise too high, I thought it best to order the Rowers to carry him away by main force, and put him safe ashore, knowing we should soon be out of hearing his Exclamation; for which, to tell ye the truth, in Justice I could not blame him. But he had no sooner set his foot upon dry Land, but he began to pour forth his Maledictions, like Pease out of a Sack, both against us, and all the whole Race of Men and Women for our sakes: beseeching Mahomet to beg of God to sink, destroy, confounded and overwhelm us, Ship, and all, to the bottom of the bottonles Pit. And when he thought us out of hearing, that his Curses and Lamentations would signify nothing, he fell a' tearing his Hair, rending his innocent Beard from his Chin, and wallowing upon the Sand with such visible Marks of Depair, that we were all afraid he would lay violent Hands upon himself. But then again, the Remainders of his Affection calming the Fury of his Transports, with all his force, Return, he cried, dear Child, return, I pardon all thy Folly. Leave those Ravishers the Wealth which they possess, only return, the sole Consolation of a Father that loves thee tenderly, and who must die in this desert, if thou forsakest him. Zoraida heard him, but all the Comfort that she gave him, was only this, That she desired Lela Marien, who had made her a Christian, to grant him Consolation; withall, calling the great Alla to witness, that she could not help what she had done, that the Christians had not forced her away, but that she could not withstand the Charms of Lela Marien, who incessantly pressed her to proceed in her Design, and therefore desired him not to be offended. I must confess, sh' had as good ha' said nothing, being assured that half these words were spok'n to the Wind; only that Zoraida had a mind to show her self a dutiful Child to the last Breath. For by this time we had lost sight of Agimorato, and now disengaged from all farther Trouble, as we thought, we sailed along with such a merry Gale, that made us hope we should reach the cost of Spain by break of Day. But as there is no good Fortune that comes pure and neat, without some Sting i' the Tail of it, whether it were our own bad luck, or whether Heaven had heard the Curses which the Moor had so hearty bestowed upon his Daughter, our Joy was not of long Continuance. For as we were in the open Sea, three hours of the Night being spent, spooming before the Wind with a brisk Gale, and all the Sail we could make, we saw by the light of the Moon, a round Vessel bearing right upon our Larboard-side, so that we had much ado to sheer clear of her. At the same time they haled us, and asked us, whence our Ship? what we were, and whither bound? All which Questions being made in French, the Renegado would return no Answer, assuring us, that they were French Pirates that made no Distinction of Friends or Foes. Upon which we held on our Course without answering a tittle, leaving the other Vessel by the Lee. But they resolving not to let us go so, sent two Messengers after us i' the Devil's Name, and guided certainly by his own invisible Paw. For the first Shot brought our main Mast by the board, so that it tumbled into the Sea, Sail and all: The second went through and through the Bark from side to side, and made such a wide Passage for the Salt-water, that finding our Vessel ready to sink, we called out for help. Thereupon they presently hoisted out their long Boat, and in a trice we had no less then twelve French men, with their Muskets and Match lighted, to attend us; who perceiving the Condition of our Bark, took us into their Boat, reproaching us for our Incivility; and after they had asked us as many Questions as they thought fit, fell a stripping us, as if we had been their Capital Enemies; for they took, without Compassion, all that we had, from us, except the Cascanet of Jewels, which the Renegado not knowing otherwise where to hid, flung into the Sea, for Neptune to present to some of his Concubines; choosing rather so to dispose of 'em, then that they should fall into the Hands of those that would ha' sold 'em, for Bristol-stones, and spent the Money upon Whores and Brandy. From Zoraida also they took the Bracelets about her Legs and her Wrists. But I did not so much mind the loss of the Pomp and Vanity of the World, as I feared the rude, lawless Rogues would ha' been scrambling for another Jewel more worth the● all the rest, which would ha' vexed me to the Soul, that I should ha' taken so much Pains for sailors Leavings. But as luck would have it, the Brutes were so intent upon dividing their Spoil, that they ne're minded Beauty by Moon-light. But that which put me into a deeper Consideration, was, That they consulted among themselves, whether they should not throw us all into the Sea, muffled up in our own Sails; for that having a Design to trade in some parts of Spain under English Colours, they were afraid we should discover the Piracy they had committed, and cause 'em to be stopped in Harbour. But the Captain, to whose share Zoraida's Plunder fell, thought himself so well paid for his nights Work, that he altered those violent Resolutions of his Diabolical Crew, and was so kind as to give us his long Boat, and as much Victuals as would serve to carry us ashore, of which he found we needed no great Quantity, being now within ken of the Spanish cost; the sight whereof did so revive our Hearts, that we forgot our late Misfortunes. Nay, more then that, the Captain being a Man of some Compassion, and out of I know not what Qualm of Generosity, believing it ungentile to leave a young Lady without any Money in her Pocket, return'd her about forty Crowns of her Gold, and would not permit the Souldiers to meddle with the Clothes that she had on. So that indeed what might we not ha' saved, had we been half so wise as Waltham's Calf, when we had time to prevent the worst. However, we were very thankful, Ile assure ye, for what we had; and so being dismissed, away we rowed toward the Land, and by Midnight-Moon-light got ashore. Where, as soon as we had set our Feet upon the firm Sand, we wept for Joy, and gave thanks to Heaven that the worst was no worse. After that, we fetched our Provision out of the Skiff, and all that Night sheltered ourselves, as well as we could, under the Covert of a Rock close by. So soon as Morning appeared, we sent up some of our Company to see if they could discover any Towns, or Villages, or Steeples at any distance; but there was neither the one nor the other to be seen, as if we had been in a desert. Thereupon we resolved to foot it along, under the Guidance of Fortune, till we met with something, or some Body, that might convince us we were got into an inhabited Country. Nothing grieved me, but to see that poor Zoraida's feet began to blister; so that I could ha' wished her for the time no bigger then a Pigmy, that I might ha' carried her at my back, as the Gypsies carry their Bantlings. I confess, sometimes mere Tenderness and Affection constrained me to take her up upon my shoulders; but then me thought, I looked so like a Petty-Chapman, with his Potter's Shop at his back, that I could not choose but laugh at myself; besides, that it hindered us from keeping place with our Company: So that all the help we had, was to walk Arm in Arm together, like Young Gammer, tugging her Young Gaffer along, with her Elbow in his Ribs, upon a holiday.  
In this posture we travelled along, till we heard the tinkling of a little Bell, which made us believe that there were some Sheep feeding not far off; and looking about us, we saw a Shepherd lying at the foot of a Cork-Tree, plotting no Treason I dare swear, but at his full ease, whitling a stick with his wood'n hasted Knife. As soon as we came within hearing, we called to him; but he, turning his Head, and seeing the Renegado and Zoraida in their Moors Habit, got upon his ten Toes, and believing all the Moors in Barbary had been at his heels, fell a running as hard as his Legs could carry him; crying out, Moors, Moors, Arm, Arm. Which put us into a perk of troubles, well knowing the Custom of the Place. For we were afraid that this should alarm the Cavalry, that lay ready to scour the Country upon such Occasions. And indeed, as we feared, so it happened; for about two hours after, as we were entering into a fair Plain out of a long Heath full of Brakes and briars, we saw about fifty Horse-men galloping towards us in very good Order. Nevertheless we resolved to abide their Charge without stirring a foot, believing they could not be so inhuman to hurt us. But alas, they were more astonished then we, when they found instead of the Moors which they looked for, a small Crew of miserable, ragged, forlorn, tattered Christians. What! are you, they cried, the terrible black Legion of Moors, that ha' given this hot Alarm? To which I was going about to give an Answer, at what time, one of our Companions knowing the Horse-man again that asked the Question, blessed be our Guardian-Angel, said he, that has brought us hither. For if I mistake not, we are in the Province of Velez Malaga; and if my long Slavery has not destroyed my Memory, you are such a One my Uncle. Upon which the Horse-man, after he had looked wistly in his face, whipped from his Saddle, and embracing the young Man, 'tis very true, said he; dear Nephew of my Soul, 'tis very true, I am that Uncle, that have a thousand times bewailed thee for dead( see now how the Story begins to thicken) and thee it is, that my Sister, and thy Mother and I have lamented and bewailed whole hours together, believing thee butted in the Belly of some Shark or Sword-fish; but Heavens! what weeping now will there be for Joy, when all thy Friends, that are still alive, shall see thee again. When the Souldiers perceived that we were Christian Slaves, they all alighted, and proffered us their Horses, to carry us to Malaga, whither it was about four miles and a half. But we refusing to ride single, they took us up behind 'em; and as for Zoraida, my Companion's Uncle took particular care of her. In this Equipage we were joyfully received by the People of the City, who having notice of our Arrival, came forth in heaps to meet us. But nothing surprised 'em so much as Zoraida's Beauty, at a time when the heat of traveling, and her joy to see her self safe among the Christians, brought such lively Colours into her Cheeks, that I may safely say without flattery, I never saw any thing more lovely in my life.  
All the People accompanied us to the great Church, where we alighted, to return thanks to Heaven for our Miraculous Deliverance from Slavery. And I remember that Zoraida, as soon as she entered the Church, and had looked a little about her,  told us, that she saw Faces which resembled that of Lela Marien, as she had appeared to her. 'tis very true, said I, for those are the very Pictures of her; which I informed her the rather, that she might pay the same Veneration to 'em, that the Christians did. Nor was Zoraida so thick skull'd, as not to know what I meant; for she acted the Christian so prettily, that all the People were overjoyed to see such a Convert.  
When we came out of the Church, the rest of my Companions had Lodging appointed for 'em at public Houses, where you may be sure they had their Diet and Being for nothing, to tell their Stories over and over to all comers and Goers. As for Zoraida, myself, and the Renegado, the soldiers Nephew carried us all three to his Father's House, who was a Slop-seller, a very sufficient Man; and one that received, and made as much of us as he did of his own Son. There we continued six days, till our Story grew threadbare( for Stories are like Flowers, delightful when fresh, but whither when too much breathed upon,) nor was the Slop-seller bound to maintain us for ever. Therefore after the six days of Honey-Moon were over, the Renegado went to seek his Fortune; but whither, or how he intended to dispose of himself, as having now done with him, I neither enquired, nor cared to know. As for Zoraida and myself, we lived upon the Liberality of the Courteous Pirate, of which I laid out some part to buy her a Mule, to ease her in traveling; and now I am going to see whether my Father be alive, and whether my Brothers have met with any better Fortune i' the World then I did. Though I must confess, I have no reason to complain of Fortune, who tho a little too unkindly she has bestowed her Portion upon another, has however bestowed the Wife upon me; and the Affection of Zoraida, whose Beauty and virtues I value above all the Riches in the World. But in regard this World is governed by Proverbs, of which there is one that tells us, More belongs to Wedlock, then four bare Legs in a Bed: And another, that says, Sweet-heart and Honey-bird keeps no House; therefore it is, that I would fain find out a way to reconcile myself with this angry, frowning, waspish World; and beg of Madam, Countess, duchess, Queen, Empress; nay, if Titles would please her, I would call her Saint Fortune, that she would condescend to favour me so far, as to assist me to recover myself into a condition, that I may be able in some measure, to retaliate Zoraida for the Losses she has sustained for my sake, that she may not repent her having exchanged and abandoned the Superfluity and Abundance of Mahumetism, for the Poverty and Misery of Christianity. In a word, the Patience which she has shown in all the Hardships which she has suffered, and all the Misfortunes that have befallen us is such, that I cannot but consider it with Admiration. But that which is more to be admired then all the rest, is her ardent desire to be a Christian. So that had I received no other Obligations at her hands, her virtue alone is that which engages me to esteem and honour her as long as I live. Nevertheless, in the midst of all my Joy to be possessed of Her, I cannot be at rest, till I am assured to find some corner of my Country, where I may possess so much Felicity in Tranquillity and Peace of Mind, fearing the death of my Father; and that my Brothers, if advanced, have found their Preferment in some places far distant from the seat of their Nativity; or else that Fortune has been no kinder to them, then to myself. This, Gentlemen, is my Story, which if I have not rehearsed to your content, you must pardon me, because I am no Orator: Or if I have been too prolix, I beseech ye to excuse me, because I could not make it any shorter. Besides, Gentlemen, I have observed, that when men tell stories of themselves, they are so full of their own Conceits, and so wrapped up i' their own Thoughts, that they never mind the Errors they commit; so that while they are, as it were, playing their own Game, they make those mistakes, which they can never so curiously observe as the standards by.   

CHAP. XV.  
Of what happened in the Inn; and of other Remarkable Passages, worthy to be known.  
THE Story's a good Story, quo Don Ferdinand, and will serve well enough over a Bottle o' Wine: But not so strange, nor so full of Accidents or Variety, that I have heard. For my Ears meet with but one change in all the whole Relation, and that was when the Pirates changed your Gold for ye, and gave the Lady the rest again. But gi' me leave to tell ye, for tho I ha' been a sinner i' my time, I am now and then a little queasie-conscienc'd; I do not like the Master-Spring, that gives motion to the whole Watch-work of your Discourse. And therefore, had I been the Surveyor of this Tale, I should ha' laid it upon some other Foundation. I cannot believe, the Alcoran itself does any where justify a Christian Daughter, under a pretended inflamed desire of turning Mahometan, to rob a dearly beloved Christian Parent of all he had i' the World, and run away with a Gentleman-like manner o' man, that had not a rag to his back. 'tis true, I ha' heard of a Christian dansel, that so soon as her Father was dead, got the Key of his Iron Chest, and cramming five hundred broad Pieces into her Apron, in her Brother's absence, ran away with it to a Grocer, and married him, and the Grocer married her for lucre of the Money. But this Christian Virgin was Conscionable; she took but five hundred out of five thousand, and left her Brother the rest. But this Lady robbed her Father of all he had i' the World, and left him nothing but a Garden, and his choice of a few Trees to hang himself, when he considered how his own Flesh and Blood had served him. You say, she did it at the importunity of Lela Marien: But this is to make our Saints in Bliss, no better then the Ancient Poets made their Heathen Gods and Goddesses, mere Whores and Pilferers. For if Lela Marien advised Zoraida to rob her Father; nay, as far as I can hear, she took a Journey to Earth a purpose to encourage and instruct her, then was Lela Marien Accessary to the crimes which can never enter into my thoughts. And therefore, Sir, the next time you tell your Story, I would have ye with the Pruning-knife of Discretion pare off some part of it, and only say, That the Young Lady, like Pasiphae, and several others, longed for something that Young Ladies, penned up as the Moors lock up their Daughters, by instinct of Nature long for at her Years; and that fixing her Fancy upon you, no body else would serve her turn— and so go on— What think you, Mr. Curate?— Truly, my Lord, replied the Curate, I have been all along of your Mind; and if I were to be Fore-man of Lela Marien's Grand-Jury, I would bring her in Ignoramus. However, Don Ferdinand, perceiving Zoraida to colour at his Opinion,  told the Captive, that since the Lady had paid so dear for her Learning, he pitied the misfortunes of her Beauty, tho not the disappointment of his own Expectations: And as for her Pious design of turning Christian, he was so far from discouraging her in it, that if both he and she would be pleased to accept his offer, and go along with him, he would prevail with his own Brother to be Zoraida's God-father; and would himself take care to put 'em both into such an Equipage, as should Command a Welcome to his Native Country, befiting Zoraida's Beauty and Merit. Which the Captive with many endearing compliments acknowledged for a high favour; but whether it were that he was unwilling to trust Zoraida with such a Whipster as Don Ferdinand seemed to be, he humbly excused himself, alleging his desire to return with all the speed he could, where his Heart was already gone before. However, the Curate, Cardenio, and the rest applauded Don Ferdinand's Generosity, and gave him a thousand Thanks, as if the Offer had been made to themselves.  
By this time the Sun was just gone down, when a Coach and Six came thundering to the Gate of the Inn, attended by several Horse-men, that road into the Yard, and asked for Lodging. To whom the Answer was, That the House was full. Full! said the Gentleman, it cannot be so full sure, but that there must be room for the Judge of the Prerogative. The Inn-keeper surprised to hear the Title, modestly answered, That all his Rooms were taken up, but if the Judge had a Bed of his own, as he questioned not but that he had, he would spare him his own Chamber. Presently appeared a comely graceful Person, in a long Gown with tufted Buttons, leading a young Lady in his Hand, about fifteen Years of Age, to outward Appearance, in her riding Habit, neat and fashionable; but in her own Person so fair and lovely withall, that she dazzled the Eyes of all that beholded her; as being nothing inferior to Madam Dorothy, Lucinda, or Zoraida themselves. Don Quixote standing at the Inn-door when the Judge alighted out of the Coach, so soon as he saw him ready to enter, Sir, said he, you may boldly advance into this Castle, and stay as long as you please, tho it be not so spacious, nor so well accommodated as it should be: But be it what it will, there must be room for Knights and Men of Learning, especially when accompanied with so much Beauty as you led along; to which, not only the Gates of Castles should fly open, but Rocks themselves should know their Duty, and remove, or else dissolve before her; and Mountains part asunder, or sink into the Earth, to give her way. Then enter, Sir, this Paradise, where you shall meet with Stars fit to attend the Sun that shines in your Hand; Valour and Courage in their Perfection, and Beauty in the Highest degree of Splendour. The serious Judge, amazed to hear Don Quixote's Bombast, surveyed him with a curious Eye, admiring his Dress and Aspect beyond his Words, and finding no Body to satisfy his Curiosity, resolved himself to have t'other view of the Mysterious Object, when Lucinda, Madam Dorothy, and Zoraida, having heard the Hostess to extol her new Guest, went to pay her the Civilities of Strangers, and invite her into their Company. And the same spreading News also brought Don Ferdinand, Cardenio, the Curate, and the rest of the Company to wait upon the Judge, as an unknown Person of Honour and Dignity, but more to behold the dazzling Beauty of the Young Lady, and compliment her into their Society. On the other side, the Grave Judge was so confounded to hear and see so much in so little time, that he had not leisure to consider where he was, or whether they were Apparitions or Realities. However, he put off his Hat with both Hands, bowed to the Right, and to the Left; and with a composed Formality, for many compliments that had been bestowed upon him, return'd a majestic and Brief I thank ye, Gentlemen: For Gentlemen he thought 'em to be, and Persons of Quality; but as for the Countenance, Actions, Accoutrements, and Behaviour of Don Quixote, he knew not what to imagine or conjecture. However, as much Gentlemen as he took 'em to be, the Judge, who was a Man of Experience, as one that had been Young in his time, resolved to prevent their Kissing-Dances with his Niece; and therefore as soon as he had taken his Chair at the upper end of the Table, he made a Decree i' the first place, that the Women should keep together i' the inner Room, after the Persian manner, as being a sufficient number to hold a Chat together, till they dropped fast asleep, and tyre the best Short-hand Writer in Christendom: And that the Men should drink and confer Notes together i' the outer Chamber, as a Guard to the Ladies.  
The separation being thus made, the Glass had not gone about many times, before the Slave, who had all along kept his Eye fixed upon the Judges Face, began to have strange Fancies and Imaginations in his Head, that the Judge was his own Brother; but being unwilling to trust his own judgement, he went forth, and enquired of one of the Judges Servants, what was his Master's Name, and what Country-man he was? Who, instead of answering him, asked him, where he was born, that he did not know Doctor— the Famousest Civilian in all Spain, who had advanced himself by his Learning, as being born but of mean Parentage among the Mountains of Leon. By which Answer, the Captive was confirmed in the truth of his Conjecture, that it was his Brother indeed, and the same that had chosen to betake himself to his Studies. Thereupon he took Don Ferdinand, Cardenio, and the Curate aside, and assured 'em the Judge was his Brother; and that he was certain of it by all the Circumstances which the Judge's Servant had  told him: Moreover, that the Young Lady was not his Niece, but his Daughter; whose Mother died in Child-bed, after she had brought her forth into the World. Thereupon he desired 'em to advice him what course he should take to discover himself, and whether it would not be his best way, to try whether his Brother would aclowledge him or no; in regard 'twas the fashion of the World to disown Poor Kindred. Let me alone, quo the Curate, to try th' Experiment; my mind gives me I shall ha' good luck, for I remember I rose with my Bum upward this Morning: Besides, by that skill in Physiognomy that I have, I do not find by the Judge's Face, that he is a Person of that haughty Humour, to despise People in misfortune.  
Thereupon, Supper being served in, the Slave made an Excuse to absent himself; and for the Ladies, they supped i' their Turkish Haram by themselves. The Curate therefore watching his time, about the middle of the Repast, after several chirping Cups had gone round( for many Judges will take up their Cups pretty smartly at Meals, which causes 'em as often to sleep upon the Bench:) I say, the Curate then taking his Opportunity, and addressing himself to the Judge, who was also at the same time in a pleasant Humour; Sir, said he, being formerly a Slave at Constantinople, I had then a Companion in misfortune, that bare the same surname as you do: And I'll assure ye, Sir, he was a brave stout Fellow, and one of the best Foot Officers that ever fought i' the Low-Countries: But the poor Man did not meet with that good Fortune which his Courage deserved. To which the Judge, I well know my own surname, quo he; but I pray, what was that Officer's Christ'n Name? He had two, replied the Curate, Ap Shenkin, ap Thomas, and was born, as he said, among the Mountains of Leon, or Prittain, I can't tell well which. And I remember particularly that he  told me one Story of himself, and two other Brothers that he had, how his Father was given to good Company, but of such a singular good Nature, that his Liberality purchased him many Hangers on; by which means finding his Estate begin to waste, he resolved in time to divide what he had left among his three Sons; giving 'em withal, at the same time such proper Counsel and Advice, as shew'd him to be a person that understood the World. My Companion, it seems, choose the hazardous Employment of a soldier, and betook himself to the Field, where, by his Valour, he advanced himself to be Captain of a Foot-Company, and had a fair Prospect of a Colonel's Place, had not Fortune laid a Block in his way, at which he stumbl'd, and fell into Captivity, being taken Prisoner at that same famous Battle of Lepanto, where so many Slaves recovered their Liberty. From Constantinople, it seems, he was carried to Argier, where the strangest Accident befell him that ever was known since the Creation. And here the Curate took an Occasion succinctly to give the Judge an Account of the whole Story of Zoraida and his Brother, till he had brought 'em to be taken and plundered of all they had by the French, who had reduced 'em to the lowest Abyss of Misery and Poverty. To which he added, that since that time he had heard no News of 'em, and whether they were arrived in that lamentable Condition upon the cost of Spain, or whether taken by other pirates, he could give no Account. To all this the Judge listened with such an Attention, as plainly discovered him to be not a little concerned; insomuch that when he found the Curate had quiter done, the poor Gentleman, with the Tears standing in his Eyes, fetched a deep Sigh. Ah, Sir, quo he, you little think what News you have  told me, nor how deeply you have pierced me to the Heart. That brave soldier you speak of, is, or was my eldest Brother, who out of a generous Ambition, choose to serve his Prince in the Wars, which was one of those Professions my Father proposed to our Election. For my part, I betook myself to the Law, an advantageous Study, if a man can but once get the knack on't, and learn to comply with his superiors. I thank God, I hit it so right, that I have advanced myself to the Degree of a Judge. As for our younger Brother, he went to the East-Indies, where he has vastly enriched himself, and so supplied my Father with his yearly Presents, that he is in a much better Condition to satisfy his liberal Humour then ever he was. The good old Gentleman is still alive, and preys continually to Heaven to spare him his Life, but only till he may have the Happiness to see once more his eldest Son, from whom he has never heard, since he last took his leave. And truly I wonder that so prudent a Man as my Brother, should be so long abroad, and never find so much leisure as to writ one single Line, to let a tender Father know what was become of him. Alas— had we understood his Condition, he should never ha' been beholding to a ridiculous Story of Lela Marien, and a miraculous Reed for his Liberty. All that I fear, is this, lest those cursed Frenchmen should ha' retaken him, and flung him into the Sea, to prevent his Discovery of their villainy. Poor and unfortunate Soul! knew I but where thou were't, thy Misery should soon be at an end, if all my Wealth could redeem thee from the deepest Dungeon in Barbary. And thou Zoraida, no less bountiful then fair, what recompense can be sufficient to reward thy Kindness to my Brother? What would I give to see thee? Nay, what would I not give to make two such unfortunate Lovers happy to their Satisfaction, after so much Hardship and Fellow-suffering? All which soft Expressions dropped with such Tenderness and Affection from the Judge's Lips, that all who heard him were deeply sensible of his fraternal Pity.  
Thereupon the Curate seeing his Design had so well succeeded, resolved to release the compassionate Judge from the Oppression of his Sorrows, and restore the Company to their former Mirth. To which purpose he rose from the Table, and going into the Lady's Apartment, and leading Zoraida by the Hand, attended by Madam Doroty, Lucinda, and the Judge's Daughter, brought her forth, and presenting her to the Judge, while the Captain stood incognito, to observe the Event; Dry up your Tears, Sir, said he, and enjoy your Wishes; see here the lovely Sister, whom you have so ardently desired to see, and there behold the Captain your dear Brother. You see, Sir, the miserable Condition to which the French have reduced 'em; which Heaven perhaps has so brought to pass, that you might have an Opportunity to exercise your Bounty. With that, the Captain ran to embrace his Brother; who having viewed him well, and finding him to be the same person, immediately threw his Arms about his Neck, while the Captain embraced the Judge's Waste, and both held each other so closely enfolded, that the one seemed to be Thistleworth-Steeple, and the other the Ivy that grows about it. And all the while the Judge wept, and the Captain wept, which set the Company a weeping to that Degree, that you could see no Faces for white Handkerchiefs; so that had a Stranger entered, he would ha' sworn it had been the House o' Mourning, or that the World had been at an end with' em. At length the Judge let go, and being ungrasp'd by his Brother, ran to embrace Zoraida, promising her all Ignoramus's jointure, Gownos, Silkoatos, Kirtellos,& Peticotos, for her Kindness to his Brother. Then he embraced the Captain again, and then again Zoraida. To tell ye truth, the good Gentleman was so overjoyed, that he knew not which to embrace first, nor which to embrace last. Then Zoraida embraced the Judge's Daughter, and the Judge's Daughter embraced her: And they two could not choose but have the t'other 'bout at Weeping, to show they were of the true Female Sex. And thus you see that Tears are like the Bells, which make no Distinction between Burials and Weddings. As for Don Quixote, he looked on all the while very seriously and gravely, but neither wept, nor spoken a Word, ascribing all these strange and various Events to the chimeras of Knight-Errantry. However, he offered to watch the Castle, lest any Giant or other boisterous Hector of a Belianis of Greece, hearing what an infinite Treasure of Beauty the Castle enclosed, might have a Design to surprise it. For which, they that knew him return'd him immediate Thanks; and for fear he should think himself slighted by the Judge, they gave the Judge a brief Account of his Humour, and  told him aloud, for Don Quixote to hear, that he was the valiant Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, who had promised to guard the Castle that Night, and to give 'em notice how the Hours passed, with a Good morrow my Masters all, good morrow. Upon which, the Judge could do no less then gravely and seriously accost him, and return him Thanks as the rest had done, for his Care and Civility. Only Sancho, poor Sancho in the midst of all this general rejoicing, stood freting, and fuming, and cursing to himself, to be kept so long up from his natural Rest; till at length having obtained his Master's Permission, he betook himself to his beloved Pack-saddle, and there laid him down to snore, with a Head less troubled then a sinking Banker's, you may be sure; for which he paid full dearly, as you will hear by the Sequel.  
For now the Ladies being retired to their Apartment, and their Men having accommodated themselves the best they could, Don Quixote went out of the Inn to watch the Castle, according to his Promise. And now was all the Inn wrapped up in Slumber, hushed and quiet as the Temple of Silence; when a little before day-break the Ladies were awakened by a well-tuned and most harmonious Voice, especially Madam Dorothy, by whose side, for want of a more comfortable Bedfellow, lay the fair Madam Clara, for so was the Judge's Daughter called. It was only a single Voice, and sometimes they heard it in the Court, and sometimes in the Stable. By and by came Cardenio knocking softly at the Chamber-door, and perceiving all were not fast; they that are not asleep, said he, let 'em come forth and hear a young Mule-driver sing. I profess, added he, his Voice is so delicious, that 'tis enough to enchant your Ears. We have heard him, replied Madam Dorothy, with wonderful Delight. But then Cardenio departing, and the Voice beginning a second time, Madam Dorothy listened with more Attention, and distinctly heard the following words.   

CHAP. XVI.  
Relating the Story of the young Mule-driver, with other strange Passages that happened in the Inn.  

I.  
I Am a young Sailor launched of late  
Into the wide Ocean of Love,  
Nor long did I rove,  
Ere a frigate so gay and nimble I met,  
That I fain would ha' laid her aboard:  
But alas! when I saw she was free  
To ha' spok'n wi' me,  
My sails I presently lor'd,  
So willing was I to ha' come by her Lee.   

II.  
But then a black Storm envelop'd the Skies,  
And away she tacked with the wind in her Poop,  
While I unable to fetch her up,  
Soon lost the sight of my prise.  
And ever since that, my fortune unkind,  
I ha' sailed up and down,  
Despairing to find  
Love's Haven so known, nor his great Sea-port Town.   

III.  
I looked for a Star that might ha' secured me,  
At least, as I thought, which the Poets assured me,  
Shone as bright as the Star i' the Tail of the Bear;  
But the hare-brained Poets talk idle, I fear;  
For I gaped i' the Skies  
For my Mistress's Eyes,  
But the Devil of any such Stars were there.   

IV.  
What's the matter, quo I, that thus I should miss  
The general Mart o' the World;  
Where all men are burl'd,  
To Love's Markets and Fairs  
With all sorts of wears?  
' Slife! let me but meet this frigate again,  
I'll hazard the Risco of wounded or slain,  
But I'll humble her Pride,  
And clap her aboard, or sink by her side.   
Here Madam Doroty, who till then had let Madam Clara sleep on, after she had waked her, Pardon me, Madam, said she, for giving ye this Disturbance— which was only that you might have the Opportunity to hear the most pleasant Voice i' the World. Madam Clara rubbing her Eyes, and stretching out her Legs, as not being fully come to her Senses, did not well apprehended at first what her Bedfellow said; so that Madam Doroty was forced to repeat her Excuse over again. But then when Madam Clara heard the Voice itself, she fell into such a strange trembling, as if the unmerciful Devil of a Quartan Ague had been rattling her tender Bones in a Temple In-and-In Box. Ah, Madam! said she, wherefore did ye wake me? It had been better for me to ha' slept my last, then have heard this unfortunate Songster. How, Madam! replied Madam Doroty, what's the matter? Why, 'tis no body but a rascally young Mule-driver that sings, let his Voice be never so sweet. No, no,— answered Mrs. Clara, you are mistak'n, 'tis a young Gentleman of a fair Estate, and a Person of good Quality, that comes not hither by accident— To tell ye truth, Madam, he's the very Person that I love above all the Persons i' the World; and if my Father were dead, as I wish to God a' were, I would mary him to morrow. Alas! I ha' been locked up, and watched, and guarded any time this half year, for fear I should make my escape out at the Garret-window to him— but— Madam Doroty strangely surprised to hear a young Girl of her years talk so feelingly of Love, and Marriage, and Garret-windows; I profess, Madam, quo she, I do not understand ye— pray explain yourself— and let us understand who this unfortunate Musician is— but stay— He's beginning to open his Pipes again— Pray let's hear the words of his Madrigal, if we can— You shall answer me my Questions, when he has done. When you please, Madam, replied Mrs. Clara; and so saying, she stopped both her Ears with her Fingers, and sunk down under the Bed clothes to prevent the Sound from reaching her Heart, while Madam Doroty listened with all imaginable Attention to the following Song.  

I.  
IN Chase of a Mistress I ramble, like one  
That fain would be doing as others ha' done;  
Tho what luck I shall have, or whether I must  
Still follow by Water, or choked wi' the Dust,  
That's more then I know; but this I am sure,  
The Doctor spoken right, whoever spoken truer,  
That a Hair of a Woman, with her Goldy-love-locks-on,  
Draws more then a yoke of Somerset-Oxen.   

II.  
Then Cupid, y' faith, for Age my own Brother,  
Be kind, as one Boy should be to another;  
Thou seest me scarce weaned from my sweet Sugar-sops,  
Yet would I be dabbling for better for worse;  
Then feed not my Passion with frivolous Hopes,  
Nor tyre my Fancy with Patience per-force;  
For if bauk'd i' my Humour, at random I run,  
Thy Godhead's contemned, and I am undone.   

III.  
There is one thing more I must tell thee, dear Love,  
These Smithfield Bargains I ne're could approve;  
I like not my Father's Match-broaking for Me,  
As if I could not please myself better then He.  
'tis Thou shalt direct me alone i' my Wooing;  
Then assist me, dear Love, my own Humour pursuing.  
For abandoned by thee, if at random I run,  
Thy Godhead's contemned, and I am undone.   
So soon as the sweet Songster had made an end, Mrs. Clara began her Complaints afresh; which redoubling Madam Doroty's Curiosity, she claimed the young Lady's Promise. At what time Mrs. Clara embracing Madam Doroty in her Arms, and laying her Lips to her Ear, lest Lucinda should hear their Discourse; He that sings, said she, is the Son of a great Lord in our Country, that lived at Madrid over-against my Father's House. I know not how this young Gentleman came to see me, unless it were at Church( where, you know, our young Gentlemen go more to look for Mistresses, then Devotion) I say, I cannot imagine where else he should ha' seen me, for our Windows were always kept shut. However it were, see me he did, and fell in love with me, and gave me to understand as much out at a Window that looked full upon ours; where I could stand and peep, and see him cry for madness that he could not come at me, that it grieved my very Heart to see him. Among the rest of the Signs that he made me, he would be showing me a Hoop-ring, and put it upon his Thumb, and then join both his Hands together, to let me understand that he would mary me. I was overjoyed to think I should have a Husband; for I was pretty ripe, and young and simplo tho I were, I had heard of Cupid's Name: Besides, my Mother was dead, and I lived all alone, and me-thought a Husband was the only thing that I wanted. But the Mischief was, I could not for my life contrive a way to let him know my Thoughts. So that all the Favour I could return him, was only when my Father was from home, to lift up the Lattice and show my Face; which put the young Lad into such a Passion, that he seemed to be almost distracted. When my Father was to go out of Town, I know not how he came to understand it, for I am sure I ne're could have the Opportunity to tell him, as I heard, he fell sick for Grief; so that I could not be so happy as to take my leave of him, not so much as with my Eyes. But after we had been two days upon the Road, as we were entering into the Inn, where we lay last Night, I saw him standing at the Inn-Gate in the Habit of a Mule-driver, so perfectly disguised, that had I not always since the first time I say him, carried his Portraiture in my Heart, I should never ha' known him again. I confess I was astonished to see him, and yet I was glad he was so near me. And he for his part, has his bugle Eyes always fixed upon me, unless it be when I am in my Father's Company, from whom he conceals himself with all the Care imaginable. And now in this Condition I know not what in the world to do; for being so well satisfied as I am of his Condition, and that it is for me that he suffers all this Hardship, and travels thus a-foot, I am ready to die for Sorrow; and wherever he sets his Feet, there do I fix my Eyes. I wonder i' my heart how he stolen from his Father, who loves him entirely, as being his only Heir, and all the Children he has; and a lovely Youth to boot, as you will say when you see him. More then that, all these Verses that he sings he makes himself; for he is a most curious Poet, and as I heard say, he made Verses at School before he was twelve years old. And therefore, Madam, I must tell ye, that every time I see him, or hear him sing, my Heart is at my Mouth, an all my Blood comes into my Face; which makes me ready to die, for fear lest the crafty Fox my Father should come to discover something. For tho I never spoken to the poor Lad i' my life, yet methinks I know not how to live without him. And thus, Madam, I have discovered to ye a great Secret, and as much as I know concerning this young Songster, who has so delightfully charmed your Ears. Say no more, cried Mrs. Doroty, 'tis enough, Mrs. Clara, never trouble yourself, I know better what belongs to these Love jobs then you; and if you will but let me alone, I make no question but to bring this intricate Business to such a Conclusion as so fair and honest Beginnings deserve. Alas, Madam! what happy Issue can I expect, if his Father be so rich, and so noble, as they say he is? For then will he be so far from thinking me fit to be his Wife, that he will not deem me worthy to wipe his Shoes. How! replied Madam Dorothy; as if it were not a common thing for Noble-men now adays to mary Citizens Daughters! and I hope 'tis not come to that yet, for a Tradesman's Daughter to hold up her Nose with a Judge's Daughter. That's nothing, replied Mrs. Clara, for I ha' heard of a Judge's Daughter that has married her Father's clerk. And therefore I had rather the young Gentleman would return home again. Perhaps Time and long Absence( for we are going to settle far off in another Province) may at last wear him out of my Thoughts; tho I must confess I ha' but a bad Opinion of the Cure. I wonder i' my Heart, what Match-making Devil it was that put this amorous Intrique into our young Brains; for I dare say, both of us together cannot make nine and twenty yet; he being but sixteen, and I, as my Father says, not full thirteen till next Bartholomew Fair. At which words, the subtle Madam Doroty could not forbear laughing, to hear one that was so ready for a Husband, talk so like a Girl in her Sampler. Come, Madam, said she, let's sleep the rest of the Night, to morrow I hope that Fortune, who has so well behaved her self hitherto, will make a good end of her own Comedy.  
Thus all was hushed and quiet again i' the Inn, not a weasel stirring; only the Inn-keeper's Daughter and Maritornes well acquainted by this time with Don Quixote's blind side, were resolved to play him a Trick of Youth to make themselves Sport, while the Knight in complete armor, and a Horse-back was parading and keeping strict Watch about the Inn.  
You must know then, that in all the House there was no other Window that looked out into the Field, but only a hole i' the Wall to put Straw into the Stable. Out of which hole it was, that the Inn-keeper's Daughter and Maritornes perceived Don Quixote leaning upon his Lance in a languishing Posture, and fetching such profound and dolorous Sighs, as if Death had denied him his last Petition for Life. Fair Dulcinea of Toboso, cried he, with an amorous and effeminate Voice, Most Sovereign Queen of Beauty, Perfection of Wisdom and Discretion, Treasury of Debonairness and Behaviour, Vertue's Exchequer, and Exemplar of whatever is honest, profitable and delightful in this World, What is now your Princely Highness doing? Voutsafes your Highness one poor Thought upon your Beauty's Slave, who thus exposes himself for your sake alone, to so much Danger, yet with so much Patience and Courage? Tell me, Goddess with three Faces, tell me what she thinks, and what she does. For my mind gives me that thou beholdest her with Envy, walking in one of the sumptuous Galleries of her magnificent Palace, or leaning over some gilded Balcony, meditating some happy means to sand Comfort to my Mind, to calm the restless Disturbances of my Thoughts, and to restore Repose and tranquillity to my Soul; how she may recall me from a rigorous Death, to a Life full of Felicity; and without engaging her Honour, recompense my Services. And thou Sun, who questionless dost hast'n thy Course, not so much to restore Day to Mortals, as to behold that Master-piece of Miracles, salute her in my behalf so soon as thou seest her. But forbear by any means to kiss her Lips, when thou makest thy Approaches to her Person, for she's reserved and modest beyond Imagination; and to be refused a Kiss, would be a greater Disgrace to thee, then the Affront which that same wanton and ingrateful hussy put upon thee, when she made thee sweat in running after her o'er the Plains of Thessaly, or along the Banks of Peneus, for I ha' forgot which of the Places it was.  
In these and such like eloquent Raptures was Don Quixote pleasing and carressing his vain Fancy, when he was interrupted by the Inn-keeper's Daughter, who beckoning to him with her hand, and calling him with a low Voice; Come hither, I beseech ye, cried she, quickly, quickly, Sir Knight. Upon that the amorous Knight turned his head, and perceiving by the light of the Moon, that some body called to him from the hole i' the Cockloft, which he took, at least, for a Window with golden Bars, such as belonged to all those Castles that his fond Imagination had built i' the Air, he began as idly to conceive, that this could be no other then the Lord o' the Castle's Daughter, who altogether charmed, and desperately in love with his merit, importuned him to appease the Torment of her Passion. And with these Conundrums in his Pate, unwilling to show himself a Clown, he approached the Hay-loft, where beholding two young Damsels; Most beautiful Lady, quo he, believe the truest Knight that ever kissed the Hand of the fairest Virgin, if my Bowels do not yern within me to find your amorous Passion so unhappily misplaced. But do not blame a miserable Knight-Errant, who is not Master of his own Will, whom Love has enthralled ever since that very Moment that another became the absolute Mistress of his Soul. Pardon me, Madam, I say, a Crime that I am no way guilty of; return, I beseech ye, to your Chamber, and do not heap Ingratitude upon me by the Accumulation of your Favours. But if in any other thing then Love I may repay your Kindness, demand it boldly; for by the Lovely Eyes of that sweet Enemy of mine, whose Slave I am, I swear, if you require it, I will immediately prostrate at your Feet a thousand Giants Heads, the snaky Curls of terrible Medasa's hairy Scalp, the Golden Fleece, nay, the very Beams of the Sun himself.  
My Mistress has no need of any of these Toys, Sir Knight, replied Maritornes. What are then your Lady's Wants, most prudent Governante, replied Don Quixote? Only lend me one of your fair Hands, answered Maritornes, to assuage in some measure her violent Ardour that brought her to this Window, so much to the hazard of her Life, that if her Father should but know it, he would shred her as small as minced Meat; or if not so, I'm sure the biggest Bit of her would be but her Ear. How! replied Don Quixote, I'd fain see that Son of a Whore Father, that durst be so insolent as to touch the soft and tender Members of his enamoured Daughter, his last end should be a most dreadful Example to all Fathers how they interrupted their Daughters Caterwawling.  
Maritornes, who made no question but that Don Quixote, after the Oath he had so solemnly sworn, would give her his Sword-grasping Hand, reached out the Halter of Sancho's Ass; at what time the courteous Don Quixote raising himself upon his Stirrups, and stretching forth his naked four Fingers and Thumb, with the wrinkl'd Back and Paume thereto belonging; There, Madam, said he, behold the Hand which you require, or rather, that Flail to thrash those Oppressors that trouble the Earth. That Hand, I say, which never Lady had yet the Honour to touch, no not she who has the sole disposal both of my Body and Soul. Not that I give it ye to kiss, but to admire the Contexture of the Nerves, the knitting of these Muscles, the swelling and capaciousness of these Veins; and that you may judge of the Strength of the Arm that has such a Hand at the end of it.  
We shall see that presently, replied Maritornes; and so having made a sliding Knot at one end of the Halter, she fastened it about Don Quixote's Wrist, and tied the other end to the boult of the Door of the Hay-loft, with all the Strength and Skill she had. Presently Don Quixote perceiving the Halter begin to pinch and gird his Wrist, By the Mass, Lady, quo he, I don't like your Bracelets; you talk of kissing may Hand, and I think you intend to rend it from my Wrist-bone. Spare it, I beseech ye, Madam, for I assure ye, 'tis no way guilty of the Torment which I cause ye to suffer; there is no reason you should revenge yourself upon an innocent Member. Alas! Madam, 'tis none of my Hand's Fault, that your Heart is so tormented for love of me— If you will be playing Love-tricks, play Love-tricks— This is Horse-play, Madam; by my faith, I don't like it— and therefore if I must be your Slave, I beseech ye, bind me in another Fashion.  
But these Excuses, these compliments, these Expostulations signified nothing; the unfortunate Invincible pleaded all this while to the Wind; for the two Ladies that had hampered him, not in the Fetters of Love, but with his own Squire's Ass's Halter, were gone to make wanton Comments by themselves upon the unlucky Prank they had played.  
All this while the poor Knight stood upright in his Stirups, with his Arm i' the hole, and fast bound by the Wrist, in a panic Fear, lest Rosinante should take a frisk from under him, and leave him to suffer a new Torment, which the Ten Persecutions never dreamed of. So that he durst not move either to the right or left, for fear of disturbing his stead, whose Patience he knew was such, that of himself, without being switch'd or Spur-gall'd, he would stand i' the same Posture a whole Age together. Therefore after he had continued in this Affliction for some time, perceiving the Ladies were vanished, he began to think it was some piece of Enchantment, such as befell him, when the enchanted Moor had almost pounded him into Almond Butter i' the same Castle; and then he cursed his own imprudent Noddle, that had exposed him a second time to the same Snare of Sorcery and Witchcraft. Nevertheless, he tugged, and hawll'd, and pulled with all the Strength of his Man-slaying Arm; but the more he pulled, the faster he found the Knot, and his Flesh the harder gripped. So that the poor Knight was forced to stand a Tip-toe in his Stirrups, not being able to seat himself in his Saddle, unless he should have made an absolute Divorce between his Hand and his Arm, that Nature had joined together. How many times in this Condition, did he wish for that miraculous Sword of Amadis, which cut in sunder all the Knots of Enchantment, as you would cut a Pack-thread with a Pen-knife? How many times did he bewhore and bejade Fortune, for depriving the Earth of the Succour of his wrong-revenging Arm, when the World had such emergent Occasions of his Assistance? How many times did he invoke his dear Dulcinea deal Toboso? How many times did he call for his faithful Squire, who lying at his Ease upon the Pack-saddle of his Ass, and drowned in sweet Sleep, had now forgot there was ever any such a Man as his Master in the number of Mortals? How many times did he implore the Aid of the two Necromancers, Lirgand and Alquiff, and call upon his dear Friend Urganda the Sorceress?  
At length Madam Aurora, and the Tel-tale Sun discovered him too, hanging by one Arm, like a great Calf by one Leg in a Slaughter-house, which put him into such a strange Confusion, that he fell a roaring like two Bulls fighting for a Cow in a Meadow, and he was so absolutely convinced of his being enchanted, seeing Rosinante stand so immovable, as if his Hoofs had been pegg'd to the Ground, that he gave over questioning, but that he and his honest Horse were to stand there in that Posture for some Ages together, without eating, drinking, or sleeping, till relieved by some compassionate Necromancer.  
At the same time four Horse-men well armed, and in good Equipage, rapp'd at the Inn-Gate, as if they were in hast to be let in; which Don Quixote observing, that he might not be wanting however in the Duty of a faithful Sentinel; Knights, or Squires, or whatever ye are, said he, forbear knocking at the Castle-Gate. Had ye either common Sense or Manners, you might easily perceive by the stillness within, that the Constable and his Servants are fast i' their Beds; and as y' are Knights, might know, 'tis not the Custom for Castle-Gates to be opened before Sun-rise. Pray stay therefore, as ye ought, till the Sun be up, and then we shall see whether it be safe or no for the Gates to give ye Entrance; and this he uttered so surlily, and so tartly, as if he had fed upon Tewksbury Mustard all Night.  
I' the Devil's Name, cried one of the Horse men, what Fort or Castle is here, that should oblige us to all these Ceremonies? And therefore if thou art the Inn-keeper, prithee open the Gates, for we are in hast to bait our Horses and be gone. Dogs of Knights, quo Don Quixote, do I look like an Inn-keeper? I know not who thou look'st like, cried another, but I'm sure th'art out o' thy Wits, to call this a Castle. I say, 'tis a Castle, replied Don Quixote, and one of the best i' the Province; and there are Persons within, whose Scepter'd Hands and crwoned Heads I stand to guard. I'll warrant ye, Mr. Scare-crow, cried another of the Horse-men, some paltry Gang of strolling Players, that sometimes lewdly act the Parts of Kings and Emperors; and you, like a Clout in a Cherry three, stand to watch their lousy Tinsel!— Else I can't imagine what crwoned Heads should be lodged with so little none about 'em, in such a Hovel of an Inn as this. I perceive, quo Don Quixote, y' are all a Company of Buffleheads as to the Affairs o' the World, that understand so little the Miracles of Chivalry. To that the Horse-men made no farther Answer, but being tired with such a sort of Bedlam gibberish, fell a bounding and thundering at the Inn-Gate with such a Fury, that they awakened the whole House, and fetched the Inn-keeper out of his Straw to open the Gates himself. But in the mean time it so fell out, that one of the Horse-men's Beasts, which happened to be a mere, smelling Rosinante, who, poor melancholy Creature, stood as quietly as a Lamb, supporting his Master stretched out at his full length; as if he had been reaching at a Hen roost, made toward him with an amorous Behaviour. On the other side Rosinante, Flesh and Blood like other Horses, could not forbear to meet the Caresses of so loving a Mistress, which caused him to turn soberly about to show his Breeding. At what time Don Quixote having lost his footing, had fallen like a big of led to the ground, had he not hung by the Wrist, like a Westphalia Ham in an Oyl-man's Shop. 'twas an unmerciful Twitch, you may be sure, that the whole weight of so much Flesh and Bones, enclosed in so much Iron, gave to one small Member, and the Pain no less tormenting, while the Sinews were ready to crack: Which Don Quixote augmented by stretching out his Legs to feel for the Ground with his Toes, which put him still more upon the Rack, out of a vain Hope to give himself Relief.   

CHAP. XVII.  
Being a Continuation of unheard-of Adventures.  
THE dreadful Bellowing and Out-cries which Don Quixote made in this unsupportable Martyrdom were such, that the Inn-keeper scared almost out of his Wits, opened the Gate, and accompanied by the Horse-men, repaired toward the Noise, to see what was the Matter. In the mean time Maritornes, wakened at the same instant by the knights howling, and easily divining the Occasion, steals into the Hay-loft, and having dissolved the enchantment, by untying the Halter, gave the distressed Warrior his Liberty; who being released, presently fell to the Ground like a ston, in the sight of the Horse-men and the Inn-keeper, who were all very inquisitive to know the Cause of his roaring so hideously, as if all the Winds in Lapland had been penned up in his Guts. But so far was he from giving an Answer, that being got upon his Legs, up he whipped upon Rosinante, shouldered his Buckler, couched his Lance, and trotting a little way up the Field to take his Career, returns upon a full speed, as if the Devil had driven him, crying out, Whoever dares maintain, that I ha' been deservedly enchanted, lies from his Throat to the bottom of his Guts, and I defy him for the Son of ten thousand Whores; and if the Princess of Micomicona will give me leave, I challenge him to single battle. The Travellers were strangely surprised at Don Quixote's Fury, but being informed of his Humour, they took no farther notice of him; only asked the Inn-keeper, if there were not in his House a young Gentleman of about fifteen years of Age, clad like a Mule-driver, giving him all the Marks of the Youth that was up to the hard Eyes in love with Madam Clara. Truly, replied the Inn-keeper, there are such a Number of People of all sorts i' the house at this present, that I never went about to take particular Cognizance of any single Person. Presently one of the Horse-men espying the Judge's Coachman, cried out, he must be here without question, for that's the very Coachman that driven the Coach which he is said to ha' followed. Let one of us, added he, stand at the Inn-Gate, while the rest search about the House; and it would not be amiss, that some body should keep riding about the Inn to prevent his Escape over the Walls. All which the Inn-keeper observed, but could not imagine the Reason of so much extraordinary Circumspection, only thought 'twas to find out the Lad, of whom they had given him such a punctual Description before.  
By this time the Sun was mounted high i' the Sky, and the noise which Don Quixote made, had awakened all the House; so that every body began to think of getting up, especially Madam Doroty and Mrs. Clara, who could neither of 'em sleep; the one to think her Inamorato should be so near her, and the other, out of an eager Curiosity to see what sort of Demi-Cherubim he was.  
In the mean time, Don Quixote perceiving the Travellers took no Cognizance of his Challenge, and that not one of 'em vouchsafed so much as to think him worth a Look, breathed nothing but Rage and Indignation; and but that he was afraid to transgress the sacred Laws of Chivalry, after he had passed his word, had certainly attacked 'em all four together, and made 'em know their Driver. But in regard he could not attempt any enterprise, till he had restored the Princess of Micomicona to her Throne, he mustered up all his Patience, and prevailed upon his Passion to spare the Travellers for that time. Of whom, one of the Number having by this, found the young Person they sought for, sleeping securely by the side of a Mule-driver, after he had waked him by pulling him strongly by the Arm; In good truth, Mr. Lewis, said he, I ha' found ye in an Equipage very much befiting a Person of your Quality, and this Bed is monstrously suitable to the softness wherein you have been brought up. The young Lad, not yet fully come to himself, began to rub his drowsy Eyes, and looking wistly upon the Person that held him by the Arm, knew him at length to be one of his Father's Servants; which put him into such a Consternation, that he lay for a long time like one that had lost the use of his Tongue. Mr. Lewis, Mr. Lewis, continued the Servant, if it be a Love ramble that y' are now upon, your best way will be to give over your Chase at present, and return home with us, unless you have a Design to hast'n your Father into the other World; for nothing else can be expected from the pining Anguish which he suffers by reason of your unadvised Absence. This I shall also add, that you are safe from the Doctor's Anger, and the Birchen-Lashes of his Fury; for your Father believing you were fled from his Paedagogical Tyranny, has vowed never to sand ye to that House of Correction any more. Hartlikins, quo Mr. Lewis, how came my Father to know which way I was gone, or that I was thus disguised? Why, Sir, one of your School-fellows that you had made privy to your Design, was he that made the Discovery, seeing your Father in such a deplorable Toss for want of your Company. Thereupon he sent myself, and three more of his Gnetlemen after your Lordship; and now how glad are we to be the Instruments of restoring ye so soon as we hope we shall, to the Embraces of a tender Father, who certainly cannot but give us Annuities for our lives, for the Dispatch we ha' made, and the Comfort we shall bring him in his old Age. But still I hope 'tis at my Choice whether I'll go along with ye, or no, replied young Don Lewis. Why sure, Sir, replied the Servant, I hope the Devil has not bewitched ye to follow this Course of life; neither can I think you can be so ungracious toward my Lord your Father— All this Discourse the Mule-driver that lay i' the Straw by Don Lewis, attentively heard, and gave notice of it to D. Ferdinand and the rest, who were by this time up and harness'd, telling 'em how the Servant called the young Lad, my Lord; and how they intended to carry him back to his Father, in spite of his Teeth. Which Information of the Mule-driver, together with the delicate Voice, which it was reported he had, made 'em all earnestly desirous to know who he was, with a Resolution to assist him, if any Violence should be offered him. And with these Thoughts they went to the Stable, where they found the young Lad and the Servant in a hot Dispute together. At the same time Madam Doroty whips out of her Chamber, and meeting Cardenio,  told him in few words what she knew concerning Mrs. Clara and the young Songster; and he on the other side, recounted to Madam Doroty what had passed between Don Lewis and his Father's Servants; which he could not do so privately, but that Mrs. Clara, who, with itching Ears, followed Mrs. Doroty close at the Heels, over-heard him; which was such an unwelcome Breakfast to her empty Stomach, that had not Madam Doroty ran with all imaginable hast to support her, she had fallen to the Ground; but as good luck would have it, she got to her in Pudding-time, and carried her back to her Chamber, whither Cardenio desired the fainting Lady to return, with a Promise to bring all things to rights in a short time. And now the four Servants were all got about Don Lewis, persuading him to return home forthwith, not allowing him time so much as to wash his Hands and comb his Head. Soft and fair, quo Don Lewis, my Mother stayed for me before she had me, and my Father is like to stay for me too, till I have dispatched a Business that concerns my Life, my Honour, and my Soul. Upon which, the Yeoman of the Bottles, and the rest of his Gang, let fall such words, whereby Don Lewis might easily understand they were resolved to carry him home like a Cloak-bag, or a Calf before a Butcher, if he would not be conformable. That you may do, cried D. Lewis when I am dead, for then I may be Stuffing proper enough for a Leathern mail.  
Thus the Dispute growing hot o' both sides, all the Men that were in the Inn, ran out to see what was the matter, Cardenio, D. Ferdinand, and his Friends, the Judge, the Curate, the Barber, and Don Quixote also, who seeing all that Company, thought the Castle wanted no more guarding. Presently Cardenio, who understood the Story of D. Lewis better then the rest, demanded of his Father's Servants, Wherefore they went about to carry the young Gentleman away against his Will? The Reason is, cried they, that we may restore the old Gentleman his Father to his Wits, who is ready to run mad for his Absence. That's nothing to you, replied D. Lewis, whether my Father run mad or no; I will return when I think good myself: and if I am not minded so to do, all that you can do shall never force me. Pray, Sir, then let Reason over-rule ye, cried one of the Servants; but if it won't prevail with you, we must endeavour to do our Duties. Upon which, the Judge interposing, Pray, Gentlemen, said he, let's understand the bottom of this business. Immediately one of the Servants knowing the Judge by his Face, after he had made him a reverend Bow, Does not your Lordship know, said he, this young Springal, whose Father lived so long over-against your House? and yet indeed, my Lord, it is no wonder at present, considering how featly the young Gentleman has bedizon'd himself. Upon which words, the Judge looking wistly in his Face, and calling him to mind; Good God, said he, my Lord D. Lewis! embracing him in his Arms, What childish Whimsies are these? What Affair of Life and Death, as if pursued by a Messenger, has clouded ye in this Disguise so much beneath your Quality? But then perceiving the Tears run down his youthful Cheeks, and that he made him no Answer, he desired the Company to stay a little, while he took him into a little private Examination.  
Now while the Judge was thus discoursing, and laying the Law to D. Lewis, there happened a great hurly burly at the Inn-Gate; for it seems that two Men, who had lain i' the Inn that Night, finding the People of the House were all busy, would fain ha' stolen away without paying their Reckoning; but the Inn-keeper more mindful of his Bar, then of Love-stories, stopped 'em at the Gate; and being in a Passion, demanded his Money with so much Choler and foul Language, that the two Men began to return him Score for his Scores, and to pay him in hard Blows, which they laid on so thick, that the Inn-keeper was forced to cry out for help. Presently the Hostess and her Daughter ran to his Assistance; but not able to do any good, the Daughter perceiving Don Quixote walking about, as one that had least to do i' the Company, ran speedily to him, and pulling him by the Arm, Sir, said she, I beseech ye, now show that invincible Power that Heaven has bestowed upon ye, and help my poor Father yonder in distress, and ready to be murdered by two monstrous Giants. Fair Lady, answered Don Quixote, with a flegmatick Gravity, and a most surly Grace, you must excuse me, for indeed my word is past, and I dare not engage in any Quarrel, till I have finished an Adventure which I have promised to undertake. All the Service I can do your Ladyship at present, is only to give your Father good Counsel. Go then to the Constable of the Castle, and bid him maintain the Combat to his best Advantage, so as not to be vanquished; either by fighting on, or running away, as shall be most for his Convenience. In the mean time I will wait upon the Princess of Micomicon, for leave to assist him; which if I obtain, as I make no question but to do, you shall see me deliver him safe out of his Enemies hands either dead or alive. Wo is me a Sinner, cried Maritornes! before you can get leave of the Princess, my Master will be in another World. Pray Ladies, answered he, be but so kind as to suffer me to ask that leave, which is so necessary for me to obtain. For then, what tho the Constable of the Castle should be i' the other World? I'll fetch him thence with a Wannion in spite of all the Devils in Hell; or at least I'll revenge him so dismally upon his Enemies, that I'll sand 'em all to a worse Place. And so saying, he went and threw himself at Madam Doroty's Knees, and in the most exquisite Terms that the Romantick Raptures of Knight-Errantry could express, most humbly besought her to release him a minute or two from the Chains of her Service, that he might but only go and rescue the Constable of the Castle from the Saracen-Jaws of two inhuman Giants that were ready to devour him. To which the Princess having most graciously condescended, the Knight grasping his keen Kil-zadog, and covering his left-Shoulder with his Buckler, flew like lightning to the Gate of the Castle, where the two Butchers were belabouring the Constable, like two Fellows dusting an old Piece of Arras. But no sooner did he behold the two Combatants, but of a sudden he stopped short, like a Setting-dog upon the Scent of a Covey, and stood as stock-still, as if his Feet had been enchanted to the Ground; and whatever the Daughter and Maritornes could do, to provoke and incense his noble Passion, would not stir the tenth part of an Inch. 'tis against the Laws of Chivalry, cried Don Quixote, for me to employ my Sword in the Murder of mean and paltry Squires; and therefore call Sancho— the Honour of these pitiful Jobs of Revenge belongs to him. This was the Issue of Don Quixote's Assistance, while the two Butchers were mawling the poor Inn-keeper's Face and Eyes without Mercy: at what time the Hostess, her Daughter, and Maritornes enraged to see the Champions Courage so strangely bauk'd, called him ten thousand Dastards, and cowardly Rascals, fitter to drive Hogs then to be a Knight-Errant.  
All this while the Judge and Don Lewis were in deep Discourse together, who being pressed by the Judge to tell him the reason of his sorry Disguise, and the Ramble he had taken: Sir, said he, grasping hard the Judge's hand in his own, like a person who had something that lay heavy at his Heart, and with Tears in his Eyes, My Distemper is Love, the common Plague of Youth in this World: For, having seen your Daughter, Mrs. Clara, while you lived over-against my Father's House, to be free wi' ye, Sir, her Beauty hs made a Wound i' my Heart, that i' my Conscience you may lay your three Fingers in it; and therefore since only she can be my Surgeon, if you think it convenient, the Price of her Cure shall be a loving Husband in the Person of Don Lewis; and this is the true Reason wherefore I have thus forsak'n my Father's House, resolving to follow her wherever she go; altho as yet, I know, she's not acquainted with my Passion, in regard I was never yet so happy as to express my Passion to her. In short, Sir, you know who I am; I am my Father's only Son and Heir, as my Mother assured Him, and he believes. If then you think me worthy your Alliance, make me happy at last in the Possession of your Daughter; and I make no question, but you will find in me a Son-in-Law as dutiful, and a Husband as respectful as you can desire; and as for my own Father, should he have other Designs of disposing me, that will become frustrate by my own choice; I make no question but when he sees how well I have chosen for myself, he will heark'n to Reason.  
Here the enamoured young Gentleman stopped, while the Judge in a strange surprise, and not knowing what Answer to make of a sudden, as being used to deliberate before he gave Sentence, said no more, but bid the young Gentleman not disquiet himself; for that, if he could prevail with his Father's Servants to let him stay that Day, he would consider his Case, and contrive what was most proper to be done for his Satisfaction. Upon which Don Lewis, forcing the Auditor's hand to his Mouth, caressed it with his Lips, and bathed it with his Tears; which so mollified the Judge's Heart, especially knowing how advantageous a Match D. Lewis would prove to his Daughter, that the Match had been made, had Don Lewis's Father been there to have agreed upon the jointure.  
By this time the Inn-keeper and his Guests were at peace and quiet; for tho Don Quixote could not prevail by his huffing and swaggering, yet he laid the Law to the Butchers with that Discretion and Moderation, that they paid their Reckoning, and quietly departed. D. Lewis's Servants also patiently expected the end of the Judge's Discourse, and their Master's Resolution. In a word, all things were hushed and quiet again; or at least, there was a fair Probability of a general Peace; when as the Devil, that perpetual coiner of Mischief, would have it, who should enter the Inn, but the Barber from whom Don Quixote had forcibly taken Mambrino's Helmet, and Sancho the Furniture of his Ass, by way of an honest high-way Exchange. This same Barber carried his Mule into the Stable, where seeing Sancho Panca, and calling him again to mind; Most noble Squire Thief, quo he, have I found ye at length! and then seconding his Words with down-right Blows; Restore me, Rogue, my basin, my Pack-saddle, and the rest of my Furniture, or I'll make mummy o' thy Bones. Sancho finding himself so unexpectedly assaulted, and which was worse, so scandalously abused with scurrilous Language, snatched up the Pack-saddle, for which the Barber contested, with one hand, and with the Knuckles of the other, directed his Fist so full upon the Barber's Chop's, that he unloosen'd all that side of his Teeth, and made him swallow an Ounce of his Blood. For all this the Barber would not let go his hold o' the Pack-saddle, but after he had emptied his Mouth as well as he could, bawled out with all his force, and made such a Noise, that the Guests ran all to the Stable to understand the reason of the Combustion— Justice, Justice, i' the King's Name, quo the Barber; here's a high-way Rogue has robbed me, and because I challenge my Goods where I find 'em, the Villain would murder me— Ye impudent Tooth-drawing Dog, cried Sancho, I a herdman! ye lie i' your Throat; these are the Spoils of War, which my Master fairly gained in battle. Don Quixote beholded all this with incredible Delight, pleased in his Soul to see how vigorously his Squire defended himself, and offended his Adversary. And now he began to think his Squire a Man of Prowess, and resolved to have him dubbed with the first Opportunity, as believing the Order would receive great Advantage by his Valour.  
As for the Barber, he made a better Defence with his Tongue then with his Fists. And among other things, Gentlemen, cried he, this Pack-saddle is as much mine, as my Life is his that gave it me; and I know it again as well as if I had brought it into the World. There's my Mule i' the Stable, that scorns I should be taken in a lie, do but try the Pack-saddle upon his Back, and if it don't fit him as exactly as ever any Lady's Stays that were made by a French tailor, hang me upon the Sign-post without Doors. Nay, this was not all— for the same day I was robbed, they took from me a brass basin satyric and span new, that had never been used i' this World, and cost me a hard Angel but two days before. Here Don Quixote could not refrain, and therefore interposing, and parting the two Combatants, after he had laid it fairly to be seen by all the Company, till the controversy were fully determined; Gentlemen, said he, I am glad you are here to be the equal Judges of the gross Mistake of this worshipful Squire, who calls a brass basin, that which was, is, and ever will be, Mambrino's Helmet, and which I won from him in single Combat; at what time, not only his Helmet, but his Life was forfeited to my victorious Sword. As for the pretended Pack-saddle, 'tis no concern of mine; all that I can say to it, is this; That after I had vanquished this Hedge bide of a Knight-Errant, my Squire Sancho asked me leave to exchange Harnesses, that is to say, to take the knights Saddle and Housses to put upon his own Ass, which I gave him Permission to do; but how that Saddle and Housses should come to be changed into a Pack-saddle, is past my Apprehension, unless it should be done by the Power of those Enchantments so frequent in Knight-Errantry. And now to confirm what I say, Go, Sirrah Sancho, go presently and fetch me the Helmet, which this Son of Infamy calls a basin. By my new-won Honour, quo Sancho, if we have no better Proof then your Helmet, we shall lose our Cause: For a basin will be a basin; and a Pack-saddle a Pack-saddle, tho you talk till Dooms-day. Do as I bid thee, for all that, cried Don Quixote— and don't make me believe the Devil works altogether by enchantment i' this Castle— Thereupon Sancho having fetched the basin, Don Quixote holding it up in his hand; Look ye now, Gentlemen, said he, how is it possible that this Mahometan of a Squire should be so confident as to maintain, that this is not a Helmet? And yet by the Order of Knighthood which I profess, this is the very Helmet which I took from that brazen-faced Infidel, without Addition or Diminution. Yes by my Honour is it, quo Sancho, and ever since my Master has been the Owner of it, he never wore it but in one Combat, and that was when he set the unfortunate Galley-slaves at Liberty; and in good Sooth-law, happy was it for him that he had this basin of a Helmet to defend his Brains from a Shower of Stones and Brick-batts that rained upon his skull in that Diabolical Encounter.   

CHAP. XVIII.  
Wherein are decided the Controversies touching the Helmet and panel, with other Adventures as they really happened.  
TIS very well, my Masters; pray tell me now what's your Opinion of these worthy, right worshipful Ruffians, that have the Impudence to out-face ye, that this is a Helmet and not a basin? He that dares say the contrary, cried Don Quixote, if he be a Knight, then a' lies ten times in his Throat, and I'll justify 't; but if a Squire, he's a liar ten thousand times, and I'll prove it. Thereupon Mr. Nicholas the other Barber, willing to support Don Quixote in his Folly, and to drive the Jest a little farther for the Divertisement of the Company; Sir Barber, quo he, addressing himself to his Brother Tooth-drawer, know that I am a dignified Brother of the same Trade or Mystery with yourself; and as I have been admitted of the Company these twenty Years, I understand all the Instruments that belong to your Barber's Trade, from the Wash-ball and Ear-picker, to the Blood-letting Lancet and Crow's-foot. More then that, I have exercised in Cripple-gate Church-yard, and understand a close Helmet, a Morion, and a Head-piece, and the distinguishing Difference between all these three; and I do affirm, with something of Submission to better Judgments, That that same piece which the Worshipful Knight holds there in his hands, is no more like a Barber's basin, then a Medlar's like a Lobster; and therefore, I say 'tis a Helmet, tho I must confess not so well shaped, nor so neat and complete, as you shall see hang up in the Halls belonging to the Houses of some ancient Families. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote, because the Beaver is wanting, which is no less then one half of the whole. The Knight speaks with Discretion, and like a Person of judgement, quo the Curate, who well understood Mr. Nicholas's Design. Cardenio also, and D. Ferdinand, together with his Friends, agreed in the same Opinion. As for the Judge, 'twas beneath his Gravity to mind these Fooleries; besides, he had found a Match that liked him for his Daughter, and therefore he was plodding how to bring it about, according to Law.  
God forgive me, quo the Barber, fetching a deep Sigh! how is it possible so many worthy Gentlemen should be so beetle-blind, as not to discern a basin from a Helmet?' Slife! 'tis enough to puzzle the most learned University i' the World. Why, had ye been all so many blind Harpers, ye might have known a basin from a Helmet by your feeling— And now the Bason's gone, I find what will become o' my panel; for if the basin be a Helmet, the panel must be a War-saddle by Consequence.  
For my part, replied Don Quixote, I must needs confess I believe it to be a Pack-saddle; but as I  told ye before, those mean things are beneath my Decision; and therefore whether it be a panel or a War-saddle, I shall not turmoil my Brains. My Lord Don Quixote, consider I pray, replied the Curate, 'tis your Business in such like Difficulties as these, to rule the Roast with absolute Dominion. For in matters of Chivalry, there is not one in all the Company but submits to your Determination, and as they ought in Duty, are resolved to abide by it. By the spangl'd Spheres of Heaven, Gentlemen, quo Don Quixote, you honour me to a high Degree; but so many, and so strange have been the Adventures I ha' met with in this Castle, both times that I have lain here, that I dare not determine affirmatively of what I see with my own Eyes; which makes me believe that nothing but Enchantment governs this Castle. The first time I was plagued almost out of my Life by an enchanted Moor; and Sancho my Squire was no less tormented by an invisible Legion of the same infernal Hue. And then again, but yesterday, which is but of a fresh date, I was hung up by one Arm for two hours together, not being able to divine who the Devil should do me the Injury, unless it were the Devil himself, or some of his sooty Co-partners. And now for me to undertake to unriddle Mysteries so perplexed and confused, would be but rashly to provoke Beelzebub to do me more Mischief. I have  told ye my Opinion already concerning the Helmet; but as to the business of the panel, to decide whether it is a Pack-saddle or a War-saddle, I dare not adventure to do it. That belongs rather to you, Gentlemen; for that perhaps not being dubbed Knights as I am, Enchantments may have no power to hurt ye, and you may be able to make a sounder judgement of the Transactions, while the Objects shall appear without enchantment to your Senses, what really and truly they are, not as they appear to me.  
Without question, quo D. Ferdinand, the Lord Don Quixote speaks nothing but Reason; this business falls properly under our Determination; and therefore that we may proceed regularly, and upon sure Grounds, I will collect the Suffrages of every one in particular privately by himself, and so let the Plurality of Voices carry it. This was sufficient matter of Pastime to those that understood Don Quixote's Humour: But D. Lewis, his Father's Servants, and the three new-enter'd Guests, who seemed to be Bum-bayliffs, as indeed they were, looked upon it as a mere frolic, but knew not what to make of it.  
All this while the Barber was at his Wits end, to see his basin transmogrify'd before his Eyes into a Helmet, and made no question but that his Pack-saddle would undergo e're long as bad a Change, at least, for himself. And therefore 'twas not for him to be so merry as the rest, who could not forbear smiling to see how seriously D. Ferdinand went about collecting the Votes, and whispering every one in the Ear, with such a starched and composed Gravity, as if it had been a Concern of Life and Death. After he had taken the Verdicts of all that were acquainted with Don Quixote's Humour, addressing himself to the Barber with a loud Voice; Honest Friend, said he, the Case is this, I am weary of asking the same Question so many times, especially finding that still they make me the same Answer. For there is not one but tells me, 'tis the greatest Folly i' the World, to ask 'em, whether this be the panel of an Ass, or no, since 'tis so visible to all Men of Sense and judgement, that 'tis a Saddle; and not only a Saddle, but the Saddle of a Horse of Value; and they question whether it might not have been some Mayor's, or some Sheriff's Horse, considering the ruins of the Trappings. And therefore your only Remedy must be the mad Dog's Cure, Patience per-force. For in spite of your Nose, and let your Ass bray never so many Arguments to the contrary, this is a War-saddle, only you have made a wrangling Dispute to no purpose, and proved nothing.  
May I never enter into Paradise, cried the poor Barber, if ye are not all a Company of Ignoramus Jury men, as wise and as worshipful as ye are; and may my Soul no otherwise appear in Heaven, then as this appears to me to be a Pack-saddle: But Might has overcome Right, and so let it go. Yet after this, I am sure I am not drunk, nor have I tasted so much as a bit o' Bread to day, unless it were i' my Sleep.  
Thus the Follies of the Barber caused no less Laughter then the Extravagancies of Don Quixote, who having got the Day; Come, said he, there remains now no more to be done, but that we take our own Goods where we find' em. And so saying, he seized upon the basin, while Sancho carried away the Pack-saddle, and the discontented Barber grumbl'd out a thousand Curses against the Partiality and Injustice of his Jury.  
But the Devil could not be satisfied to see a Comedy conclude so pleasantly, without any Mischief at all in it; and therefore he enters one of D. Lewis's Servants, who being so possessed, would needs be spending his Verdict where he had nothing to do; quo he, like a pragmatical Coxcomb, If this were not a piece of premeditated Drollery, how the Devil can it be, that so many Persons that seem to be Gentlemen of Quality and Understanding, should be so strangely over seen, as to mistake a Fox for a Civet-Cat? But since they both say and affirm it, there must needs be some Mystery i' the thing, or else I swear—( and with that, he wrapped out three or four Cannon-bullet oaths) a Legion of St. Francis's, and St. Dominic's shall never make me believe, but that yonder's a basin, and that there's an Ass's Pack-saddle. Don't swear so fast, quo the Curate, for it may be a Mule's, for ought you know. As you please for that, quo the Fellow, still I say, 'tis a Pack-saddle. Thereupon one of the Bumms that last entered the Inn, and had listened to the Dispute, all in a Heat and Fury to hear such a Paradox maintained; 'tis as really a Pack-saddle, quo he, as ever my Father was my Father; and whoever says, or shall say the contrary, must be either mad or drunk as a Grape. Ye lie like a Dog, replied Don Quixote; and with that, heaving up his Lance, which he always carried in his hand, he made such a dismal Blow at the Bailiff's Pate, that had he not skipp'd for his Life, the Knight had laid him sprawling at his Feet, where half the Lance lay in Splinters upon the Ground already, with the Fury of the Stroke. Upon which, the rest of the Bailiffs seeing the bad Entertainment of their Companion, fell a tearing their ungodly Throats for the Constable. Their Yauling and Bawling brought out the Inn-keeper, who being one of the worshipful Fraternity, hastened to their Relief, with his rusty Basket-hilted Rapier, and sides with his Brethren. D. Lewis's Father's Servants fearing his Escape, withdrew to secure their Charge. The Barber perceiving the whole Inn in a hurly burly, desirous to take the Opportunity, runs away to regain his Pack-saddle, while Sancho suspecting his Design, was no less diligent to secure his own Right. In the mean time Don Quixote draws, and with his keen Kil-zadog attacks the Bumms. And now the Devil's Sport begins. D. Lewis entreats, desires, commands his Guardians to run and assist Don Quixote, D. Ferdinand, and Cardenio, who by this time were all engaged in his Quarrel. The Curate bawls out a thousand For God-sakes, Gentlemen; the Hostess squall'd, her Daughter squeal'd, Maritornes howled; Mrs. Doroty trembled; Lucinda quaked; Mrs. Clara quiver'd; the Barber cuff'd Sancho, and Sancho mauled the Barber. On the other side, D. Lewis perceiving himself held by the Wast-band of his Breeches by one of his Father's Servants, for fear he should make his Escape, gave him such a Salute full i' the Mouth, for his Sauciness, that he sent four of his Teeth to chew over his Meat again in his Stomach. Don Ferdinand trampled one of the Bailiffs under his Feet, as if he had been treading Grapes in a Wine-Trough; and Cardenio laid about him like Garagantua himself, while the Inn keeper in vain invoked all the Justices o' the Quorum i' the County. So that the whole Inn was in a hellish Disorder, where nothing was to be heard but Out cries, Lamentations, Howling, Yelling, clashing of Swords, and a Loathbury Noise of Thwacks, Thumps, Buffets, Bastinado's, Knocks, Drubs, and Whirrets; besides a thousand disgraceful Dogs, Rogues, Thieves, Murderers, Villains, Sons a' Whores, Hoyday— as if Hell itself had been let loose— You would ha' sworn t'had been the Devil's own Bear-Garden.  
In the midst of this Chaos and dreadful Confusion, Don Quixote, whose Memory never failed him so long as he kept his skull whole, began to bethink himself of the Mutiny that happened in Agrimant's Camp; and believing himself engaged in the thickest of that fatal Medley, with a roaring Voice that made the very Beams of the Inn shake; Hold a while, cried he, sheathe your Swords, and give ear to my seasonable Admonitions, as ye value the Preservation of your Lives. Such was the Terror of his Voice, that as if the Grand signor himself had spoken, they all stopped of a sudden, and pricked up their Ears in Expectation of all the Proverbs in Erasmus; at what time Don Quixote proceeding: Have I not  told ye, Gentlemen, quo he, that this Castle is enchanted, and that 'tis possessed with a whole Legion of Devils? Now to confirm what I say, do but observe with your own Eyes, and then tell me whether that damned Squabble that happened in Agrimant's Camp, have not squeezed itself in among us. Do but observe how, at that time, one fought for a Horse, another for a Doxy; one for an Eagle, another for a Crow; one for a Greyhound, another for a Setting-dog; just as we now cut and hack one another, yet neither know for what, nor who are our Friends, nor who are our Foes. Pray, therefore, you Mr. Judge, and you Mr. Curate, come hither; let the one be King Agrimant, and the other King Sobrin; and do you endeavour to reconcile us. For before George and the seven Champions, 'tis a shane that so many Persons of Quality, as here are now, should fight and kill one another for Helmets and Pack-saddles.  
The Bumbailiffs not at all acquainted with Don Quixote's Raptures, and who had been rudely Rib roasted by Cardenio, D. Ferdinand, and his Friends, were all for Revenge, and would harken to no Accommodation. But the Barber was for a Truce, in regard, his panel was broken, and his Beard almost all torn from his Chin. D. Lewis's Servants were easily persuaded, well knowing how much it concerned 'em to mind a business of far greater Importance. And Sancho gave over as soon as he heard his Master's Voice, like a virtuous and obedient Servant. Only the Inn-keeper could not suppress his Choler, breathing the utter Extirpation of that impertinent Dotard, that did nothing but disturb the Peace of his Inn, and plague him with continual Brawls and Quarrels. However, at length the Riot was appeased, or at least, there was a Cessation of Arms; the Pack-saddle continued to be a War-saddle, and the basin to be a Helmet, and Don Quixote fancied the Inn to be a Castle, as before, without control or Contradiction.  
Thus by the indefatigable Pains of the Judge and the Curate, Peace being concluded, and all become Friends, or at least seeming so to be, Don Lewis's Servants renewed their Importunities to him, that he would be pleased to return home to his Father; at what time, while D. Lewis was holding the Servants in suspense, and considering how to be rid of 'em, the Judge taking D. Ferdinand, Cardenio, and the Curate aside, gave 'em an account of what D. Lewis had discovered to him, and desired 'em to give him their Advice what was fit to be done. Thereupon they all agreed, that D. Ferdinand should make known to D. Lewis's Servants who he was, and promise to take the young Gentleman home along with him, where he should be received and entertained according to his Quality; for that they found D. Lewis fully resolved not to see his Father as yet, unless they carried him whom piecemeal. Nor durst the Servants resist, when they understood D. Ferdinand's Dignity, and the Resolution of D. Lewis; so that they concluded among themselves, that three of 'em should return back to give an Account of their Journey to his Father, and that one should tarry behind to wait upon the young Gentleman. And thus the Authority of Agramant, and the Prudence of King Sobrin, pacified all Discords, and ruined the dreadful Structure of Contention and Division, which the Devil had raised.  
But Satan, that professed Enemy of Concord, disdaining to see his Building thus demolished, and himself mocked, and robbed of the Fruit of his Labours, while he was but only stepp'd aside a little way, to sow a Handful or two more of dissension in another Place, resolved to try one trick more before they partend, to set 'em all together by the Ears, as they were before. Thereupon he whispers one of the Bailiffs i' the Ear, who being no Ignoramus i' the Devil's Language, both understood, and was easily persuaded by him. Besides, he had been soundly thrashed by Don Quixote, who, it seems, had particularly taken him to task, and Revenge was sweet; and this was another Motive besides the Devil's Temptation. remembering therefore what the Devil had  told him, he pulls his Letter-case out of his Pocket, and there among other Papers, finds a Chief Justice's Warrant against Don Quixote, upon a Complaint made for rescuing several condemned Rogues from their Keepers, who were to carry 'em to the Sea-side, in order to their Transportation. Having opened his Warrant, he red it very leisurely, at the end of every Line, staring Don Quixote i' the Face, and still comparing the Lineaments of his Countenance, with the Description made of his Physognomy i' the Warrant. By which means being at length fully assured, that he was the Person intended in the Warrant, he darted himself upon Don Quixote, like a lion upon his Prey, and catching him by the Collar, held him so fast with his Thumb upon his Wind-pipe, that he hardly gave him Liberty to breath, crying out at the same time, Take notice, Gentlemen, that by Virtue of this Warrant, I seize this Fellow here; he's a Thief and a herdman, and therefore I charge ye i' the King's Name, to assist me. The Curate red the Warrant, and found it true as the Bailiff said. But the Knight finding himself so rudely handled by a Scoundrel, and called Thief and High way-man beside, fell into such a prodigious Rage, that you might have heard his very Bones grinned one against another in his Skin; and notwithstanding the hold which the Bailiff had of him, he clapped both his hands with that Violence to the Bailiff's Throat, that he had certainly strangled him without the help of a Lute-string, had not his Companions come all to his Rescue. Thus, while some took Don Quixote's part, and the Inn-keeper ran to help his Brethren, here was the Devil to do again. The Hostess seeing her Husband engaged in new Broils, exalts her hideous Voice, while her Daughter and Maritornes put in for two upper parts, enough to ha' frighted the Devil out of a Body possessed. Heavens bless us, cried Sancho! beholding this new Combustion, certainly my Master spoken Truth, when he said this Castle was enchanted; nay, more then that, I believe all the Devils in Hell are broken loose, that a Man can't have an hours rest i' this damned Hole. Well— at last Don Ferdinand partend Don Quixote and the Bailiff, to the great ease of both, who were mutually grasping each other's Throats, with a murderous Design. Nevertheless, the Bailiffs demanded their Prisoner, and required Aid to bind him, and deliver him up into their hands as the King's Prisoner, a herdman, and a Rifler of Travellers. On the other side Don Quixote laughed at their seizure of his Body, and with his usual Gravity; Hark ye me, Caitiffs, and Scum of the Earth, said he, Do you call him a herdman, and a Rifler of Travellers, that sets at liberty poor People in Chains; delivers distressed Captives, succours the afflicted, and rescues the oppressed? Infamous Rascals! whose abject cowardice, and Understanding not equal to that of a Dormouse, renders ye unworthy that Heaven should impart to your Knowledge the virtue of Knight-Errantry, or convince ye of the Sin ye commit, or Ignorance ye are in, for not adoring the Shadow, much more the personal Assistance of a Magnanimous Knight-Errant. One word more, Scoundrels of Bailiffs! not Officers of Justice, Robbers, under pretence of Authority, tell me who that Justice was, that was so bold to sign a Warrant against a Knight of my Order? Some ignorant Wharfinger or other, who never understood that Knight-Errants are no Game for Justice to hawk after; that they aclowledge no Judge or Tribunal i' the World: that they have no other Laws but their Swords, nor obey any other Statutes, Edicts, or Ordinances, but their own Will. What impertinent Justass of the Peace, continued he, was that, who was so ignorant, as not to know that there is not any Title of Nobility can claim so many privileges, Prerogatives, and Exemptions, as are due to a Knight-Errant, the very moment that he is dubbed, and devotes himself to that illustrious, tho laborious Calling? What Knight-Errant ever paid Customs, Subsidies, Taxes, or Tolls, Knight-Baronet's Fees, Royal Aid, or Hearth-money? What tailor ever asked him Money for making his Clothes? What Constable ever refused him Entrance into his Castle? Or who ever asked a Knight-Errant to pay a Cook for his Meat and Drink? Where is that King or Prince that has not always given Knight-Errants free Admittance to their Tables? Or where is that Lady that has not been charmed with their Merit, and submitted to their Valour? Lastly, where was ever, is, or will be that Knight-Errant that has not himself alone a Strength and Courage liberal enough to bestow four hundred Bastinado's upon four hundred miscreant Bumms, if they dare be so hardy as to accept of his Kindness?   

CHAP. XIX.  
Containing the notable Adventure of the Bailiffs, and declaring withal, the horrible Wrath of the most Noble Don Quixote.  
WHile Don Quixote was defying Law and Justice after this raving manner, the Curate endeavoured to persuade the Bailiffs, that Don Quixote was out of his Wits, as they might rationally judge themselves, as well by his Actions as his Words; and therefore that they would have no Thanks for their Labour, to seize and hurry away a mad Man to the Trouble of those that would as soon release him for a lunatic, as he was. To which the Fellow that had the Warrant, made Answer, That it was not for him to judge, whether he were a Fool or a Knave, but only to execute his Warrant; which when he had done, let the Judges give him a hundred Discharges, 'twas nothing to him. I hear ye, and understand ye, quo the Curate, however for this one time you shall not carry him away; neither do I believe that he himself will suffer ye to do it, for you'l find him a tough piece a' Flesh, a' my word. In short, the Curate knew so well how to preach to the Bailiffs, and Don Quixote committed so many Extravagancies at the same time, that the Bailiffs had been madder then he, had they not submitted to the Curate, and concluded to return a Non est inventus upon the Writ. Thus was Don Quixote secured from one of the greatest Perils that ever had like to ha' befallen him in this Life: And the Bailiffs of their own accords, undertook to make an accommodation between the Barber and Sancho; who red to eat one another, still continued their Malice and Hatred, and fain would ha' had the t'other Brush. But the Bailiffs being a sort of Retainers to Justice, the two embitter'd Enemies could not refuse their Mediation, wherein they behaved themselves with such an unusual Equity, give the Devil his due, that both Parties submitted to their Determination, if not fully contented, yet in some measure satisfied; the panels being both exchanged, but neither the Halters nor the Girts. And as for the Helmet, the Curate gave the Barber two Shillings for it, causing him to sign a general Release, at the same time, to the Knight, of all Actions, or Causes of Action, Suits, Endictments, Prosecutions, &c. from the beginning of the World to the Day of the date.  
These two important Quarrels thus decided; the next thing was to sand away D. Lewis's Servants back to their Master, leaving only one to attend the young Gentleman; which the other three were easily persuaded to do; first, because they could not help it; and secondly, because they left him in safe hands. So that Mrs. Clara, finding that at length she should have the Company of her beloved Smock-face, was so overjoyed, that she looked as fresh as a Rose in June, and seemed ten times handsomer then she did before. As for Zoraida, who understood not the Reason of things, for want of understanding the Language, she observed her Female-Companions, and when they laughed, she laughed; when they were sad, she was sorrowful. And in Cases of Difficulty, she watched the Motions of her Captives Eyes, as your Dancing-horses observe the Hand and Switch of their boisterous Paedagogues.  
There was only one thing more to be done to procure a perfect Reconciliation, which was, to satisfy the Inn-keeper for Don Quixote's Actions of Battery. For the Inn-keeper observing the Composition which the Curate had made with the Barber, demanded Satisfaction for his Boracho's and his Wine, and like a true Captain of a Vintner, brought in his Bill double the Sum, staring and swearing, that neither Rosinante, Sancho, nor his Ass should stir, by Virtue of an enchantment called an Attachment, that he had laid upon 'em, till he was paid the utmost Farthing. To which the Curate; Men of no Conscience, quo he,( as but few Vintners are) must not be their own Carvers; and so taking the Bill, and making an equitable Deduction upon every Item, he procured of D. Ferdinand to lay down the Money, and ordered the Vintner to aclowledge the Receipt of his Bill to Don Quixote, with an All's paid, and y' are welcome, Sir. Thus was a Pyrenaean Peace a second time concluded, and the dissension and Slaughter in Agramant's Camp exchanged for the Repose and tranquillity of Augustus's Reign, as Don Quixote himself most learnedly observed. And all the People in the Inn observing that this Miracle was wrought by the Prudence of the Peace-making Curate, and the Liberality of D. Ferdinand, they return'd to both their most hearty Thanks.  
And now Don Quixote finding himself disengaged from all manner of Quarrels or Combats, either for his own Honour, or in his Squire's behalf, began to bethink himself once more of the Adventure which he had undertaken, and that it was now high time to accomplish it. Full of these Thoughts he went and threw himself at Madam Doroty's Feet; who with no less Humility, unwilling to receive his Addresses in that humble Posture, made him a Sign to rise; which he observing, and being got upon his Legs, Most Noble, and most Illustrious Lady, said he, there is an old, old Proverb that tells us, Diligence is the Mother of good Fortune; and Experience teaches us, That in all Undertakings of Moment, Pains and Vigilance surmount the greatest Difficulties. The Truth of which appears in nothing so much as in War, where a watchful Care to prevent the Designs of the Enemy, frequently gains a complete Triumph, before the other has time to defend himself. I speak this, most Excellent Princess, because it seems to me, that our stay in this Castle is not only to no purpose, but may also prove greatly to our Disadvantage. For who knows, but that by this time the Giant Pandafilando may by his secret Spies have got Intelligence, that I am hast'ning to his Destruction; and so taking the Opportunity of the time which we loose, he may have fortified himself in some Castle, which all the Strength of my indefatigable Hands, and boisterous Shoulders shall not be able to demolish, either by tearing out the Stones one by one, or shoving it down all at once, in forty Years; to the great Disappointment of my Honour, and your Happiness. Therefore, I say, let us prevent his Designs by our Diligence and Speed; let us then make hast and be gone; for the longer it is before I come to grapple with your Enemy, the longer it will be before you obtain your Desires.  
Here Don Quixote stopped and said no more, but with a composed Gravity awaited the Princess's Answer; who with a set-Countenance, and Expressions accommodated to the knights Humour and Language; Most Invincible Knight, said she, your eager Desire to relieve me in my Misfortunes, obliges me for ever to aclowledge your Favour, which I could not expect from any Deserts of my own, but as you are a courteous Knight, to whom it belongs to succour the Distressed and Necessitous: Propitious Heaven accomplish both our Wishes, to the end I may be in a Condition to let you see there are Women in the World that know how to be grateful. As to what concerns my Departure, I am ready at this Instant, as having no other Will but yours; dispose of it therefore as you please yourself, for you may be sure that she who has entrusted in your Hands the Interests of her Kingdom, and the Defence of her Person, can have no ill Opinion of your Prudence and Conduct.  
In the Name of all the Twelve Caesars, let's away then, replied Don Quixote; and since so great a Princess condescends to this Humility before me, let's not lose the Opportunity to recompense her Lowliness, by an Exaltation equal to her Dignity, and a Restoration to her Hereditary Throne. Then Madam let's not stay one minute longer, Delays breed Danger; but hang Danger, 'tis Honour spurs me on. Danger! what's that?—' Slife! Heaven never created that thing, nor Hell e're saw that Monster, that could ever scar Don Quixote— Saddle Rosinante, Sancho— panel thy Ass— and get ready the Queen's Palfrey— That done, we'll only take our leave of the Constable and these noble Knights— and then Giant, have at thee— Come, Madam, your Hoods and scarves, where are they?  
Ah! Master, Master, cried Sancho, shaking his Head, there's more Knavery i' the Village then every body thinks of; I beg pardon of all virtuous Ladies for so saying. What Knavery, Dog, Slave, traitor, replied Don Quixote? What Knavery in any Village, or in all the Cities of the World, can there be to my Dishonour? Nay, Sir, quo Sancho, if y' are angry, Sir, I'll bung up my Mouth. All that I had to say, was only to ha'  told ye what I thought myself obliged to tell ye, as being your Squire, and what a faithful Servant ought to tell his Master. Say what thou canst, replied Don Quixote, but not a Syllable to cool the Ardour of my Resolution. If Fear possess thee, go hang thyself; for my part, I know not what Fear is, but when I behold it in the Countenances of my vanquished Enemies. As I'm a Sinner to Heaven, Sir, y' are out of the way. All that I intended to ha' said, is only this— Here's a Lady, forsooth, that pretends to be Princess of Micomicon, when she's no more Princess of Micomicon then my Mother that's dead and buried. For if she were such a great Princess, as she says she is, she would never lye smacking and slabbering the Snout of one i'this Company, as she does, to my Knowledge, in every Hole and blind Corner, where they think they are not seen. Sancho's Clownery fetched the Blood into Madam Doroty's Cheeks, which her Modesty could not prevent. For true it was, that D. Ferdinand would sometimes privately attempt to reap some part of the Harvest of their mutual Amours; which, Sancho who was all Chastity himself, having spied by chance, thought such a Familiarity rather became a courtesan, then the Queen of a great Kingdom: Besides that, she had promised her self to his Master upon the Recovery of her Throne; and therefore he was of Opinion, that his Master might deserve the first Cut for so great a piece of Service. However, Madam, Doroty thought it not fit to take any Cognizance of Sancho's Information; she could answer the Allegorical Knight, but not the down-right dunstable Squire: And therefore Sancho proceeding; That which obliges me, Sir, to this Freedom, is this; That I do not think it reasonable, after we have rid hard, fed hard, lain hard, and suffered all the Hards, but drinking hard, for I expect nothing but an empty cellar, and that's the hardest thing of all; I say, after you ha' slain this same dismal Giant, and laid him as dead as a Pilchard at the Princess's Feet, as ye call her, a Bragadoshio here pricked up in an Inn, shall enjoy the Fruits of all our Labour and travail: And therefore I say there's no such hast to saddle Rosinante, and the Queen's Palfrey, nor to panel my Ass— no, no, let them that have a mind to the Hare, beat the Bush themselves— 'twas ne're a good time since young Women gave themselves to Idleness— and therefore let every Whore to her Spinning-wheel, and let us to our Victuals.  
Which of the Muses shall I now invoke to aid me to express Don Quixote's unexpressible Wrath, when he heard this insolent Discourse of his Squire. So terrible it was, that with a Face like Mount Aetna, casting forth Fire from his Eyes, and breathing forth nothing but Smoke and Smother from his Nostrils, with a Voice of Thunder, and his Words crowding out of his Mouth so thick, as if he had been born in Nutting-time. Ye Baker-legg'd, squint-eyed Hopper-ars'd, Monky-fac'd, ignorant, stupid, unmannerly, Ill-bred, saucy, soul-mouth'd, muttering Puppy, Whelp, Hell-hound, Ribbal, Rogue, Hedge-bird, Hang-dog, Caitiff, Mongrel, Bruit, are these Blasphemies for thee to utter i' my Presence, and before these illustrious Ladies too? How durst thy lewd Imagination harbour such abominable Thoughts as these? Get out o' my sight, thou Sink of falsehood, Store-house of Iniquity, Magazine of Imposture, Furnace of Mischief, Privy-house of Calumny, and perfidious Enemy of all Breeding and good Manners. Be gone, I say, under Pain of my just and heavy Indignation, least, after I have tormented thee, like another Ravillack, I crumble thee to atoms, and scatter thy irreligious Dust to the four Corners of the World. And having so said, he knit his Brows, and surveyed every Point of the Compass with a grim and direful Aspect, and with his right Foot stamped at that rate, that the very Earth trembled again; evident Signs of the implacable Fury that inflamed his Bowels.  
These dreadful, terrible, dismal, furiband Menaces so amazed, confounded, and dismayed the poor disconsolate Sancho, that Benengeli does not scruple to say, That he wished with all his heart, the Earth would have opened to have swallowed him up; and not knowing what other Course to take, he shrugg'd up his Shoulders, and like a Dog that had stolen a Pudding, slunk from his enraged Master's, Presence. But the prudent Madam Doroty, who had sufficiently studied Don Quixote, to know his Humour, by way of atonement; Never, said she, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, let the Follies of your Squire provoke your Passion to so high a degree. Perhaps he might have Reason for what he said, and it may be looked upon as a Mark of his good Nature and his Conscience to boot, that he attempted to advice ye for your own good, which frees him from any premeditated Intention to prejudice my Reputation. And therefore we are to believe, as you have already said, that questionless there is nothing but Enchantment in this Castle; and through this same Diabolical Delusion it was, that Sancho spoken as he did against my Honour.  
Now by the Omnipotent Mars, the God of bloody battle, cried Don Quixote, your Highness has found it out— My life for yours some Necromantical, Satanical Vision has troubled the Senses of this miserable Sinner, Sancho, and has caused him to dream those Dreams, which nothing but Enchantment could have inspired into his Brains; for I know too well the Simplicity and Innocence of that silly Wretch, to think he has Wit enough to bear false Witness against a Worm. It must of necessity be as you say, replied D. Ferdinand, and therefore it behoves your Honour, my Lord Don Quixote, to grant him your free Pardon, and restore him to the Bosom of your Favour, as he was before this villainous Vision embroiled his Understanding. I pardon him, cried Don Quixote; and with that, the Curate going to seek for Sancho, brought him again into his Presence; who immediately prostrating himself at his Master's Feet, begged that he might have his hand to kiss, which his Master reached him forth with a singular Affability, and then giving him his Benediction to boot; Son Sancho, said he, now never question what I have  told thee so often, that all things are managed by the Devil and Enchantment in this Castle. I do believe it, replied Sancho, nay, I will swear it too, whenever I shall be subpoena'd: For I find that I speak at this time, as if I were enchanted myself. Only I except the business of the Blanket, for I'm sure there could be no Enchantment in that, where every thing was done according to the ordinary Course of Nature. Mistake not in that, as in all the rest, replied Don Quixote; for had it not been so, I had certainly revenged thy Quarrel, and would do it still; but I could not do it then, neither can I do it now; and the Reason is, because I know not upon whom to fix my Revenge, where all I encounter are only invisible Bodies. This made all the Company inquisitive to know what Sancho meant by the Blanket. Upon which the Inn-keeper having given a true and faithful Relation of the whole matter of Fact, the Story set the whole Company a laughing, but it put Sancho into such a Passion, that he had like to ha' fallen foul upon the Inn-keeper, had not his Master once again assured him, That it was nothing but an Act of Enchantment; to which Sancho was constrained seemingly to submit, for divers politic Considerations. For he was not such a Fool yet, as to believe his being tossed i' the Blanket, to be an Illusion; his own Sufferings convincing him, that it could be nothing else but a piece of Malice executed by mortal Men, composed of Flesh and Bones.  
Two whole Days had this good Company now spent i' the Inn, and therefore deeming it high time to depart, they consulted which way to get Don Quixote home, without giving D. Ferdinand and Madam Doroty the trouble to ride out of their way, in pursuance of the frolic of restoring the Princess of Micomicon to her Kingdom. To which purpose many Inventions were propounded, but at last they concluded to agree with a wagoner that was coming along upon the Road, to carry him home in his wagon; and how to get him in, they contrived in this manner. They made a kind of a strong wooden Cage, so large that a Man might either sit or lye in it at his own ease. Which done, D. Ferdinand and his Friends, Cardenio, D. Lewis's Servants, the Bailiffs and the Inn-keeper, being every one in several Disguises, according to the Curate's Direction, as chief Manager of the Design, entered Don Quixote's Chamber, like so many Goblins, who being retired to rest himself after his toilsome Extravagancies, lay most sweetly folded in the Arms of Morpheus, little dreaming of the Trap that was preparing for him. In this Condition they swath'd his Arms and Hands to his Sides, and tied his Legs, as you see in your Crape-Shrowd Signs, to prevent all manner of Horse-play.  
They had no sooner finished their Work but Don Quixote waked, and finding himself unable to stir Hand or Foot, and besides that, being surrounded with such a strange Guard of Goblins and Hobthrushes, he was strangely confounded in his Imagination; but being fully wakened by his Fears, he called to mind that he was in an enchanted Castle, and now thinking himself in the middle of all the whole Legion; his Breech made Buttons, as being in a deadly Quandary what they intended to do with him, especially perceiving himself so absolutely at the Devil's Mercy. Sancho beholded all this, the only person of all the Company undisguis'd in his Habit; and so far too in his Senses, as to believe there was a Design upon his Master, not of Enchantment, but of Waggery, if 'twere no worse. But having been so dismally snubb'd by his Master so lately before, he durst not say a Word, till he could make some Discovery whither the Contrivance tended: Besides, he saw his Master was quiet, and wherefore, thought he, should I disturb him. Indeed Benengeli the Historian says he began to stink a little; which was the Reason that the Goblins hastened to sand for his Close-stool; where, after they had nailed him so fast, that 'twas impossible for him in his Condition to break loose, unless he would ha' ventured the Death of Bajazet, they took him upon their Shoulders. But just as they were going out of the Chamber, they heard a Voice, like the sound of a deep Base, roaring through a speaking-Trumpet, which made 'em set down their Load again, to give Attention to the thundering Utterer, who rumbl'd forth these Words:  
Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, wonder not at thy Captiviy, for 'tis no more then what by Fate's Decree must needs befall thee, to the end the desperate Adventure, wherein thy matchless Courage has engaged thee, may the sooner be accomplished. The end of this renowned Adventure shall be known, when the furious Lion of Mancha, and the Milk-white Turtle of Toboso shall delight each other with the Busses of Matrimony, and humble their Princely Necks under the tender Yoke of Wedlock. From whose Embraces shall spring two Lions Whelps, whose rampant Claws shall trace the unimitable Foot-steps of their invincible Father. And this shall be before the lovely Chacer of the fugitive Nymph in his natural and rapid Course, has three times parleyed with the Northern Constellations, and blessed the Samoeds with Daylight. And thou the most noble and obsequious Squire that e're handled glittering Sword, that ever wore Spade-beard upon his Chin, or sense of Smelling in his Nostrils, grieve not to see thus hurried away before thy Eyes, the Flower and Cream of Chivalry-Errant; for before a certain number of Moons, thou shalt behold thyself exalted to that subblime Degree, that thou shalt seek, and yet not find thyself; while thou enjoy'st in peace the absolute Infallibility of thy Lord's most faithful Promises. Once more I assure thee, in the Name of the famed Inchantress Telladam'dlya, that thy Herculean Labours shall not remain unrecompenc'd; but that thou shalt find all thy past Sufferings watered with the fertile due of thy long expected Wages and salary. Go then, Celestial Squire, pursue the Foot-steps of thy most valiant and enchanted Knight; for it behoves thee to attend him, till both of ye attain the Goal prescribed by Destiny; and now because I am allowed to say no more, farewell; while I return to Regions far remote, unknown to all the World beside.  
Toward the end of this prophesy, Mr. Nicholas slacken'd his Tone with such an Oracular Delivery, that they who were privy to the Imposture, began themselves to be surprised, and awed by an Illusion of their own Contrivance; so easy it is for Superstition to couzen itself. But as for Don Quixote, all his Fears were scattered by the vain Promises of the delusive Oracle; for he had presently forged a Pick-lock for all the dark Sayings of it, and had found it out, most happy Man now he, in his fond Imaginations, that the time was shortly coming, that should tie him to his dear and well-beloved Dulcinea, with the Weaver's Knots of lawful Matrimony, whose fertile Womb should bring into the World a Race of young Lions, to the perpetual Honour of Mancha. And believing all this with as implicit a Faith, as he did his Books of Knight-Errantry, he fetched a deep Sigh from the bottom of his Diaphragma, and with a loud and sonorous Voice; O thou, cried he, whoever thou art, who hast foretold me these glad Tidings, conjure, I beseech thee, in my Name, the sage Necromancer that manages my Affairs; not to suffer me to perish in this Prison wherein they have enclosed me, till I see those incomparable Promises thou hast made me successfully fulfilled; and then I shall glory in my Captivity, and rejoice in the Chains that fetter my Arms, so far from thinking this a place of Hardship to which I am confined, that I shall esteem it more soft then the delicious Down of my Nuptial Bed. And for the Pains thou hast taken to cheer and revive my disconsolate Squire Sancho, I return thee hearty Thanks; having that Confidence in his Fidelity and Affection, that he will never forsake me, no not in my lowest Adversity; for that tho Fortune should be so froppish, as to deny me the Power of conferring upon him the promised iceland, he is secured of his Salary by a Mortgage I ha' made him. Which Bounty and Goodness of his Master so mollified Sancho's tender and affectionate Heart, that he bowed his head, and beslabber'd both his Master's hands; for one he could not singly kiss, as they were coupled together. But the Goblins being in hast would not admit of long compliments, but at the same time took up the Cage, and having heaved it up into the wagon, fixed it there among the rest of the Lumber.   

CHAP. XX.  
Containing several Occurrences.  
DON Quixote seeing himself thus encag'd and perched up i' the wagon, after a short brown Study and Examination of his Memory; I have red, said he, a hundred Books of Knight-Errantry i' my time, but I never red, nor saw, nor heard that ever enchanted Knights were carried after this manner, and at the lazy rate that these heavy, and slothful Animals travail. For they were wont to be whirled away i' the Air with an unspeakable Swiftness, envelopp'd in some dark Cloud, or in a fiery Chariot, or upon a Hippo-Griffin, or a Pacolet's Horse, or some such kind of swift Monster, and not in a paltry West country Wain, tugged along by a pin-buttock'd Team of sluggish cloven-footed Oxen;( I wish the Waggoner's Hoofs may not be of the same shape.) How confoundedly ashamed am I now, to sit here with a Company of Country Trulls going to the next good City to be picked up for Whores and Serving-maids? But it may be, modern Chivalry and Enchantments do not observe the ancient Laws and Customs; and perhaps, because I am a new Knight, and the first that in this Age has revived the Exercise of Chivalry-Errant, for a long time quiter buried in Oblivion, they have invented, for my sake, new sorts of Enchantments, and new ways to coach their enchanted Knights. What thinkest thou, Friend Sancho? I know not what to think, replied Sancho, for I never red so many Books of Knight-Errantry, as your Worship has done; but this I dare swear, that all these Goblins that surround us, are no catholics, as we are, nor go to Church as we do. catholics, ye Fool! quo Don Quixote, How should they be catholics, and serve God, who are only Spirits that have dressed themselves in human Shapes, a purpose to do me this Kindness. But if thou hast a mind to be convinced of the truth thyself, feel 'em, and handle 'em, Sancho, and thou shalt find 'em to be nothing but Air, that have only the Appearance of Bodies. God's-fish, Sir, if that be all, I ha' handled 'em already, with a Witness; and this same very Devil that gives you all this Trouble, I can tell ye, is one that has more Flesh then sauce, he's as plump as a Partridge; nor do I believe he maintains those smooth Cheeks of his, by feeding upon the Wind; besides another Property which he has, quiter different from all the Properties of Spirits, I mean your Inn-haunting Spirits. For whereas they always smell of Sulphur, and Brimstone, and Assa foetida, this Devil smells of Amber and Musk half a League off. This he spoken of D. Ferdinand, who being a great parsonage, and still i' the Fashion, or it might be for other Reasons best known to himself, went always richly perfumed. Ne're wonder at that, Friend Sancho, quo Don Quixote, for the Devils are cunninger then thou art ware of; and tho 'tis true, they generally smell of Brimstone and Gun-powder, yet they can deceive the Nose as well as the Eye. And therefore it is, that this Devil, knowing what a prying Devil thou art, has perfumed himself with Amber and Essence of Jessomy, that thou shouldst not take him to be what he is.  
During this Discourse between the Master and the Man, D. Ferdinand and Cardenio, fearing lest Don Quixote should discover the Cheat, resolved to hast'n his Departure. To which purpose they ordered the Host to saddle Rosinante, and panel Sancho's Ass; and the Curate agreed with the Bailiffs to accompany the enchanted Knight to his own Village. Cardenio fastened the basin and the Target to the Pommel of Rosinante's Saddle, the basin a' won side, and the Target o' t'other; withal, giving order to Sancho to led the Horse, and ride before upon his own Ass, while the two Bailiffs road by the wagon.  
But before the Oxen set forward, the Hostess, her Daughter, and Maritornes came forth to take their leave of Don Quixote, pretending a more then ordinary Sorrow for his Misfortune. To whom Don Quixote, Grieve not, most illustrious Ladies, said he; such Accidents as these are always entailed upon the Calling which I profess; and if they did not befall me, I should not think myself a true Knight-Errant; for that the like Misfortunes never happen to Knights of little famed, and mean Reputation, who live unthought of in that Obscurity where they bury themselves. Therefore such Mishaps as these are the Inheritance of Knights renowned, whose Valour and virtue is both envied and feared by several Princes; and other Knights, who, not able to surmount, or equalize their Merit, basely and treacherously seek their Ruin. But virtue is of her self so powerful, that in despite of all the magic that ever Zoroastres invented, she vanquishes and subdues all Obstacles, and displays her glorious Beams upon the Earth, with equal Lustre to the Sun in Heaven. Pardon me, Ladies, I beseech ye, pardon me, if ever through Ignorance, or unwittingly I offended Persons of your Quality; for sure I am, that of my own Knowledge and Malice afore-thought, I never injured a Fly. And therefore let me beg your Prayers to Heaven for my Deliverance from this unsanctify'd Imprisonment, wherein I am thus enclosed through the Treachery of some malicious Necromancer envious of my Glory; from whence when my good Fortune and your Devotion shall have set me free, I shall never forget the Favours I have received in your Castle, so deeply engraved in my Remembrance, that time shall never deface those acknowledgements that oblige me to repay with the utmost of my Services, either a foot or a horse-back, the several Kindnesses you ha' done me.  
While Don Quixote was thus complementing the Ladies of the Castle, as he called 'em, the Curate and Mr. Nicholas took their leaves of all the Company, both the Men and the Ladies, more especially of Madam Dorothy and Mrs. Lucinda, with whom they had been some time longer acquainted. On the other side, D. Ferdinand engaged the Curate to give him a weekly Account of his Patient Don Quixote, making no question, but that there still remained some pleasant Conceits behind, which would be sufficient matter of farther Divertisement; and being desirous withal to hear the end of such a merry piece of Extravagance, much more delightful and profitable then either the Weekly Packet of Advice, or the History of Gresham college.  
And now being just ready to depart, the Inn-keeper presented the Curate with the rest of the Papers which were in the cloak-bag, where he found the History of the Curious Impertinent, for that he believed the Owner, that Poet-like, had pawned his Wit for his Reckoning, would never call for 'em again. The Curate thanked him, and presently looking 'em slightly over, cast his Eye upon one short Manuscript, entitled, The History of Rinconet and Cortadillo, which he thought could not be amiss, since the Novel of the Curious Impertinent had pleased so well. Soon after, the Curate and Mr. Nicholas took Horse, with their Faces masked, for fear of being known by Don Quixote, and followed close behind the wagon, which was guarded as we  told ye before.  
Thus this illustrious Train jogged on with a grave and majestic place; a place that seemed to bode our Hero all future Prosperity and Triumph, by the stately March of the Procession: The Priestess of Cybele never road with more Solemnity, when drawn by her two Sons to the Temple. As for Don Quixote, he lay all along at his Ease, leaning his Head against the wooden Bars, with his Hands tied, and his Legs stretched out, so silent, so quiet, and so patient, that you would ha' sworn some Knight-Templar's Tomb had been removing, Spikes and all, out of some Cathedral to the Place of his Nativity.  
In this Posture they had measured about two Leagues, till they came to a Valley where the wagoner would needs have baited his Horses; but being informed by Mr. Nicholas, that there was another Valley a little farther, where there was both more and better Grass, he driven on. At what time they were over-tak'n by six or seven Persons well mounted, and who, by their hast, seemed desirous to get to their Inn in good time. Both Parties gave each other the time o' the day; but then the chief of the Company, who seemed to be a Prebend of some Cathedral at least, by the Respect which the others gave him, observing such an orderly Procession, which he had never seen in his Life, and a Man enclosed in a Cage, could not forbear to ask the meaning of the Solemnity, and what monstrous Canary-Bird it was, so safely locked up i' the Cage; believing, because he saw the Sheriffs Officers, that he was some desperate herdman, whom they were carrying in that manner to jail. Sir, said the Bailiff, you must even ask the Knight i' the Cage himself, for we know nothing o' the matter. But there was no need o' that; for Don Quixote having heard the Question started; Sir Knights, in short, quo he, Did ye ever red, or d'ye understand any thing of Knight-Errantry? For if ye do, then will ye easily apprehended the Reason of my Misfortunes— But if ye don't, 'twill be an idle thing for me to trouble my Brains to better your Information with Mysteries above your Reach. Why, truly honest Friend, replied the Prebend, I ha' been a young Man i' my time, and then I studied Knight-Errantry much more then either Keckerman or Burgersdicius, to my Praise be it spoken; and therefore if that be all, you cannot impart your Distresses to a Person that may do ye more Kindness. You say very well, replied Don Quixote; then know that I am shut up i' this Cage by enchantment, through the Malice and Treachery of some cursed Necromancer; virtue being always more vigorously persecuted by the Wicked, then beloved and supported by honest Men. I am a Knight-Errant, not in the number of those, of whom famed takes little Cognizance, and less Care to eternize their Memories; but of those that in despite of Envy her self, and all the Magicians of Persia, the Brachmans of India, the Gymnosophists of Aethiopia, and the Figure-casters of London City, leave their Names, and their Exploits engraved in the Temple of Immortality, to serve as Rules, Examples and Models for all Knight-Errants, who ever intend to climb the Pinnacle of Honour won by feats of Arms. 'tis very true, replied the Curate, the Lord Don Quixote is enchanted in this wagon, not through any Fault of his own, but by the wicked Contrivances, surprise, and unjust Violences of those that repined at his Valour and his virtue. This is the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, of whom you must have heard e're now, whose heroic Exploits, and unheard of achievements will remain to Posterity, inscribed in durable Marble, and eternal Brass, maugre all the Attempts of Malice to deface, or Envy to tarnish their unspotted Glory. The Prebend and his Company were so amazed to hear that the person at Liberty should talk at the same extravagant rate as the Man i' the Woodden-Cage, that they could not tell what to imagine of such a piece of Distraction. But Sancho having heard the whole Discourse, full of Discontent, mad in his Mind, disturbed in his Thoughts, and therefore resolving to unfold a Mystery so prejudicial to his Interests; Gentlemen, quo he, I have a weak Conscience, and therefore offended or pleased, 'tis all one to me, I'm resolved to tell ye the whole Truth. Now the Truth is, That my Lord Don Quixote is as much enchanted, as my Mother was enchanted when my Father begot me. He has all his Senses entire, and his judgement sound; he eats and drinks, sleeps and talks, and goes to Stool like other Men, and as he did before he was put i' the Cage. Which being so, how dare they pretend to make us believe him to be enchanted? As if I did not know, that they who are enchanted never eat, nor sleep, nor talk, and yet I'll venture the Price o' my Ass, that do but put my Master to't, and he shall out-bawl ten young Nisi-prius Counsellors. And at the same time addressing himself to the Curate; Ah, Mr. Curate, Mr. Curate, said he! do you think I don't know ye, or understand whither your Enchantments tend? You may hid your sweet Countenance as long as ye please, I know ye as well as I know my own Ass; and through all your Visors, and your Masquerades, I am not such a Fool, but I can discover your Cheats and Deceits, your wil●ss, and your Tricks. But I find now where the Wind blows; where Envy reigns, there's no abiding for virtue; where Poverty and Scarcity, there can be no Munificence. Now the Devil take the Devil, and God pardon us all together, you for your Sins, and me for mine. For had it not been for your Worship, pox o' your Preferment, my Master had e're now been married to the Princess of Micomicon, and I had been a Count at least, as being the smallest thing I could expect from the Liberality of the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, and the Merits of my own Services. But I find the Wheel of Fortune turns more swiftly round, then a Mill-wheel; they who yesterday sate upon the pinnacle, lye to day i' the dirt. I am only troubled for my Wife and Children, who will be strangely disappointed in their Hopes, to see me return home no more then a poor Groom, when they expected me no less then a Vice-roy, or the governor of some great iceland. I only preach this, Mr. Curate, to your Dry-vinity, to mind ye of being a little conscionable in abusing my Master, for fear of being called to a strict Account both in this and the other World, for the good which you prevent him from doing, as well in succouring the Afflicted, as in punishing the Violence of unjust oppressors. Prate-roast, keep your Breath to cool your Porridge, quo the Barber, what, are you one of your Master's Fraternity? By the Lord Harry, I could find i' my Heart to have thee enchanted too, and cooped up with thy Master, as a Member of Chivalry. Your Changelingship is with Child of an iceland, I hear— but I'll sand ye a Midwife, y' faith. I am with Child by no body, replied Sancho in a deadly Chafe, nor am I to be got with Child by any person living, tho 'twere the King himself: Tho I am poor, I am honest; I am an old Christian, and out of Debt. What if I do desire an iceland? There are Parsons and Barbers too have been more extravagantly desirous then so— I tell ye— every Man is the Son of his own Works; and therefore he that is a Man, may be a Pope for ought any body knows, much more easily the governor of an iceland, especially when my Master has won so many, that he shan't know where to bestow' em. Therefore, good Mr. Barber, rule your unruly Tonsor's Tongue; we are not now talking of Wash-balls and Razors— We understand ourselves a little, God be thanked, and we can tell the difference between Peter and Peter; not all Fellows at Foot-ball, good Mr. Barber. As for my Master's being enchanted, as ye call it, there's one above knows all things; and therefore let it rest, and say no more of it, lest the more you stir it, the more it stink. The Barber, fearing Sancho's Discoveries, thought it his wisest Course to make him no Answer. And the same Fears possessing the Curate, he lead the way before with the Prebend; and as he road along, gave him a full Account of the Mystery of the Cage: He also informed him of the Condition of the Knight, his manner of living, and his Inclinations; succinctly recounting to him the Beginning and Cause of his extravagant Dotages, and how they were getting him home, with a Resolution to try whether his Follies would admit of Cure.  
The Prebend and his Company listened with Admiration to the Story of Don Quixote; and when the Curate had made an end; In good soothe, Sir, said the Prebend, I find your Books of Knight-Errantry and your Romances, are not only unprofitable, but also very prejudicial to a Common wealth; and tho I began to red almost all that are printed, I could never yet find i' my heart to red any one quiter through; for me-thinks 'tis still the same thing, and there is nothing to be learnt more in one then in another. The whole Composition and style resembles that of the Milesian Fables, which are only a Company of idle Stories made only for Pastime, far different from those moral and significant Apologues, contrived as well for Instruction as Delight I would fain know what Neatness or Proportion there is of the parts to the whole, or of the whole to the parts in a Picture, where a young Stripling of seventeen, with a back-blow divides a vast Giant i' the middle, tho as tall as a Steeple, with as much ease as to chop a pickled Gerkin in halves? Or who can believe that a single Knight should be able to vanquish a million of Enemies, without losing a Drop of Blood? And is it not a wonderful thing, that a great Queen, or the Heiress to an Empire, should at first sight entrust all her weighty Concerns with the first Knight-Errant she meets with? What man that was born with a Grain of Sense, can be so stupid, as to red with any delightful Satisfaction, a Story of a ston Tower full of Knights that swam as nimbly in the Sea, as a Fourth-rate frigate with a fresh Gale; and that this Tower was seen upon the cost of Genoa in the Evening, but by break of Day next Morning should be landed in Ethiopia, or the East-Indies, or some other Country which Ptolemy never heard of, nor T. Coriate ever travelled. It may be said, that these Authors designing nothing but Fable, are not obliged to such a strict Observation of Decorum; as if a lie could be pleasant that does not in some measure border upon Truth; or that Adventures could be delightful, where there is not something disputable and seemingly possible. For Fables ought to be so composed, as to win upon an unbelieving Reader, by rendering Impossibilities only difficult, leveling the mountainous height of Difficulties, and by keeping the Mind in a charming suspense, where Wonder and Delight walk, as it were, hand in hand together: which is the Perfection of a Romance, and never to be met with, but where there is some Shadow of Probability. I never saw that Book of Knight-Errantry wherein the Body of the Fable is truly composed and set together with all its Members, so as to make the middle cohere with the beginning; but rather consisting always of so many mishap'n Limbs, as if the Author had designed the framing some strange Monster or Chimera, rather then any proportionate Figure: And besides that, their style is harsh and barbarous, their Adventures are incredible, their Amours lascivious, and their Lovers indiscreet. They are tedious in their Description of Combats, ignorant in their Geography, and impertinent in their Discourses. In a word, they have neither Learning, nor Art, nor good Conduct; and therefore fit for nothing but to be exterminated out of a Christian Common-wealth, as unprofitable and prejudicial to the public.  
The Curate having listened with Attention to the Prebend, and finding him a Man of Sense,  told him, He was clearly of his Opinion; and withal, that out of a particular Aversion to Books of Knight-Errantry, he had caused all Don Quixote's numerous Legends to be burnt; as also after what manner he had brought 'em to their trial, and condemned them to the Fire; the Reasons why he had reprieved some few, and what was Don Quixote's Fancy upon the loss of his Library; which was Sport alone for the Prebend and his Company. However, replied the Prebend, after all that I have said concerning these Books, there is in a right Management of a probable Romance, a large Field for a person of Wit and understanding to exercise his Parts, whether in the Descriptions of Tempests, or shipwrecks, or well fought Battels, or in the depainting forth a great Captain, with all those admirable Qualities that make him such, as Vigilance, Fore-sight, Eloquence, Prudence, and Experience in Counsel, Quickness in Execution, and Presence of Mind in Danger; or at other times in describing some mournful and tragical Event, sometimes some pleasing and unexpected Adventure; sometimes some illustrious and beautiful Lady, with all her Ornaments of Chastity, Discretion, and Reserv'dness; at another time, some noble Knight, courageous, active and liberal; and by and by another, no less haughty, insolent and rash; at another time, some prudent and moderate Prince, that only seeks the good of his Subjects, and shows himself always ready to reward their zealous and affectionate Services. Upon these Subjects an Author has a great Advantage to show his Learning in all manner of Arts and Sciences, in Philosophy, Morality, and politics, while he attributes to his Hero's, the Wit and Eloquence of Ulysses, the Piety of Aeneas, the Valour of Achilles, the Friendship of Euriolus, the Valour and Prudence of Caesar, the Clemency of Augustus, the Truth of Trajan, the Fidelity of Zopyras, and the Wisdom of Cato; and in a Word, adorns and furnishes 'em with all those pregnant Grandeurs of a human Soul that render a man illustrious i' the World. For by this means, in a pure and natural style, and with an Invention and Art still careful to preserve Decorum and Probability, he may be able to wove a lovely Tissue of several Varieties, and a perfect Picture that will not fail, both to please and instruct, which are the ends that set him at work.   

CHAP. XXI.  
Wherein the Prebend pursues his Discourse upon Books of Knight-Errantry.  
YOU charm me, Sir, with your Discourse, replied the Curate; and therefore certainly they deserve more severely to be blamed, that neglect the Rules which you have prescribed, and which have rendered so famous the two Princes of Greek and Latin poesy. I must confess, replied the Prebend, I had once a kind of Temptation to writ myself a Book of Knight-Errantry, according to the same Rules; and I had composed some fifteen or twenty Quires; and to try whether this Beginning answered my Expectation, I shew'd 'em not only to some Persons that were capable to judge, and were passionate Admirers of that Romantick way, but also to some others that were no less ignorant, and had a Gusto for nothing but Extravagancy, who nevertheless both equally applauded what I had done. However, I forbore to proceed, in regard that besides that it did not seem consentaneous to my Profession, I find that the number of Fools far surpasses that of the judicious; and tho it be much more advantageous to a Man, to be commended and esteemed by the small number of the Learned, then it is disadvantageous to be scorned and slighted by the innumerable Number of idiots, yet I was unwilling to expose myself to the Censure of the blockish Vulgar, that particularly seek their Pastime in such sorts of Books. But nothing more obliged me to discontinue, then to see that the Comedies of our Times are all such a Company of ridiculous Farces, without any Rule or Decorum, and yet should be so applauded and humm'd up, as they are; nay, and it is come to that pass too, that the very Poets and Actors will tell ye, that nothing else will please the Stage, the Generality of the Spectators not enduring any thing of Art, or regular Invention. Therefore, thought I, why should I go about to break my Brains, and lose my time in studying Rules and Precepts to no purpose? Sir, replied the Curate, you have touched upon a Point that has revived in my Thoughts an old Animosity, which I have always had against the Comedies of our Times, no less then the inveterate Enmity which I have always born against Knight-Errantry, and all its Abettors. For whereas Comedy, as Tully tells us, ought to be a mirror of human life, an Example and Pattern of good manners, and a Representation of truth, it is now become a mere Huddle of Extravagancy, countenancing open Debauchery upon the Stage, and farc'd with little else then Lewdness and Obscenity. What can be more ridiculous, then to tell us of an Infant newly born in the first Scene of the first Act, and in the next Act to bring him in fighting a great battle? Within the space of two musics, a sucking Baby and a great Commander? What more impertinent then that of the Play of Adam and Eve, where Grannam Eve is brought in with two or three Waiting-maids attending her, when there was ne're a Woman but her self i' the World? What more silly and ridiculous then to introduce a Lacquy speaking like an Orator, or a page. like a colour? to make a Prince talk like a Porter, or a great Empress like a Chair-woman? Others there are that cannot writ a Play without two or three Devils in it; and those too brought in by Head and Shoulders. And some there are that fill their Scenes with antic Dances and Mummery, fitter for a Booth then a Stage; as if they designed rather to tickle the Fancy of youth with wanton and lascivious Postures, then to reform the Vices of the Age by deliberate and well meditated Instruction. Others there be, who observing neither Time nor Place, lay the Scenes of their first Act in Europe, of the second in Asia, of the third in Africa, of the fourth in America; but then what pity 'twas, that the World should want a fifth Quarter for the Conclusion? What a Gallimaufry and Mixture of Fable with Historical Truths? What a Confusion of Nations, Characters and Times, we meet with in others, which causes the Composers to lye at the mercy, even of the most ignorant of their Auditors? All which proceeds from hence, that the Poets writ not now adays for Honour and true Applause, but for Gain, and the Profit of the third Day; and therefore they are constrained so to writ, as that their Studies may please the Purchaser, who else will return his Ware upon his Hands, to the disastrous Disappointment of all the Trades about the Town that belong to eating, drinking, and clothing, who had trusted the poor Comedian, or more lamentable Tragoedian, in hopes of being paid by the Muses.  
While the Prebend and the Curate were thus discoursing together, the Barber made bold to interrupt 'em, telling the Curate, that now they were come to that lovely Valley, where he had  told 'em they might with so much Pleasure repose themselves, while the wagoner gave his Oxen a cool salad of green Grass. I like it well, quo the Curate, and at the same time asked the Prebend, whether he would be pleased to alight? Which the Prebend readily consented to do, no less taken with the Prospect and Pleasantness of the Vale, then with the Curate's Discourse; and withal willing to understand something more of the Humour and Story of Don Quixote. Thereupon the Prebend ordered one of his Servants to ride away to the Inn, and see what was to be had; but being better informed that one of his own Mules was gone before better furnished with Provision then the Inn would afford, he bid the same Servant carry the Horses to the Inn, and fetch back the Mule; which was done with all convenient speed.  
All this while Sancho finding that the Curate and the Barber, for whom he had as much kindness as a Whore for a Whipping-post, gave him no farther interruption, but that he might freely discourse with his Master, being got as near as possibly he could to the Cage; Master, said he, for the discharge of my Conscience, I must needs tell ye what I think of your enchantment. These two men that travail along with us, with their Masks upon their Noses, are the Curate of our Parish, and Mr. Nicholas the Barber; and I'll be hanged now, or at any other time when you please, if this ben't a Plot merely of their Contrivance to carry ye away thus in a Cage-Errant, because your famous Exploits throw Dust i' their Eyes. From whence I conclude, that you are no more enchanted then my Ass, but only bubbl'd and made a Fool of. For Proof of this, Sir, give me leave to ask you one Question, and if you do but answer me as wisely as I expect, I'll make the cheat as plain as the Nose i' your face. So that if after I ha' done, you believe yourself enchanted, I shall then believe your Brains to be turned i' your skull. Ask what Questions thou wilt, Son Zancho, replied Don Quixote, I'll answer thee as punctually as my Confessor. Tho as to those persons, who thou sayst are our Parishioners, the Curate and the Barber, they may indeed seem to thee to be so; but that they are those very real persons, I would not have thee believe no more then thou dost in Mahomet. Pin thy Faith therefore, if thou lovest me, upon my Sleeve; for to do otherwise in this case, is of dangerous consequence, and believe that these two persons who appear to thee in the likeness of our two Neighbours, are most certainly my confounded enchanters, that have assumed the Shapes of those two honest men a' purpose to delude thee, and throw thee into a Labyrinth of Imaginations, whence thou wilt never be able to disintreague thyself, tho thou hadst the Clue of Theseus, and so to raise in me the Spirit of Revenge against two innocent People, that never meant me harm; or else to puzzle my Understanding, that I should not be able to find out who 'tis has done me this Mischief. For look thee, friend Sancho, on the one side thou amusest my Brains with a Story of the Curate and Barber, whereas on the other side, I find myself here enthralled, yet am assured that all the Curates and Barbers i' the World, nor any other power, not altogether supernatural, no not Tamerlaine himself, could have so encag'd me; which I am the rather bound to believe, because my enchantment is of a nature quiter different from all that ever I red of enchanted Knights in any History that ever I saw. And therefore banish that idle Crotchet out of thy head, that inveagles thee to think those persons to be what thou sayst they are. For they are no more the Barber and the Curate, then I am the Turk and the Devil. And now ask what Questions thou wilt, I'll answer thee till to morrow Morning. Mercy deliver me, cried Sancho, with a Voice of Admiration, Is it possible your Worship should have such a thick skull and so little Brains, as not to understand what I tell ye to be true? Why then I tell ye, you do the Devil an injury; he has no hand, no not so much as a finger i' this Plot— 'tis all a Contrivance of mortal Men, to your Infamy and Disgrace; and I'll prove it to be no enchantment, as clear as the Sun at Noon-day. Now then, tell me, Sir, as you hope for Deliverance out of these Barricado's, and as you expect one day to see yourself enfolded in the Arms of Madam Dulcinea— prithee Sancho, cried Don Quixote, interrupting him, what a Racket dost thou keep? Have I not promised to answer punctually to all thy Demands?— Tell me then without bounce or mincing the matter, but sincerely and faithfully, as persons ought to speak that make profession of Arms in the Quality of Knight-Errants— Why then assure thyself, replied Don Quixote, that I do renounce not only the Father, but the Mother of lies— But for the love of Heaven, either begin, or make an end before thou beginnest; for in good soothe, Sancho, thou tire'st me to death with thy Circumlocutions and Preambles— Why then, Sir, quo Sancho, secure as I am of the goodness and truth of my Master, I ask ye, Sir, tho with all Reverence and Modesty, whether, since you were as you believe, enchanted in that Chicken-Coop, you never had, through the motions of Nature, Desires micturient or cacaturient, as they say? I understand not, Sancho, what thou meanest, replied Don Quixote, prithee explain thyself in Language less mysterious. That's strange, quo Sancho, not understand at your years what 'tis to be micturient and cacaturient! why, 'tis the first thing we are perfect in at School— I ask you then in plain English, whether you never had a desire since your Encagement, to go where you can sand no body of your Errand? Oh, ho— Sancho, hast thou smelled me out? Now I understand thee— Yes, in good sooth-law, have I— and now thou puttest me in mind on't, the Bolts of my Tail are none of the fastest at this very instant— Quickly, dear Sancho, tell the Devil my urgent Occasions— and bid him lend thee the Pad-lock or a sheet of clean Paper— or if thou canst, get two— for I fear one wont be enough—.   

CHAP. XXII.  
Containing the excellent Discourse between Sancho Pancha and his Master Don Quixote.  
IS it so, quo Zancho? then y' faith, Master, I have ye upon a fair Hank, as they say. This is that which I more eagerly longed to know, then ever young Woman longed for green Apricots. Come on, sir, then i' the second place, Can you deny the usual Answer to the common Question, What ails such a one, that neither sleeps, nor eats, nor drinks? Don't they presently cry, such a one's bewitched? Whence I conclude, that they who neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor go to my Nuncle's House upon the necessary Occasions of Nature, are bewitched— But as for them that have these pressing Occasions, as your Worship has at this time, they that would eat if they had it, would drink if they could get it, and still answer to the purpose, 'tis impossible they should ever be enchanted— Thou sayst very true, Sancho, repl'yd Don Quixote; but how oft have I  told thee, that there are several sorts of enchantment, and it may be, that process of time has altered the manner of Incantation; so that it may be the fashion now, that they who are enchanted, may have all those Desires that I have, which formerly they that were in the same Condition, had not. And this being so, there is no arguing against the allowed Alteration of Custom, nor drawing Conclusions from what was done in past Ages. In short, therefore, it is a thing rammed into my Brains, that I am enchanted, and that's sufficient for the Discharge of my Conscience: For were it not for that, it would be a sore Burden upon my mind, like undigested Sturgeon upon a weak Stomach, to lye here like a Squirrel in a Lady's Pocket, butted in Sloth and cowardice, while so many miserable and unfortunate People roar out in all Corners of the Earth for my Favour and Assistance. Nevertheless, replied Sancho, for the more assured security of your Soul hereafter, I would desire you to endeavour your Liberty, and to free yourself from this ridiculous Captivity; to which purpose I engage the utmost of my Assistance; nay, and it shall cost me a fall but I'll bring it to pass too— for I would fain see your Worship once more upon the Back of Rosinante, who to me seems as much enchanted as yourself; such is his profound Sadness and Melancholy, not to be cured, but by your bestriding him again, in search of new Adventures. If we fail in our Enterprises, you ha' time enough, I warrant ye, to return to your wooden Jail; and then if you are so accursed of Heaven, and I so bewitched with the Simples, to fail i' my Design, I swear upon the Faith of a true and loyal Squire, and let me die the death of ten thousand drowned Kittens, if I don't shut myself up along with ye, and live or starve with your Worship, as the Devil of an enchanter shall think fit to dispose of our Bodies. Look thee, friend Sancho, replied Don Quixote, that thou mayst see 'tis no fault of mine, I give thee ample Commission to do thy utmost, and begin with the first Opportunity. But I fear me, poor Sancho, thou art only going about to water a Stake, and that like an ignorant Physician, thou art mistak'n in thy judgement concerning the Cause of my Distemper.  
This was the politic and learned Discourse between the Knight-Errant and his Squire, till the slow-paced Oxen arrived where the Prebend, the Curate, and the Barber were alighted. Presently the wagoner unspang'd his draught-Oxen, and set 'em a grazing at their own freedom; when Sancho, seeing those dull Animals enjoying their liberty, desired the Curate that his Master also might be permitted to come forth of his Cage, and stretch his Legs, at least tho it were but for so long time as the Beasts themselves were unyok'd; which if he refused to do, he assured him his Prison would not be so sweet and clean as became the Lodging of such a worthy Knight as his Master. The Curate understood what Sancho meant, and for answer; Friend, said he, when I was a Boy, and used to ask my Master leave to go forth, I did it more to play the Truant, then for any occasion I had. And therefore I fear this is only an Excuse of thy Master, and that when he is once out, he will gad so far out of our sight, that we shall never see him again. I'll be his Security, replied Sancho, and I likewise, replied the Prebend, provided he will swear by his Knighthood, not to stir beyond those Limits we shall prescribe him. By the Faith of a virtuous Knight-Errant I swear, replied Don Quixote, who listened attentively to all they said, altho my Oath be needless, seeing they who are enchanted have not the Power to do what they please themselves, but are at the Disposal of the enchanter, who by his Art can nail their Toes invisibly in such a manner to the Earth, that they shall not be able to stir a hair's breadth in three Ages together; or if they should endeavour to make their Escape, can fetch 'em back i' the Devil's name. So that, Gentlemen, added he, you may safely release me, or else you must be forced to remove to another Post; for to deal truly wi' ye, my Occasions are very urgent, and I will not be answerable for offending your Noses, after a fair Warning. Thereupon the Prebend took him by both his hands, tied as they were, and assisted him out of the Cage, to the unspeakable Joy of the poor enthralled Knight. Thus being unbound, the first thing he did, was to stretch his Limbs, which were not a little stiff, you may be sure. Which done, he went immediately to Rosinante, and giving him three or four claps o' the Buttock; mirror and Flower of all Steeds-Errant, quo he, maugre all these Misfortunes of ours, I trust in God and his blessed Mother, that we shall both behold ourselves e're long in that same happy Condition, which both our hearts desire; Thou prancing under thy Lord and Master, and thy Lord and Master mounted on thy sturdy Chine, performing those achievements, which my fortunate Stars portended at my coming into the World. And having so said, Don Quixote and his Squire retired to a Thicket at some distance from the Company, where the Knight having eased himself, and Sancho done the Duty of a cleanly Squire, they both return'd again, the Knight much sweeter and lighter then he had been for some hours before, and the Squire overjoyed that his Endeavours had proved so successful.  
At the same time the Prebend could not forbear gazing upon the Knight; and after he had with a diligent Eye observed the motions of every particular Member, and descanted to himself upon every word that dropped from his mouth, he stood amazed at such an extravagant piece of Madness, that left a Man his Senses, and his judgement in every thing else, but unhors'd all his Reason when he came to talk of Knight-Errantry: Insomuch that the compassionate Church-man pitied the Misfortune of the poor Gentleman; and therefore desirous to try whether all his Eloquence and Arguments could reclaim him; after every one had taken their Places upon the green-Grass, addressing himself to Don Quixote; Is it possible, Sir, said he, that such a witless, unsavoury, and impertinent Study, as that of idle Romances, should have that Operation upon a man's Senses to deprave his Understanding to such a degree, as to believe himself enchanted, with other chimeras of the same Nature, as far from Reason, as the lie itself is from Truth? How is it to be imagined, that there should be any person i' the World so simplo as to think that ever there were such a number of Amadis's, such Legions of Knight-Errants, so many Emperors of Trebizond, Guy's of Warwick, Faelixmarts of Hyrcania, Bevis's of Southampton, and Valentins and Orsons; so many Lady's-Errant, so many Serpents, so many Dragons, so many Giants, such Variety of enchantments; so many Defies and Challenges, such unheard-of and impossible Encounters, such Shoals of Squires, Counts, enamoured Princesses, and Amazonian Tiltresses in man's Apparel; in a word, such a confused Heap and Babel of Trash and Extravagance, as swell the folios of Knight-Errantry?  
I must confess, that when I red 'em, while I looked upon 'em to be no other then Fables and Fictions, they were a kind of a pleasing Pastime to me; but when I seriously considered what they were, cursed insipid lies, and Improbabilities, there was not one which I did not think deserved to be thrown into the Fire, as being a Company of Impostors that abused the Credulity of the ignorant Vulgar, and sometimes disturb the Brains of men of Sense and judgement; of which I find in yourself an unfortunate Example, by such Studies to be reduced to that Condition, that your Friends are constrained to secure ye in a Cage, and carry ye about the country like some African Monster to be shown at Market-Towns for sixpence a piece. For Heaven's sake, Mr. Quixote, take Compassion upon yourself, call home your wandring Reason, and make use of that Prudence and that admirable Wit, which God has given ye, to choose a more noble and profitable sort of Study, wherein to employ your serious Thoughts. But if your Inclinations are so ravished with War-like Exploits, and prodigious Actions, apply yourself to real and authentic History, where you will find those Miracles of Valour, that not only surpass all Fable, but even human Belief itself. What a preposterous thing it is, that Men should addict themselves to the Invention of so many fictitious Hero's, as if virtue itself were a Fiction, and a thing that could be only practised by such Romantick Champions; or that her most noble Instructions were only to be sought for among the Rubbish of lies and Fables? Would you red the Stories of great Men, Greece offers ye an Alexander, Rome a Caesar; Carthage a Hannibal; Portugal a Viriatus; Spain a Gonsales, a Diego Garcia, a Perez de Vargas, and several others; Great Britain, a Black Prince, and a Harry the fifth; all of 'em so many Portraitures of heroic Virtue, which affect the Reader at the same time with true Admiration, Delight, and a noble Emulation to follow their Examples. This, Mr. Quixote, is a Study to employ a Wit so towering as yours; by this means you will become well red in authentic Story, in love with virtue, bettered in Goodness, refined in your Manners, valiant without Fool-hardiness, and wary without cowardice, to the Honour of God, your own Profit, and the Renown of Mancha, as I understand, the Place from whence you derive your noble Original.  
Don Quixote listened with an extraordinary Attention to the Prebend's Discourse, and perceiving at length that he made a full Stop, after he had stared him wistfully for some time i' the Face; Mr. Prebend, quo he, you ha' made, as you think, a very fair Speech, and all your Oratory, I find tends to persuade me, that there never were any Knight-Errants i' the World, that all Books and Stories of Knight-Errantry are false, fabulous, unprofitable and prejudicial to the State; that I did ill to red 'em, worse to believe 'em, and still worse to imitate 'em, by taking upon me the severe and laborious Profession of a Knight-Errant. You repeat my Sense precisely, replied the Prebend— You added likewise, cried Don Quixote, that these Books have done me much wrong, that they ha' turned my Brains i' my skull, which is the reason I am put i'this Cage; and that it would be better for me to red serious and allowed Histories, as you call 'em, at the same time both profitable and delightful. Your Memory fails not in the least Particular, replied the Prebend— Very good, quo Don Quixote— And now, Mr. Prebend, the Devil take me, if I don't believe yourself to be the enchanted Person, and the mad Man, that has dropped his Wits in a Mill-dam. For what greater Proof have you for many things that you impose upon the World, but only the general Belief? Upon what grounds do you, Mr. Prebend, justify the numerous farthel of your Legends, and the strange Miracles repeated in 'em, when you are not certain there ever were any such Persons i' the World; nor are there any Witnesses of the Wonders which they are said to have wrought. And yet your Catalogue of Saints far exceeds the Ephemerides of Knight-Errants, and their Actions are altogether as incredible as those of Amadis de gall, or Greece; besides the innumerable number of relics, Baptists Heads, pieces of the across, Nails, Veroniques, &c. more then Atlas and St. Christopher were able to stand under. As for Example, the across is supposed to be but one piecce of Timber, and that not of the choicest Wood neither, and yet how many Snattocks of it shall we meet with, some of Cedar, some of Juniper, some of Cypress, &c. Then for the Nails, which could not be above four or five that were at first canonised, Heavens! how they are increased! Hannibal had not more Rings at the battle of can, nor does Bromigeham make so many in a Year, as you show Nails of all sorts and sizes; and so many Napkins, that had one man sold 'em all, he must ha' been the richest linen-draper i' the World. Now I desire but fair Play, that the Authors of my Books may be believed to be Authors of what they wrote, as well as yours. If your Books are generally received, so are mine; and more then that, acknowledged to contain such real Truths, that he who denys the matter of Fact, deserves the same Punishment for a heretic, to which you sentenced your own Books, when you threw 'em i' the fire. For, in short, to persuade me there were never any such persons i' the World as Amadis, or any of those other Knights so loudly famed in Stories of Chivalry-Errant, is to tell me the Sun does not shine, or that Winter's hot, and Summer could: Y' had as good make me believe, that the History of the Princess of Florence and Guy of Burgundy were false; or what befell Fierabrass upon the Bridge of Mantible, in the time of charlemagne; tho I dare swear both to be as true as that I was like to ha' befoul'd myself just now i' th' enchanted Cage. For if these be lies, then there never was any Hector, no Achilles, no Trojan War, no Twelve Peers of France, no King Arthur of Britain, who still lives i' the Shape of a Crow, and is still expected to return to his Throne; no St. George for England, when the Signs of St. George almost in all the Towns of that country, convince men to the contrary; and the Defeat of that strange Dragon which was then pregnant, and so was slain both her and her Issue, is demonstrated by the Extirpation of all Dragons ever since, that the thing was true. You may as well deny, that D. d'Alva's Face is not to be seen upon all the Jugg-pots in Holland, or Monsieur D. Ancre's Quidlibets in all the Taverns in France. Nay, more then all this, you may as well condemn for Fables the Amours between Sir Tristram and Queen Isond; or those between the fair Guinever and Sir Lancelot du Lake, when there be persons alive that remember they have seen the Lady Quintaniona, who had the Gift of tasting Wine beyond any Wine cooper in London; and the Story is so true, that I myself who speak the words, remember, that my Grandmother by the Father's side, when she saw any of those venerable Matrons that look a little read about the Nose; Look, Child, quo she, that Lady's like the Lady Quintaniona; whence I infer, that she must needs ha' seen her, or at least her Picture, which could ne're ha' been drawn, had she not been alive. As vain it is to contest the History of Peter of Provence, and the fair Lady Magdalene, when the Pin with which he governed his wooden Horse that carried him i' the Air, is still to be seen i' the King's armoury. Which Pin was as big as the Thill of a wagon; by the same token that it stands within a quarter of a yard of Babiesa's Saddle, which the valiant Cid's Back side has warmed full often. At Roncevaux also you have Orlando's Heart, as big and as thick as one of those pieces of Timber ye call Girders. You may likewise, if you will, but 'twill be to no purpose, deny the History of the three Bold Beuchamps, of whom the one killed the King of Bohemia, the t'other slay a Giant, and the other fought for the King's Daughter, and won her. Which was so true, that the Butchers of London would see no other Play at the Fortune, by their good Wills, but that, for several years together. Will any man presume to deny, that John of Mello was no Knight-Errant, and that he did not fight in Burgundy with the famous Lord of Chargny, and at Basil with Henry of Remestan, and lambasted 'em both? What think ye of the Challenges, and bloody Adventures of Peter Barba, and gualther Quixada, from whom I myself am lineally descended by the Male-line? I'll spit in his Face that shall tell me to my Teeth, they are Tales of roasted Horses, when 'tis known they sent the Sons of the Count of St. Paul to the Devil. Nor will he be a Friend to himself, that provokes me, by telling me, that D. Ferdinand of Guevara did not go to seek Adventures in Germany, where he fought with the Lord George, a Knight of high Quality, and so well rubbed his Bones, that he confessed he was never so rubbed in his life: with a thousand more renowned Feats of Arms performed by Christian Knights in all parts of the World, not to mention the English Knights of Jerusalem, that slay whole Armies to day, and begot whole Armies to morrow: And all these things so true and authentic, that but to question their Verity, would betray the greatest madness that ever was incurable in Bedlam.  
The Prebend astonished to hear what a confused Gallimawfry of History and Fable Don Quixote jumbled together, and his wonderful Memory in repeating whatever almost had been written in Knight-Errantry; I cannot deny, said he, but there is something of Truth in what you say, especially concerning the Knight-Errants of Spain; and I agree wi' ye, that there were Twelve Peers of France, but in good soothe I cannot give credit to all that Archbishop Turpin has written. All that I believe, is this, That they were certain Knights made choice of by the Kings of France, and called Peers, for their equality both in Prowess, and in Birth, at least they ought to have been such; for I dare not swear for the evenness of the Scales in that Particular. Neither will I deny, but that there might be such men i' the World, as the Cid, or Bernard de Carpio, or Guy of Warwick— S'life, Sir, quo Don Quixote, his Tomb's to be seen to this day i' the Town where he lived— Pardon me, Mr. Quixote, cried the Prebend, I do not deny, but that there might ha' been such Mortals upon Earth, but that they performed those miraculous achievements, which they are said to have done, I am somewhat tender how I make an Article of my Faith. But as to the Horse-pin you speak of, that is to be seen i'the King's armoury with Bab●esa's Saddle, let me die, if I don't begin to think myself blind, since you have affirmed it; for I could never see this Pin, as big as you say it is; tho I must confess, I ha' seen the Cid's monumental Saddle several times. Upon my life, Mr. Prebend, 'tis there, replied Don Quixote; by the same Token, they had put it in a Leathern Case to preserve it from the Dust. There's it then, quo the Prebend— shane take th'unmannerly Rascals, that ne're would show me such a Rarity, else how could I possibly divine what was in a Leathern Case. But grant it were there, I am not bound to believe the Stories of all your Amadis's, or of the ragged Regiments of all your other Scaperloitring Knights, that were never heard of, but in those fabulous Legends that so amuse the World, upon whom be the Hangman's Benediction, in sempiternum; and to which, how a Person of your exquisite Parts and Endowments should give so much credit, is to me a greater Wonder, then all the seven Wonders of the World put together.   

CHAP. XXIII.  
Containing the pleasant Dispute between the Prebend and Don Quixote.  
TIS a very pleasant business indeed, replied Don Quixote, that Books printed with Licence and Approbation, and applauded by all the World, high and low, old and young, rich and poor, learned and simplo; I say that these Books, notwithstanding all this, should be nothing but a Heap of lies, and feigned Inventions, and yet that Truth should appear so naked as she does, to her very Smock, in every page., with all her Circumstances attending about her, as the Names of the Fathers, Mothers, Uncles, Annts, country, Kindred, and Age of the Knights, many times under the very Clerk and Minister's Hands, their Exploits, and the Places where they performed 'em day by day, as exactly as a Seamans Journal— For Heaven's sake, Sir, and as ye expect Preferment i' the Church, stitch up your Lips for ever, rather then utter such a piece of heresy; and say I advice ye as a Friend. Or else, at your leisure times( and leisure enough you have, according to your lazy mode of reading your Sermons) red 'em once more over again, and then tell me what greater Happiness there can be i' this World, then to see appear before your Eyes of a sudden, a wide Lake of Pitch, boiling like a Bell-founder's Furnace, full of Neuts, Adders, Toads, and other poisonous Creatures, no less venomous, then terrible to the Sight: by and by from the midst of this same todgie, smoking cauldron of the Devil's Water-gruel, you hear a soft, melodious, screaming, skreeking, mournful Voice address to yourself in these words; Sir Knight, who e're thou art, that view'st this dreadul Lake, and wouldst enjoy those unspeakable Treasures concealed beneath these pitchy Waves, now show the Grandeur of thy Courage, and like another Drake, shoot this same flaming Gulf; else th'art a Dastard, and a white Liver'd Coward, unworthy to behold th' inestimable Wonders enclosed within the seven Towers of the seven Fairies here below this Lake of Hell's infernal Jelly-broth: and then the Voice ceasing, the Knight, all Fire and Tow, without any humming and hawing, or considering the cursed Risco he runs, but trusting to his Iron Enclosure, and only recommending himself to God and his adored Mistress, fetches a Jump, and darts himself head over heels down through the seething Puddle; and streight, before he knows where he is, or cares a straw what becomes of him, he finds himself in the midst of a spacious Plain, covered with a thousand sorts of odiferous Flowers, and a thousand times more pleasing to the Sight, then all the Asparagus, or Mulberry-Gardens i' the World. On the other side he views a delightful foreste, where the Verdure of millions of beautiful Trees, and all of different Natures, charm his Eyes; at what time an infinite number of little Birds with painted Wings of various Colours, hoping from Branch to Branch, all naturally singing Walsingham, and whistling John come kiss me now, enchant his Ears In another part he discovers a pleasing charet, whose purling Streams of liquid crystal, be-dimpl'd with Pearls and Silver, gently glide o'er Sands of Gold. There stands a sumptuous Fountain of speckl'd Jasper; a new Wonder of Art, adorned with Statues that seem to talk, and bid ye welcome. There you enter a cool Grotto, where the confusion of Muscles, Cockles, Periwinkles, Mother a' Pearl, Coral, and Oak-moss, far exceeds the vain toil of young Ladies at Boarding-Schools; representing Neptune's Dining-room hung about with Tritons and Syrens.  
By and by he discovers a stately Castle, the Walls of which are of massy Gold, the Battlements of Diamonds, the Gates of Jacinths; In a word, such an admirable Structure, that the meanest of the Materials are of Rubies, Carbuncles, Pearls, and emeralds: and while he is gazing upon this miraculous Pile, a numerous Train of young Ladies, with graceful place, come forth from one of the Gates of the Castle, and all so fair, so beautiful, so gorgeous in their Attire, as would inflame a Statue, and warm the frozen Blood of the most zealous Anchorite. But then! what then! Then she that seems to be the Princess of the Castle, and Mistress of all the rest, advances forward, and with a submissive and respectful Modesty, takes the bold Knight by the hand, and without speaking a word, leads him into the sumptuous Palace; where, having caused him to be stripped to the naked Skin by her Damsels, just as he was when he came out of his Mother's Womb, they put him into a delicious Bath, and rub him all over from head to foot, before and behind, with precious Essences, and odiferous Pomatums; and having wiped him dry, first they put him on a Shirt of Cobweb Lawn fit for the Queen of Fairies, all perfumed. Which done, another dansel comes and casts about his Shoulders a magnificent embroidered Mantle, worth the Metropolisses of three great Kingdoms. Then they carry him into another Room of State, of which the Furniture surpasses Admiration; where first they bring him in a large basin of Gold, embossed and studdi'd with Diamonds, a Sea of Essence of Amber, Orange, and Jessomy-water; then seat him in an Ivory Chair, where all the Damsels attend and wait upon him with an exact and profound Silence. But then who can recount the Variety and Delicacy of the Viands? Who can express the charming Excellency of the music all the while the costly Banquet lasts; yet neither they that play, nor they that sing are to be seen. The Table being cleared, while the Knight stretched out at his ease, sits picking his Teeth, of a sudden a Lady incomparably more beautiful then any of the rest, seating her self down by him, takes him about the Neck, and having kissed him some three or four hundred times with her rosy Lips, informs him what Castle it is, tells him she is enchanted, and implores his Assistance, with a thousand other miraculous Accidents, which then amaze the Knight, and astonish the Readers hereafter. And thus you see how the Stories of Knight-Errantry create both Pleasure and Wonder.  
Therefore, Mr. Prebend, be ruled by a Fool for once; red these Books over again, and you shall find how insensibly they exorcize that Devil of Melancholy, and rock the troubled Soul into the pleasing ecstasies of Mirth, and true Content; so that let a man be never so churlish, and ill-natured, they are able to rectify and cultivate his Inclinations. For my part, I do assure ye, Sir, since 'twas the Will of Heaven to make me a Knight-Errant, of a cowardly, froppish, niggardly, stingie, boarish Lobcock, I am become valiant, affable, courteous, complaisant, liberal, generous, indefatigable, and patient to that degree, as to endure without the least murmuring or repining, all the Imprisonments and Enchantments that ever befell a Knight of my Profession. And tho you see me at this time penned up in a wooden Frank, like a Boar against Christmas, I despair not however, but within these few days, by the strength of my Arm, and the Favour of Heaven, to ascend the Throne of some great Kingdom, that I may be able to sow i' the Field of the World, those virtues of Liberality and acknowledgement, that I am forced at present to keep hoarded up in my Breast. For who that is poor, can be munificent, tho he had the Soul of a Prince? Since acknowledgement in Desire, is but a dead virtue, like Faith without Works. And therefore I could wish, that Fortune once in her life would be so kind as to help me to an Empire, that I might be in a Condition to enrich my Friends; especially this poor Squire of mine, who is the honestest Fellow i' the World, and upon whom I would fain bestow an Earldom, as being a thing that I promised him two or three times i' my Cups,( and what I promise when I'm merry, I always love to perform when I'm sober) tho I confess I much question his Ability for so great an Employment. Oh, Sir, quo Sancho, do you but get the Earldom, and ne're trouble your head about my Capacity. I warrant ye, I'll govern it, take you no farther care— I have heard 'em talk of a sort of People that let out their Lands to Farmers, and these Farmers improve and till those Lands, as if they were their own, while their Landlords live at their ease, gutling and swilling up their Revenues without any farther Trouble or Perplexity of mind. Just so by my faith will I do, I find no difficulty i' the matter, 'tis as easy as pissing; I'll farm out my Government, and eat and drink my Rents like any Prince, and so let the World turn round or stand still, I'll never busy my head. Judge you now whether I am capable to govern an Earldom. You say very well, friend Sancho, replied the Prebend; but as to what concerns the Administration of Justice, you ought not to be so indifferent; that's the Earl's main business to look after, and which requires great Prudence and judgement to manage; and above all, an honest and virtuous Intention to determine rightly and justly which is to be the beginning and end of all his Actions. For as God ne're fails to favour Truth and Sincerity, so he ranverses the crafty Designs of the Wicked.  
I understand not your Gibberish Philosophy, cried Sancho, but I know how to govern an Earldom; and an Earldom I would fain have as soon as I could, for I have a Soul and a Body as well as other men; and I would be as absolute in my Earldom, as a King in his Kingdom: I would do what I list; and doing what I list, I would follow my own Humour; and following my own Humour, I would be contented; and being contented, I should ha' nothing more to desire; and having nothing more to desire, What-a-devil would a Man have more? Only let's have the Earldom, and then farewell till I see ye again, as one blind man said to t'other. There is no false Latin in all this, replied the Prebend, however there is much more to be said upon this very Subject of Earldoms. I know not what there is more to be said, quo Don Quixote, interrupting him, but this I am sure of, I go according to the President, and follow the Foot-steps of several Knights of my Profession, who, to reward their Squires, have made 'em Lords of Islands and Cities; to go no farther then Amadis de gall, who made his Squire Earl of the Swimming iceland. Which being so, with as little Scruple of Conscience may I give Sancho an Earldom; he being one of the best Squires that ever attended upon a Knight-Errant, and had he been born in former Ages, might ha' been a Pattern to all his Successors.  
While the Prebend was admiring at the strange and deep Impressions which the Study of Knight-Errantry had made in Don Quixote's Fancy; and no less at the Simplicity of Sancho, who thought his Master could ha' given him an Earldom with as much ease as some men play away a Mannor, the Servants return'd from the Inn with the Provision-Mule; who having spread a Carpet upon the Grass, under the shade of certain Trees, for once the Company made a shift to sit down like Turks, and fall too like Christians. But they had not been long at their Repast, before they heard the sound of a little Bell among the neighbouring Bushes, and by and by they saw a black and white Goat dance out of a Thicket, speckl'd with yellow Spots, pursued by a Goat-herd endeavouring to stop her with all the flattering and caressing Language imaginable. But the Goat having taken some distaste, and unwilling to be re-taken, ran directly to the Prebend and his Company; where being stopped, the Goatherd having caught her by the Horns, began to expostulate with the dumb Animal, as if 't had been the rational Goat that gave Jupiter suck; Ah wanton fugitive, cried he, ye spotted Slut, whither art a jumping my Dear? what has frighted thee my Child? is't because thou art a Female, and lovest to be gadding, ha? Come Nanny, come Nanny, go along with me, where thou shalt be safe among the rest of thy Companions: what dost thou think will become of them, who art their Guide and Mistress, if thou runn'st a rambling a' this manner?  
The Prebend was extremely pleased with the Goat-herd's Courtship, and therefore desired him not to be so hasty to carry back his Goat. Friend, said he, if she be a Female, as thou sayst she is, you ought to let her have her will; for if she have a mind to have her Fegaries, thou't find it a hard task to hinder her— Here, here, come and eat a bit, and drink a Cup of Wine to cool thy Passion, while the poor Goat lies down and rests her self— And so saying, he gave the Goat-herd the Leg of a could rabbit, which the Goat's Sweet-heart took with a country Congy; and after he had drank, with a b' y'er leave Geontlemen, to all the Company, Don't ye think, Geontlemen, quo he, tho che sbeak a thick manner to thick Bieast, that ch'am a mere Glown, as they zay. What ch' ha' zaid to the Bieast, ch' a' zaid, and there's more in't then you are ware on, Geontlemen— Ch'am a Glown, 'tis drew, but che' gnow how to sbeak to Geontlevoke, as well as to Bieasts. I am apt to believe it, replied the Curate, for I know by Experience, that Contemplation oftimes seeks the lonely Mountains, and Wisdom is no stranger to the homely Cottage— At least, Gentlemen, changing then his rustic Dialect, they may sometimes harbour, quo the Goat-herd, Men of Reason and common Understanding— And therefore if it ben't a piece of Rudeness to intrude into your Company, and that you'll be pleased to hear me but a quarter of an hour, I'll tell ye a Story to confirm the Truth of what the Gentleman has said. Friend, quo Don Quixote, undertaking for the whole Company, i' my Conscience, I smell either a Knight-Errant, or something of an Adventure in your Story; which if there be, I'll lend ye my Attention with all my Heart, and so I dare assure ye will these Gentlemen, whom I take to be all great Admirers of Novelty and Curiosity; and therefore you have no more to do, then to begin as soon as you please.  
God speed ye, Gentlemen, quo Sancho, a hungry Belly has no Ears; and therefore give me leave to retire to yonder Brook with my share, where I intend to stuff my Guts for three days: Squires and Ships must be vittl'd, or else they'll do no Service. Besides, I have often heard my Master tell me, that your Knight-Errants Squires must lose no Opportunity to fill the Wallet of their Stomachs, which will afterwards have leisure enough to digest its Load; in regard that many times it is their hard Fate to enter into a wide desert forest, out of which they cannot get out again in five or six days; so that if a man be not well ballasted before hand, he may be Food for the Crows, for want of Food for himself. Very well argued, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, go where thou wilt, eat what thou canst, and prudently put the rest i' thy Breeches. For my part, I have an Appetite soon satisfied, and therefore having fed my Body, I am now for feeding my Mind, as valuing the Banquet of a good Story, beyond all the costly Viands of an Emperor's Table. We are all of the same mind, replied the Prebend, and with the same Earnestness expect the first Course. With that the Goat-herd stroking his Beloved upon the back; lye down by me a while, my pretty motley Fool, quo he, the Day's not so far spent, but that we ha' time enough to return to the Herd. Upon which, they say, the intelligent Creature, as if she had understood his Language, laid her self down at his feet, and looking wistly in his Face, seemed to bid him proceed, which he did after this manner.   

CHAP. XXIV.  
Containing the Goat-herd's Story.  
ABout three Leagues from this Valley, in a small Village but one of the richest in all these parts, there lived a wealthy Farmer, well-belov'd, and in great Reputation among all his Neighbours, tho more for his virtue and good Qualities, then for his Estate. But his chiefest Happiness was a Daughter, beautiful, discreet, and modest beyond compare. This dansel was not above sixteen years of Age, when the Report of her Perfections spread itself over all the neighbouring Villages, and at length arrived in distant Cities, inflaming the young Sparks to that degree, that they came far and near to behold this matchless Master-piece of Nature. On the other side, her Father had a watchful Eye over her, as being the only Treasure i' this World, which he most highly prized; tho indeed his Care was needless, she being of her self so reserved and wary of her Honour. Nor was it without reason, for being an Heiress to a considerable Competency, the famed of her Beauty, and her Father's Acres, drew a mighty Resort of young Whipsters to the House; some passionately enamoured of her Person, others in love with her Fortune, and others with both together; some i' their laced Coats and Point-Cravats, some of meaner Rank, with read and blew ribbons under their Chins, of all Sizes and Professions; so that in the midst of so much Variety, the poor man was extremely troubled where to fix, well-knowing his Daughter could have but one at a time. Among this numerous crowd of Pretenders, I was one who had not the least reason to hope well for myself, as being of the same Village, well known to her Father to be descended of honest Parents; besides that, he understood both my Estate, and my Age; and then again, I was looked upon i' the country to be no Fop. All which put together, contributed very much to the Conclusion of the Match. But there was at the same time another Lad i' the same Town, hopeful and handsome, and indeed my equal in every thing; who making the same Applications that I did, made the Father totter in his Opinion what to say, or what to think, finding us both fit Matches for his Daughter. In this Confusion he determined to leave it wholly to the fair Leandra's choice( for that was the Name of the dansel) that he might not seem to impose upon her Affection. I know not what Answer Leandra made him, but this I'm sure of, that the Father still put us both off from time to time, neither condescending nor refusing, but pretending to both, that his Daughter was not of Years yet ripe enough to mary. Therein doing like a prudent Father, in propounding a good Choice, but leaving his Daughter to please her self. By the way you are to understand, that my Rival's Name was Anselm, and mine Eugenio, two of the chief Persons concerned in this Story that begins with Love, but ends a little oddly.  
Now while we were thus kept at the Stave's end in a Dilatory suspense, there came to the Village a certain young Swash-buckler, whose Name was Thomas of Waltham, the Son of a ravenous Pettifogger, that lived in the same Hamlet. This Thomas of Waltham, at twelve Years of Age, ran away from his Father, and having rambl'd Flanders and the Low Countries, where he pretended to put his Cheats upon the Duke of Luxemburgh and the Prince of Orange, twelve years after that return'd home again in the Habit of a soldier, but so bedizon'd with Glass-beads of a thousand Colours, set in Branches of St. Martin's wire, that he made a more glistering show i' the Sun, then a Prince of Guinney; and these Beads he so well knew how to chop and change, and put others in their places, that he seemed to have a new Suite for every Day i' the Month. The country People, who are naturally malicious, and when they have nothing to do, become as envious as the Devil himself, could not be content to admire, but set themselves to examine diligently this same odd sort of Jay-like Bravery. And at length by strict Observation found, that he had no more then three different Suits of Apparel of ordinary Stuffs; but he had so many fantastic Tricks and Inventions to disguise 'em, that you would ha' sworn he had had a Duke's Wardrobe. He would usually sit upon a Bench under a spreading Oak that grew in the Village, and there make long Relations of his Adventures, and his famous achievements; there was not any part of the World where he had not set his feet; not a considerable battle had been fought, wherein he had not been present; he had killed more Moors then all Barbary contained; he had fought more Duels then all the Bullies in London, in every one of which he had still come off with Victory. Then he would pretend to show us the Scars of Wounds, which tho they could not be discerned, yet he made us believe they were the Shots and Slashes which he had received in several desperate Encounters; he was so arrogant, that he would Dick and Tom, and Thou and Thee his superiors with an unusual Insolence, boasting that his Arm was his only Parent, and his achievements were his Pedigree; and that being as he was a soldier, he was not inferior to the King himself. Besides these rare Qualities, he could sing a little better then a country Parish-Clerk; he had a Voice like a bide called a Swine, and scraped upon a Violin like a country fiddler. But his chief Excellency lay in his Poetry, for he had his Rhymes ready upon all Occasions, as if he had emulated the great famed of Poet ninnie; and if a Wench did but fart in her sleep, would scribble ye two or three Sheets upon the Subject in a Quarter of an hour; so that he furnished the whole Village with wast Paper for a long time.  
Now this Thomas of Waltham, this Bugle-merchant, this Gusman, this Braggadoshio, this Huff-snuff, this Doggerel-Rhymer, did the more fair then wise Leandra behold from a Window of her Father's House, and was presently smitten; the soldiers invisible Weapons immediately wounded her Heart; his Pedlar's Trinkets dazzled her Eyes; she was charmed with his Rodomontado's, she looked upon him as a second Sir Eglamore, took every thing for Gold that glister'd, and the Devil owing her a particular shane, she fell so desperately in love with this same Son of Ostentation, that she became his Prisoner before he had the confidence to summon her to a Surrender; and as no Intrigue in Love is carried on so smoothly as that, where the Gallant is favoured by his Mistress, 'twas a Match between Leandra and Thomas of Waltham, before either of us had the least Suspicion of it; for Argus himself, had he been sent to watch her, would ne're ha' suspected such a Thief as he. In short, the business being thus suddenly concluded, and the time appointed, the precious Map of Modesty makes up her farthel,( for still you must know, that in such Cases as these the Father always entrusts his beloved Darling with the Keys of his Treasure) takes one of the Old Man's best Geldings, and away she troops as fine as Pins could make her, with she hardly knew whom, she scarcely knew whither.  
An Accident so unexpected strangely surprised the whole Village, which was presently all in an Uproar; the Father tore his Beard from his Chin, while poor Anselm and I, amazed, distracted, confounded, and overwhelmed with Despair, were ready to hang ourselves in our own Garters, for Grief and Sorrow. Presently Hue and Cry was sent after the two Fugitives with all the speed imaginable; and the Officers, partly for love of the Old Man, partly well paid before-hand, used such diligence, and made such hast, that in three days they found Leandra stripped to her very Skin( for Thomas of Waltham was rid away with all the rest, but her Maiden-head, not thinking it safe to stay the taking it along with him.) In that Condition, only with an old Coat left her in Charity to hid her Nakedness, they brought her back to her Father, to whom she confessed that Thomas of Waltham had deceived her, got her good Will, and persuaded her to along with him to the Devil's Arse i' the Peak, or some place or other where he had vast Preferments, and where she should be the Lord knows what. By which means abusing her easiness and the Confidence she had in him, he carried her the same Night to the Cave where they found her, and where the Raggamuffin, after he had stripped her, left her to condole her Folly and Misfortune, without offering any other Violence to her Body. Which was a difficult thing to believe of a lustful, rough-hewn young Gusman as he was. But Leandra made so many Protestations of the Truth of her Paramour's Continency, that her Father overjoyed he had her again unplunder'd of her most inestimable Jewel, forgave her all the rest of his Losses. However, the same day she appeared, she vanished again, being privately conveyed away to a safer Lock and Key then his own, in a Nunnery distant some few miles off, hoping that time would obliterate the Miscarriage of her imprudent Heat.  
'tis true, that they who had only a Neighbourly Kindness for the Maid, were willing to accept her Youth for a satisfactory Excuse of her Vanity, and improvident Rashness. But they who were well acquainted with her Wit and Discretion in other things, rather blame the natural Inclination of Women, which is fickle and humoursome.  
As for Anselm, ever since Leandra's first disappearing, he is fallen into a deep Melancholy, sits musing and picking a' Straws, like a Changeling; and 'tis thought 'twill come to that in time, that we shall see him sitting upon the High-way in a long Coat and a clean Bib, begging the Charity of Travellers. And for my own part, that loved her dearly, and perhaps may have a Kindness for her still, I am in such a Quandary, that I know not whether I shall ever see the Female Sex more: Which has made me retire into this Valley, where I feed a Herd of Beasts, as wanton as Women, but more easy to be ruled. How many Curses have I bestowed upon that Son of a Whore Gusman? How many times have I blamed the carelessness of Leandra's Father, that had not a stricter Watch over her? Nay, how many times have I bestowed a kind Malediction upon Leandra her self, for her Folly and Indiscretion? But all signifies not a Rush; so that I know not whether I should abide here any longer, were it not to behold the Folly of others. For you must know, these Mountains are full of Leandra's Inamorato's, as if Arcady were removed hither; at least, these desert Hills are become the Habitations of such a number of puling, whining Lovers, as may justly give these Groves and Thickets the Title of Fools Paradise. Here is nothing else to be heard but Leandra's Name. One Shepherd calls her Fanstatick and Light; another, easy and Imprudent; some accuse and justify her, all in a Breath; some talk of her Beauty, others bemoan her Absence, others blame her for all the Misfortunes which they suffer; almost all despise, and all adore her; some complain of her Cruelty that never saw her i' their lives; and others are jealous of her, that never had any Occasion; for she disposed of her Body before any one could claim an Interest in her Heart. Here sits one upon the cleft of a Rock, with his Arms a-cross, and his Hat over his Eyes, bewailing his Misfortunes; there sits another by the side of a purling Stream, invoking Heaven to witness he knows not what himself; there lies another leaning upon his Elbow at the foot of a shady three, breathing out loud Complaints to the silent Air, against a person that never did 'em any harm, God knows. The Trees, for ought I find, are the only Sufferers, as being daily wounded and gash'd to make way for Leandra's Name. And thus the Name of Leandra, that I dare say, never dreams of any of these her raving Admirers, bewitches and enchants 'em after the strangest manner i' the World, while they live continually in Hopes and Fears, yet know not what to hope, nor what to expect.  
But among the whole Crowd of these Fopdoodles, there is none so frantic as my Rival Anselm, who having the most just Complaints of any but myself, to make, and perhaps not without reason, does nothing all day long but bewail her Absence, when he knows the way to her again; and if that be all he has to except against, I dare say, might be a welcome Guest to her Father, who would be glad to see his Daughter's Reputation stitched up again upon any Conditions. For my part, I think I take a wiser Course, for I spend my time in exclaiming against the Inconstancy of Women, the falsehood of their Promises; and in laughing at the Folly of their Actions, their Scorn and Contempt of those that truly love 'em, and their fantastic Choice of Fools and Knaves. And then come the Descants of the World, when she's sent home again to her Parents, without a Rag to her Tail— She was  told on't— but she would not be advised by her Friends— She might have had an honest Gentleman— but she would needs have a roister— and now she may thank her unpity'd self— And this, Gentlemen, was the meaning of those words which I talked to my Goat, when I followed her to this place, for which I have but a very small Respect, as being a Female, tho she be one of the fairest in my Herd. I know not whether my Story may have answered your Expectation, however, if you please to go along with me to my Cottage hard by, I will endeavour to repair the Injury I ha' done ye, with a short Collation of Cheese, and Milk, and Fruits of the Season, which perhaps may be more acceptable.   

CHAP. XXV.  
Containing the quarrel between Don Quixote and the Goat-herd, and the rare Adventure of the Penitents, which cost him the Sweat of his Brows to accomplish.  
THE Story pleased the whole Company, especially the Prebend, who highly applauded the Goat-herd's Elocution; who was now no more in his Thoughts the Clown and rustic which he took him to be, but a Person literate, and of excellent Sense; of whom the Curate had reason to say, That the desert Mountains were not always without Men of Wit, and such as knew the World. Therefore they repaid him with all the Civilities and kind Offers imaginable: but Don Quixote, more liberal then any of the rest, Truly, honest Friend, said he, were I in a Condition to undertake an Adventure, I would make it my business to serve ye, without delay. For I would go immediately and tear Leandra out of the Nunnery, where, without question she is detained against her Will; and in despite of the Abbess, and all the Monks and Nuns under Heaven, would surrender her into your hands, to dispose of at your own pleasure; observing however, the Laws of Chivalry-Errant, which do not permit the least Injury to be done to Ladies. But I hope in God, the Malice of a villainous enchanter will not always be so powerful, but that another Necromancer better affencted, will deliver me out of his Clutches, and then I will secure ye both my Favour and Assistance, according to the Laws of my Profession, which oblige me to the Relief of those that are oppressed.  
The Goat-heard, who had as yet taken little notice of Don Quixote, hearing him utter such Romantick Bombast, viewed him from heat to foot, but finding neither his Habit, nor his Physiognomy correspondent to his Offers, he turned to the Barber that sate next him, and whispering him in the Ear; Sir, said he, who is this person that talks at this extravagant rate? I never saw such a strange Creature i' my life. 'tis a sign you live in a foreste, quo the Barber; who should it be but the famous Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Flail of Oppression, the Revenger of Injuries, the Protector of Ladies, the Ribroaster of Giants, invincible in battle? This, quo the Goat-heard, is just like what we red i' your Books of Knight-Errants, who were all such a sort of Desperado's. But for my part, I am apt to think you are only merry with the Gentleman, as one that has empty Lodgings to let in his Costard. Ye damned insolent Son of thirty Tinkers, cried Don Quixote, 'tis thou art the Skimmer-scull'd Rascal— I have a thousand times more Brains then the carted Bawd thy Mother, and all thy Bitch-whelp'd Generation; and so saying, he took up a Six-penny Loaf that stood upon the Table, and flung it with such a malicious fury at the Goat-herd's Head, that the hard Crust had almost levelled his Nose with his Face, and loosened all his Fore teeth. The Goat-herd not understanding such kind of raillery, and as hasty to return Civility for Civility, never minded Table cloth, nor Victuals, nor the Squeezing of Tarts as flat as Pan-cakes, but flew upon Don Quixote, and catching him by the Throat, had throatl'd him without mercy, had not Sancho, taking him by the Shoulders, pulled him backward, across the Collation, upon Dishes, Pots, and Glasses, among the relics and Orts of the Prebend's good cheer. On the other side, Don Quixote finding himself free, threw himself again upon the Goat-herd, who being thus unequally beset, two for one, with his Face and Eyes all bruised, and Sancho still laying on like a Loathbury Brazier, felt about for one o' the Carving-knives to have taken a fatal Revenge, by tapping the Breast and Guts of Knight and Squire both at once. But the Prebend had warily caused those unlawful Weapons to be removed out of the way; so that 'twas only a desperate kind of Counter-scuffle, where neither Dish nor Cup could stand still, but the Salutations were so rude and unmannerly, that tho the Meat was well dressed, the Guests were all raw, and the Blood ran about their Chaps, as if they had been Cannibals feeding one upon another. And as yet the Goat-herd had the worse, till the Barber willing to see a little fair Play, gave him an Opportunity to get upon Don Quixote, who then bestriding the Knight, plied him so fast with his Knuckles, that he was even with the Hero for the Blood which he had lost before; and now you'd ha' sworn they had both put on their Visor-Masks to hid their own handy Work; Dust and Blood had so bemoyl'd their Faces, where their Eyes were no more to be seen for the Rainbows and Swellings that usually accompany such kind of Horse-play. The Prebend and the Curate were ready to burst; the Bailiffs hoop'd and hollowed, clapped their hands, and with Halloos, and to him Lion, there Brindle, set 'em on as they do Mastiffs i' the Street. Only Sancho was as mad as a March-Hare, to find himself held by one of the Prebend's Servants, to prevent his helping the Knight his Master.  
Now while this Bear-garden Sport made all the rest of the Company merry, but the two Combatants, who lay battering one another with an unspeakable Antipathy, what animates to fight at other times, did here dissolve the Fray. For by and by they heard the sound of a Trumpet so sad and doleful, that it enforced their Ears to a more then ordinary Attention. But it wrought upon none so much as it did upon Don Quixote; who, tho he lay full sore against his Will under the Oppression of the Goat-herd's Body, more then moderately bruised and pounded, and unable to relieve himself, yet was his Spirit of Revenge at that time willing to submit to that of his Curiosity. And therefore Brother Devil, quo he; for other then a Devil thou canst not be, that hast both Valour and Strength to equal mine; prithee let's make a Truce, and leave off this same Butcherly Boxing; I am quiter weary of it— besides that, I am persuaded the dolorous Sound of this same Trumpet calls me to the more noble Recreation of killing out-right. Upon which the Goat-herd, no less weary of pounding, then being pounded, presently gave off; at what time Don Quixote getting upon his Legs, after he had shook his Limbs and wiped his Face, turned himself toward the place from whence the sound came, and presently spied descending down the side of a Hill several People clad in white, which others readily discerned to be a Cluster of Penitents, but Don Quixote strongly fancied to be Devils in Masquerade. Now it seems there had no Rain fallen all that year, which made the country People think it convenient to implore the mercy of heaven by a devout Procession to a Hermitage that lay at the foot of the Mountain. But Don Quixote no sooner beholded the strange Habiliments of the Penitents, but he imagined it to be some desperate Adventure which he was to undertake, as being the only Knight-Errant in the Company. And that which confirmed him in this reverend piece of Dotage, was an Image covered with Mourning, carried by the Penitents, which he took to be some forlorn Princess, which those Miscreants, and disloyal Knights had ravished away by force, and were hurrying to some dismal Castle of their own. Full of these Imaginations, he buckles on his armor, shoulders his Buckler, and having mounted Rosinante with no less speed; Now, Lords and Gentlemen, quo he, be patient a while, and you shall see how vastly it concerns the whole World, that there should be persons like myself, that make Profession of Knight-Errantry. Now I say, the Hour is come, that you, beholding my courageous Actions in setting at liberty this captive Lady, shall aclowledge the high Honour that is due to the Lambasters of the Wicked. And so saying, he clapped his Heels to Rosinante's Sides, as having lost his Spurs, and putting on a good round Gallop( for in all this true History you never red, that ever Rosinante trotted) road directly toward the Penitents, who little dreamed of the Storm that was coming, while they were praying for Rain. And all this, notwithstanding the vigorous Endeavours of the Prebend and Curate to restrain him, and little regarding Sancho's Exclamations, who yauling incessantly after him, cried out, Where the Devil are ye posting, Master Don Quixote? Does Beelzebub himself possess ye, thus to sand ye a tilting against the catholic Faith? Don't ye see 'tis only a Procession? and that the Lady which they carry upon that same Pedestal, is the Image of the blessed Virgin— Upon my life y' are distracted— Master— Master— Hey— Master— Master come back i' the Devil's Name, and don't ride headlong to Hell. But Sancho worry'd his Lungs in vain; for his Master was so bent upon delivering the Lady i' the Mourning, that he would not ha' return'd back, no, not for the Pope himself, nor all the persuasions of the whole Council of Trent.  
stoping Rosinante, therefore, within twenty Paces of the Procession, with a hoarse and furious Tone; Hold Rake-hells, cried he, that under sacred Vestments, disguise the worst of Miscreants, attend and heark'n to my Words— The first that stood still, were those that carried the Image; at what time one of the four Priests that sang the litanies, beholding Don Quixote's extravagant Garb, the meager Ribs of Rosinante, and several other ridiculous Circumstances, which he observed in the menacing Champion; Friend, said he, if you have any thing to say to us, speak it quickly; for all this while these poor People are scourging their own Flesh, and we have no leisure to hear a long Discourse. Why then, replied Don Quixote, in short— Pray release that fair Lady, whose disconsolate Looks and Tears sufficiently declare, that you have done her some ungracious Injury, and that you are hawling her away from her Parents and Kindred, against her Will. For my part, I came into the World to prevent such Violences as these, and cannot therefore in Honour consent to let ye pass, till ye have restored her to her desired Liberty.  
There needed no more to confirm those People, that Don Quixote was no wiser then his Father had begot him; so that they could not forbear laughing in his Champion like Face: and it is to be feared, that one was so bold as to bid him troop about his own Business, like a Fool as he was— But this was to set a lighted Match to a Barrel of Gun-powder— For Don Quixote enraged to see himself derided, made directly, with his Sword drawn, toward the Image. At what time one of the persons that carried it, leaving his Employment to the rest of his Companions, ran to meet the menacing Hero, with one of the Forks that sustained the Pageant when it restend in any place: Which, tho the mighty Champion slit in two pieces with the first Blow of his Sword that he struck, yet with the other half that remained, the stout Opponent return'd the Knight such a use of Admonition upon the right Shoulder, that his Buckler not being bound to take care of both sides, the Violence of the Randan-Rub fetched him from his stead to the Ground, where he lay yerking with his Legs at first, like a Capon newly Neck-twisted, and by and by became as motionless as the Image he sought to deliver.  
Sancho, who still followed his Master, came in puffing and blowing just at the God-speed of this unfortunate Mischance; and seeing the dismounted Knight in that bad and disastrous Condition, cried out to the countryman to hold his hand, for that his Master was a poor silly enchanted Knight that never did any body harm in his life. However, 'twas not Sancho's Intercession that stopped the Countryman's Fury, but his own Fears; for he perceiving that Don Quixote lay like a Dormouse in a Box of Cotton, not so much as wagging Hand or Foot, verily believed he had murdered him; and therefore tucking up his long Gown about his Waste, for Expedition-sake, he fell a' running, as if the Constable and all his Watch had been at his Heels.  
By this time the Curate and the Prebend, with all the rest of Don Quixote's Company were come into the end of the Fray; upon whose Approach, the Processioners beholding the Bailiffs with their Swords and Pistols, and conceiting Revenge i' their heated Countenances, cluster'd together about the Image, and lifting up their Veils, the Penitents with their Scourges, and the Priests with their Torches, resolved to abide the Assault, and defend themselves and their Idol, as well as they could. But Fortune ordered the Business better then they could expect, to the Advantage and Satisfaction of both Parties. For while Sancho lay stretched out at his full lenghth over his Master's Body, most dolefully lamenting and bewailing him for dead, the Curate happened to be known to the Curate of the Procession, which presently dispersed all Fears and Jealousies on both sides; so that the Curate having given his Brother person a short Account who Don Quixote was, they went all together, Penitents and all, to see if he were within the Cure of Spruce-bear and Irish-slate, or no.  
But when they came near the Thing that seemed to lye for dead, like one of the Knights of Jerusalem i' the Temple Rounds, there they found Sancho with the Tears trickling down his Cheeks as big as counterfeit Pearls, and making his Master's Funeral-oration in these Words: Bright Flower of Chivalry, quo he, by Ignominious Cudgel thus laid low, a Sacrifice to a damned Sexton's Wrath; farewell eternal Honour of thy Race, not only Mancha's Darling, but the whole World's Glory, now by thy death become like a defenceless Orphan, exposed to the Rage and Violence of wicked men, that fearless now of thy chastising Arm, will ravish virtue, and set Justice naked with her Heels upward. Liberal above a thousand Alexanders, who for eight Months Service only, hadst enriched me with one of the best Islands i' the World! O thou that wert humble to the Proud, and lofty to the humble, that frightedst every one, of all afraid; daring in Danger, tame Sufferer of Affronts; a Lover of Shadows, the Scourge of Oppressors, and Enemy of Penitents, as Oppressors of themselves! In a word, a Knight-Errant, and then what Tongue of Mortals can say more? But only farewell Master, farewell Islands, farewell all the World.  
These loud Moans and Lamentations fetched Don Quixote again to himself; at what time, after a long and profound Sigh, which was the first Sign he gave of Life; He that is absent, quo he, from Thee, most peerless Dulcinea, can never be other then miserable— Help me, dear Sancho, once more into the enchanted Chariot, for I am not in a Condition to bestride unruly Rosinante— Oh— Sancho— Sancho! never was a Tavern-bisket cracked into so many pieces, as my Shoulder-blade— I have no more use of my right Arm, then a jointed Baby— With all my heart, replied Sancho, I am still ready to assist my dear Master— And so, Sir, let's even return home to our own Village, where we may at leisure consider of some other Adventure, more to our Honour and Profit. Thou sayst well, answered Don Quixote, 'tis Prudence to weary the malicious Influences of the Stars. Upon which words, the Prebend, the Curate, and the Barber failed not to strike while the Iron was hot, and having soothed him up in his provident Care of himself, return'd him into his enchanted Cage, where they laid him forth upon a Truss of Hay, to the great grief of Rosinante, who at that time did not a little envy him his Cushion.  
Thus the Procession went on in good order; the Goat-herd retired, after he had taken leave of the Company, and the Bailiffs were paid and dismissed by the Curate. The Prebend also embraced the Curate, and after he had obtained his Promise to give him an Account of Don Quixote's Cure, pursued his Journey. And thus the Curate, the Barber, Don Quixote and Sancho, were left alone with Rosinante, who among so many Hurly-burlies had shew'd no less Patience then his Master. So that now the almost dismembered Knight being laid at his ease, as we said before, upon his Bottle of Hay, discreetly strewed under his bruised Bones, the wagoner driven on according to the Curate's Directions; and at the end of six days, according to the grave place of those lazy Animals, happily arrived at Don Quixote's Village; into which they made their entry at high Noon, upon a Sunday, of all the Days i' the Week. Presently Men, Women, and Children came forth to see the Man i' the Cage; but when they knew their old Landlord and Acquaintance, Joy and Admiration put 'em into such a fit of hooping and hollowing, enough to ha' waked the seven Sleepers three years before their time. In the mean while, a little Boy ran to carry the News to Don Quixote's niece and Governante, telling 'em, That their Uncle and Master was come home, laid upon a Bottle of Hay, but so lean and disfigured, that he hardly knew him again.  
' Twou'd ha' grieved your Heart to ha' heard the Lamentations of his Kinswoman, and his old Maid, when they saw him— Lord! Sir, cries one, What makes ye come home thus in a Cage? And then she thump'd her Breast, and watered her Cheeks, like a Nurse at a Funeral. Was there ne're a Stage-Coach, cries t'other, to be got, but that you must be thus caged home, like a wild Swedish Cat? The Devil take all those Diabolical Books of Knight-Errantry, cries the niece— Is this the fruit of Adventuring, cries the Maid? The Lord bless me with that little Wit I have, and no more— And all this, and a great deal worse they repeated, when they saw him creep in a-doors, like one that had shattered his Bones from the top of a Pear-tree. Presently comes Sancho Pancha's Wife( for the News flew like a fired Rocket) and meeting her Husband, Well, quo she, and how does the Ass? Better then his Master, quo Sancho. The Lord be praised for that, i' the first place, quo his Wife— But prithee, Husband, tell me, quo she, What hast got all this while by thy Squiring? Hast brought me home e're a new Petticoat? or any shoes and stockings for the Children? I ha' brought none of those Trifles home, quo Sancho, but I ha' brought things of greater value. Now thou chear'st my Heart, quo his Wife, prithee let's see those things of Value. I will show thee at home, replied Sancho; in the mean time be satisfied, good Wife; for if it be our good Fortune to take another frisk, as I hope we shall, thou shalt see me in a short time governor of an iceland, I say of an iceland, and that one of the best Islands in the World; none of your paltry Islands of thirteen to the Dozen. Pray God thou beest John, Husband, quo she— But what dost mean by an iceland, Sancho, for I don't understand your hard Words? Why look ye, quo Sancho, Tell a mere a Tale, and she'l let a Fart— 'tis not for Asses to lick Honey— Thou shalt understand what I mean time enough, when thou shalt wonder to hear thyself called nothing but Lady and Madam, and see all thy Slaves and Vassals bowing and cringing about thee, with their Hats off— What dost think on't?— won't these be brave new-Petticoat-days?— I' the mean time, good dear Joan Pansa, not a word o' the Pudding— stay till the time comes, and make no Brags— 'tis enough, that what I tell thee's true— And therefore believe thy noun Sancho— Only by the way let me tell thee, There's no such Pleasure i' the World, as to be a Squire to a Knight-Errant that goes a Nutting after Adventures— 'tis true indeed, that all we meet with, do not always succeed— Of a hundred, not fourscore and nineteen hit right— I know it by Experience, Wife— thanks be to God, I ha' tried it— I ha' been tossed in a Blanket— I ha' been thrashed till my Bones ha' rattl'd i' my Skin, like a Bag of Chessmen— Nevertheless, 'tis a most pleasant life to ride a hunting, as we do, in chase of that Whore Fortune— over Rocks, over Mountains, through deserts and Forests, to visit Castles, and lodge at Inns, without paying the Devil a across to the Sot of an Inn-keeper, that gives us the best diet and Lodging he has.  
Thus Sancho mused his Wife, while Don Quixote's Niece, and his Maid undressed him, and put him in his old Bed, where he lay casting a melancholy Look, sometimes upon the one, sometimes the other; yet not knowing either them or himself. At the same time the Curate laid a strict Charge upon the Niece to take care of her Uncle, but above all things, narrowly to watch him, to prevent his making a third Escape; telling her withal, what a deal of Pains and Trouble it had cost him to get him home again. With that the Niece and the Maid began again to lift up their Voices; they thundered out a thousand Maledictions against Books of Knight-Errantry; and besought of Heaven to confounded, and sand to the very Center of the Abyss the Authors of so many lies and Impostures. In short, they made it their business diligently to watch the good Gentleman, continually alarmed with Fears and Jealousies, lest they should lose him again, as soon as recovered; which unhappily not long after fell out accordingly, notwithstanding all their Industry and Diligence.    
The End of the First Part.   

 Don Quixote and players 
Don Quixots Encounter with the Players page. 339.   
 Don Quixote and lions 
Don Quixots Adventure of the lions page. 363.   

THE SECOND PART OF THE LIFE and achievements Of the most Ingenious KNIGHT, Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART II. BOOK I.  

CHAP. I.  
Containing the manner of Don Quixote's third Escape.  
CID Hamet Benengeli recounts in the second Part of this History, and the third Escape of Don Quixote, that the Curate and the Barber were above a Month before they would Adventure to give him a Visit, for fear of recalling to his Memory what in time they were in hopes he might have clean forgot. Nevertheless, they failed not every day to see his niece, and his old Maid, to whom they gave a special Charge every time they came, to be careful of their Nursery, and as well to divertise him with their Company, as to recruit his Body with wholesome Diet, proper to comfort the Heart and Brain, where lay his chiefest Distemper. To which they answered, That all the Mad-houses about London could not be more tender of him, then they both were, and would be; so much the rather, because they observed a strange Amendment in him, and that he would many times talk as rationally and discreetly, as the President of a Synod. This was joyful News to the Curate and Barber, who looked upon it as a good Effect of the enchantment they had themselves divis'd. Thereupon they determined to give him a visit, and make trial themselves of the Progress of his Cure, which, however, they thought impossible. And because they would not wake a sleepy Lion, they agreed not to speak a word of Knight-Errantry. With these Resolutions they entered his Chamber, where they found him sitting up in his Bed, in a waistcoat of green Bays, with a Turban-fashion'd Cap upon his Head, but with his Skin so withered and sallow, and so Dog-lean, that he looked like the Picture of Death itself. Nevertheless, he was very glad to see his Friends, thanked 'em very civilly for their kind Visit, and like a man in his perfect Senses, gave 'em an Account of his Condition as rationally as a Colledge-Doctor, and made 'em an Answer to all their Questions pertinently and discreetly, beyond their Imagination. After they had thus prattl'd, for some time, of ordinary Matters, they fell at length upon State-affairs, and began to discourse of Government, reforming sometimes this bad custom, sometimes another Grievance, and establishing new Laws, as if they had been the Solons of the Age. Upon all which Subjects Don Quixote reasoned with that Gravity, that Discretion, that Knowledge, as if he had been colour to Charles the Great, and so to all his Successors; insomuch that the Curate began to think him once more a rational Creature. Nay more, his niece and old Maid, who were present at all these Discourses, wept for Joy, and could not forbear to give thanks to Heaven, the one to see her Uncle, the other to find her dear Master had so cleverly recovered his Understanding. For between the Curate, the Barber, and Don Quixote, they had so new minted the Government, as if they had made a Stamp a' purpose for it, and had refined the Common-wealth into another Utopia.  
But the Curate, astonished at this sudden Change, was resolved to see whether Don Quixote's Senses were Musquet-proof against the most dangerous trial of all; and therefore, notwithstanding his first Resolutions, not to open his Lips about Knight-Errantry, he  told him there was great News at Court, how that the Grand signor had raised a vast Army, and no body knew where the Tempest would fall. However, all Christendom was alarmed, and that the King was providing to secure Malta, and the Coasts of Naples and Sicily. The King, replied Don Quixote, does like a prudent warrior; for by that Precaution he prevents the surprises of his Enemy. But if he would take my Counsel, he should take another Course, which I am apt to believe he little thinks of at this present; which, nevertheless, would be much the safer way. Scarcely had the Curate heard Don Quixote speak, but he shrugg'd up his Shoulders, and shaking his Head; Alas, poor Gentleman! quo he, I find thee out already; and I am much deceived, if thou art not now more Fool then ever. Thereupon the Barber, who was clearly of the Curate's Opinion, desired Don Quixote to let 'em understand what sort of important Counsel his might be. Certainly, said he, the King has so well considered, that yours can deserve no better then to be ranked among those impertinent Admonitions that are usually given to Princes, much like the Frenzies of that great Stateswoman, Hannah Trapnel. Mr. Soapsuds, quo Don Quixote, 'tis neither frenzy, nor Impertinency, but Ponderosity itself. May it please ye, Sir, I thought no harm in what I said, quo the Barber, only we find by Experience, that most of these kind of Projects that are offered to his Majesty, are either impossible, or ridiculous, or to the Detriment of the King and Kingdom. But mine, replied Don Quixote, is neither ridiculous, nor impossible; but politicly invented, thoroughly weighed, and the easiest thing i' the World to be put in Execution. However, quo the Curate, methinks your Worship is too chary of it. Frankly then I must tell ye, replied Don Quixote, I should be very loathe to tell it you to day, for the Lords of the Council to be informed of it to morrow, and so another shall go and reap the Fruits of my Invention. For my part, quo the Barber, I swear by my Mother's Chastity, to tell neither King, Queen, Rook, Pawn, nor Knight, or any Man or Woman that lives upon the Earth, of it. An Oath, Sir, that I learnt out of the Vicar's Tale; in the Preface to which, he tells the King who it was that robbed him of his hundred Pieces, and his ambling Mule. I know nothing o' the Story, replied Don Quixote, but I rely upon the Oath, because I believe Mr. Barber to be a Man of Honour. Let him be what he will, quo the Curate, in this Case I'll be his Surety, that he shall be as silent as a read Herring. And who shall be Bailsman for you, Mr. Curate, replied Don Quixote? supper verbum Sacerdotis, quo the Curate, which obliges me to all the Secrecy i' the World. I' the Name of Bethlem Gabor, then, quo Don Quixote, what has the King to do more, then to make public Proclamation only for all the Knight-Errants of his Kingdom, to appear upon a prefixed day, at Court? For tho there should meet but half a dozen, there may be one among 'em, singly of himself sufficient to destroy the whole Power of turkey. For mark what I say, Gentlemen, and take me along with ye— Perhaps you may think it a miraculous thing for one Knight alone to defeat an Army of two hundred thousand men, as easily as if they had all, being joined together, but one Head; and yet you see Histories are full of these Prodigies. Cud's life! 'tis a thousand Pities, that the famous Don Belianis, with a Pox to me, for I'll curse no body else, is not alive i' this Age; or any one of that innumerable Throng of the Race of Amadis de gall; for were but one of them now living to meet these Mahometans, y' faith I would not be i' their Coats— He would so handle 'em without Mittens, that not a Sutler should return to Constantinople. However, patience while, God will provide for his People, and raise up one, it may be, who, tho he have not the Reputation of the Knight-Errants of former Ages, yet may be no way their inferior in Courage— God knows my heart, I say no more. Let me die, quo the niece, if my Uncle ha' not still a hankring after Knight-Errantry. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote, a Knight-Errant I am, and a Knight-Errant I will die; and let the Turk land where he please, when he pleases, and with all the Power he can make, once more I say, God knows my heart. I beseech ye, Sir, quo the Barber, gi' me leave to tell your Worship a Story of an Accident that happened not long ago, not far off, very pertinent to our Discourse at this time. Good leave have ye, quo Don Quixote, go on a' God's Name; for I'm a great Lover of Stories to the purpose. With that, the Barber thus began:  
There was in the Hospital of Bedlam a certain Person, whose Relations had put him in for no other Reason, but because he was mad. He was only a bachelor of Art, tho had he been a Doctor, many are of opinion, he might ha' been mad enough for all that. This bachelor in some few years, weary of his Confinement, believing himself so well recovered, that he might well deserve his Liberty, wrote to some Noble-man in great Authority, beseeching him for the Love of God, to release him out of his Misery, since he was so well come to himself; only his Relations kept him in still, to enjoy his Estate, which they had got into their Possession. The Noble-man, persuaded by his Letters, sober and well penned, that what he alleged was true, gave order to his Secretary to inform himself of the Governours, whether what the bachelor wrote, were real or no: Moreover, that he should himself discourse him, with an absolute Design, if he were fully recovered, to order his Liberty. Thereupon the Secretary went to the Keeper of Bedlam, and asked him in what Condition the bachelor was? Who made Answer, That he was as mad as ever; That, true it was, he would sometimes talk like a Man of Reason and Sense, but still at the end of the Story he would relapse into his former Extravagancies, as he might try himself, if he pleased to take the Pains. Thereupon the Secretary requesting the Favour, he was carried to the Mad man's Chamber, where he discoursed the lunatic a full hour together, without perceiving the least Disturbance in his Brains imaginable. On the other side, he uttered so much Reason, and delivered himself with so much Wit, and so discreetly, that the Secretary was fully convinced of his Recovery. Nay, he went so far as to make a plausible Complaint against the Keeper, alleging, That to please his Relations, and for the sake of those Presents, which they continually sent him, he represented his Prisoner to his Friends that came to see him, as one that was still a Mad-man, only that he had now and then some few lucid Intervals. But after all, that his greatest Enemy was his Estate, which his Friends unwilling to restore him, would not aclowledge him to be in his right Senses, tho they knew better things. In short, he discoursed at that rate, that the Secretary believing the Keeper to be a Canary-Bird, and his Relations to be no better then they should be, resolved to take him along with him to his Lord, that he might be able to satisfy himself of the Truth of the whole matter. The Keeper laboured all he could to persuade the Secretary to quit his Design, desiring him to have a care what he did; assuring him, that the bachelor was mad, and that all he would get by the Bargain, would be only the trouble to find himself mistaken. But the Secretary persisting in his Resolution, and the Order which his Lord had procured, being positive, the Keeper was fain to return the Mad man his Habit, and to deliver him into the Hands of the Secretary, to do with him as he pleased.  
The Mad-man now stripped of his Bedlam-Weeds, and finding himself restored to the number of Rational Men, begged the Secretary's Permission, that he might only take leave of his late Companions in Affliction. To which the Secretary readily consented, desirous as well to see the rest of the mad Folks, as to observe a little more narrowly the Humour of his releas d Captive. In his Rounds, the bachelor by and by came to a Chamber that was fast locked, and where lay a man that was as mad as mad could be, only he had his lucida Intervalla now and then; to whom, Adieu, Brother, quo the bachelor, I am just going home, thanks be to God, that has restored me to my Senses; only I call to know what Service I can do thee abroad. I hope God will be as merciful to thee, as he has been to myself. In the mean time use the means, pray to him, and trust in him. For my part, I shall not fail to sand thee many a hot Bit: For 'tis my Opinion, that all our Madness proceeds from Stomachs empty of Victuals, and Brains full of Air. Eat, therefore, drink, and be merry; for this desponding in Misfortune, is but a lingering way of dying.  
Just over against this Aparmtent lay another three sizes madder then he, who listening with an envious Attention to the Batchelor's Discourse, starts up in a great Fury out of his Straw, where he lay as naked as a Virgin that has put off one Smock to put on another, and all enraged; Who's that, quo he, that's going away so well recovered, and so wise? 'tis I, Brother, replied the bachelor, 'tis I, Brother, that have no longer need of Whey and Butter-milk, thanks be to God. person, quo the Mad man, take heed what thou sayst, and let not the Devil deceive thee; return to thy Chamber, and stay there, for fear thy Friends be troubled to bring thee back. I'll warrant thee, Brother, for coming here any more more, quo the bachelor. I know myself as sound i'my Intellects as a Bishop, and therefore 'tis time for me to leave my place free for some new Collegiate. You are sound you say— farewell, quo the Mad man; but by the eternal Jupiter, whose Majesty I represent on Earth, for this very same Crime alone, and no other, in suffering thee to be released out of this college, I intend to take such a severe Revenge upon this City, that they shall have cause to remember it in secula seculorum. Thou thinkest, poor brainless person, 'tis not in my power; but thou shalt find that I am the mighty Jupiter, that grasp the Thunder-bolts of Heaven in my Hands, and in the twinkling of an Eye, can reduce the whole World into Ashes. But I will not punish the ignorant, silly People so severely; I will be more merciful, I will only shut up the Flood-gates of the sky, so that there shall not fall a drop of Rain upon the City, nor the Suburbs, nor the country twenty Miles round, for three years together, counting from this very Day and Moment that I make this solemn Protestation, till the particular Expiration of every day inclusively. Thou free, thou sound, and in thy Senses, and I here mad, distempered, and chained to my Straw! By my Thunder, let me be hanged and damned, if it rain a Spoon full in all that time. The bachelor having heard the Mad-man rave at this rate, turns to the Secretary, and taking him by the Hand; Sir, said he, never let the Menaces of this Mad-man trouble ye; for— if he be Jupiter, and will not let it rain, I am the Sun that draws up the Clouds into the sky, and it shall rain when I please, and where I please in spite of his Teeth. Oh— Mr. Phoebus! cried the Secretary, you speak very well; however, i' the mean time 'twill not be safe to provoke my Lord Jupiter, stay i' your Chamber to day, and we'll come to morrow, or next day to fetch ye away, when Monsieur Jupiter is in a better Humour. The Keeper, and the People that were with him, could not forbear laughing; only the Secretary was not a little troubled to find himself so cheated by a Mad-man. In short, the bachelor being disrobed again, was sent to his Chamber; and so my Tale ends.  
Well! Monsieur Barber, quo Don Quixote, and this at length is your Tale, which you say was so pat to the business, and which you could not forbear telling for the Heart, Blood, and Guts of ye! Oh— signor Wash-ball, signor Wash-ball! How blind must he be, that can't see through a Mill-stone? Does not your worshipful Logger-head-ship know, that all Comparisons made between Wit and Wit, Beauty and Beauty, Courage and Courage, are odious? Good Mr. Barber, I am neither Jupiter nor the Sun, neither do I pretend to be one of the Sages of the Age; all that I aim at, is only to make the World to understand the Prejudice it does itself, in not endeavouring Might and Main the Restoration of contemned and slighted Knight-Errantry. But after all, I find, that this unfortunate and paltry Age is unworthy that vast Advantage, which former Ages enjoyed, when Knight-Errants took upon themselves the Defence of Kingdoms, the Protection of Ladies, the Relief of Widows and Orphans, the Reward of virtue, and the Punishment of violent and lofty Oppressors. Knights now adays are for their soft Garments of Tissue and Silk, and not for ponderous Cuirasses and Coats of Mail; they had rather stand i' their Shops perfumed and perriwig'd, measuring a yard of Bombazine, or ● Paul Methin's Cloath, then meet an Enemy; they had rather led up a City-Company into the Artillery-ground, with their Half-pike carried after 'em by a Foot-boy, then cope an Adversary in the Field. Where are any now adays, that will leave their Feather-beds to take a Nap i' the open Air, armed from head to foot, and exposed to all the Inconveniences of Heat and could? Where are any now, that without stirring from their Stirrups, only leaning their Heads against the uneasy Pillow of their launces, strive, as it were, to out-brave Sleep, drought and Hunger, and a thousand other Discomforts of Life? I say again, where is that Knight at this time of the day, who, after he has clambered Mountains, and traversed Forrests and deserts, finding himself upon the brink of the Sea, where there is no other Vessel to be had, but only a small Wherry that has neither Sails, Masts, Oars, or Sea-men, without any Shilly-Shally's, throws himself hand over head into the Boat, consulting nothing but his Courage, tho he sees the Sea all in an Uproar, one Wave mounting him to the sky, and another tumbling him down to the bottom of the deep; yet all this while th' undaunted Knight sits his Boat as firmly as his Saddle, as if he knew not what Danger was; and by and by, when he least expects it, finds himself three thousand Leagues from the place where he first embarked; and skipping ashore, like a tailor from his Shop-board, in a strange country, performs those extraordinary achievements, that deserve to be engraven i' Brass, as an Eternal Monument of his Renown. But now Effeminacy, and paltry Laziness, and the Theory of Custard-Encounters are the virtues A-la-mode, that triumph, unpunished, over Labour, Vigilancy, and the true practise of Arms, that only flourished in the Age of Gold, and among Knight-Errants. But give me leave to ask ye, Where d' ye find more Honour, or more Courage, then in Amadis de gall? Who more prudent, then Palmerin of England? Who more affable then the White Tyrant? Who more a Courtier then Lisnart of Greece? Who more hacked and hewn, or a greater Hewer and Hackster, then Belianis? Who more undaunted, then Perion of gall? Who more daring, then Faelixmart of Hyrcania? Who more prudent, then King Sobrin? Who more invincible, then Orlando? Who can compare, for Valour and courtesy, with Roger, from whom the Dukes of Ferrara are descended, according to Turpin in his Cosmography? All these Knights, and a great many more that I have i' the Budget of my Memory, were Knights-Errant, the Glory and Ornament of Chivalry; and such as these are they, whom I would advice the King to make use of, if he aim at his own good, and to save Charges; and then let the Turk kiss where he sate a' Saturday. However it be, I am resolved not to keep House, whether the Secretary come to fetch me out, or no; and whether Jupiter will sand Rain or not, 'tis not a Fart matter to me. And now, Mr. Tonsor of Epsom, you find that I understand your worshipful Tale.  
Truly, Sir Don Quixote, quo the Barber, I had no design to displease your Worship, God is my Witness, and therefore I hope you will take nothing amiss that I ha' said. Whether I take it amiss or no, replied Don Quixote, you are not to be so saucy as to examine me. Let that pass, quo the Curate, and as I have hitherto been a Hearer only, without interrupting your Discourse, pray give me leave i' my turn, to be satisfied in one Scruple, which Don Quixote's words have skewer'd into my Conscience. Speak on, Mr. Curate, quo Don Quixote. Why then, Sir, replied the Curate, I cannot, for the Soul o' me, be persuaded, that any of this whole Troop of Knight-Errants which your Worship has mustered together, were ever i' the number of Men that were born of a Woman without she ●●s, as they say, into this World, or christened without the Consent of the Parish; but to deal ingeniously with ye, that they were only Tales made at random, and invented by a sort of idle Fellows, that knew not how better to employ themselves, if they were not half asleep when they wrote' em. See now the common Error, replied Don Quixote, that misguides the chiefest part of Mankind, and makes 'em such stupid Infidels to question the Being of those renowned Champions. Neither is it the first time that I have had several Disputes and Quarrels in defending this manifest Truth, wherein sometimes I ha' got the better, sometimes not. And yet the Truth is so apparent, that I dare be confident I ha' seen Amadis de gall with my own Eyes. He was a tall man, with a sanguine lively Complexion, a well shaped black Beard, and a sour, affable Aspect: He was no great Talker, seldom angry, and never long in a Passion. And I could as easily give you a Description of all the Knight-Errants i' the World, as I ha'done this of Amadis; for that after you have well studied in History their famous Exploits, and various Humours, ordinary Philosophy will teach ye to delineate their Features, their Complexion, their Stature, nay, the very Air of their Faces, and whatever else you desire to know.  
Pray, signor Don Quixote, how tall was the Giant Morgante? Whether there were Giants or not, replied Don Quixote, is a great Dispute among the learned. However, holy Scripture that cannot err an Atom from the Truth, informs us there were Giants, as we find by the Story of goliath, who was seven Cubits and a half high. In Sicily also have been found the Bones of Men's Shoulders and Thighs so big, that from thence we must of necessity conclude by the certain Rules of Geometry, the men, to whom they belonged to, have been as big, and as high as St. Pulcher's Steeple. Nevertheless, I do not affirm for Truth, that Morgante was such a hideous May-pole, rather I am apt to believe he was not altogether so tall. And that which moves me to think so, is this; That the Story says, he sometimes slept within doors. Now if there were any House that could contain him, he could never be such an unreasonable Monster. That's very true, replied the Curate, who being highly pleased with these extravagant Fancies of Don Quixote, asked him at the same time, what he thought of Rinaldo, and Orlando, and the rest of the Twelve Peers, who all had been Knight-Errants? As for Rinaldo, replied Don Quixote, I dare be bold to say, That he was a Man broad-faced, of a lively ruddy Complexion, sparkling Goggle-eyes, damnable captious, extremely choleric, a Protector of Thieves and highway-men, and a great keeper of lewd and debauched Company. As for Rowland, Rotoland, or Orland, for all these Names he went by; without doubt he was a short, squat Man, broad-shoulder'd, somewhat bow-leg'd, and hunch-back'd, brown-visag'd, red-bearded, and very hairy in his Body; a menacing, surly Aspect, and a great Talker, but withal, very civil and gentle. If Orlando, quo the Curate, were such a sort of a rough-hewn, ill-shaped Blade, as you describe him, no wonder that Madam Angelica preferred the downy-bearded Medor before him, who was young, handsome, and courtly. As for Madam Angelica, Mr. Curate, gi' me leave to tell ye, quo Don Quixote, she was as right as my Leg, as they say, a mere fickle Gil-flurt, a giddy-brain'd Slut, a confounded Strumpet, more famous in History for her drinking Healths, and straining the Wine through her Smock, then for her Beauty or virtue. She set at nought Kings and Princes, and disdaining the most prudent and valiant warriors and Knights that ever were i' the World, picked up a beardless page. to cool her wanton Heat, that had neither Honour, nor Estate, but only the Reputation of being one that pleased his Mistresses. And therefore the celebrated Ariosto, that had a great Kindness for her, extolled her Beauty, and flattered her more then ever Lady was flattered in a Dedication to a Play, when he found what a Choice she had made for her self, seems to ha' been ashamed of her, and concludes her Story with these two Verses: 
But how she came to be a princes Miss,  
I' the next Age you'll know, but not in this.   
Whether this were spoken by way of prophesy, I cannot tell( for Poets formerly, as still they pretend, were taken to be a sort of gainsayer) but this is certain, that in process of time there was a Poet or Poetaster that wrote a Poem, and called it Angelica's Tears, perhaps for the rarity of the Subject; for it may so happen, that a Whore may live to repent; and another wrote a panegyric in Praise of her Beauty and Modesty, peradventure well hired by some of her natural Issue, who were unwilling their great Grandmother should lye under so foul a Scandal. I wonder, ant like your Worship, quo the Barber, that no body ever writ a satire against her, since she was so bad as you say she was. I make no question, replied Don Quixote, but Sacripant or Orlando had done it, had they been Poets, For it is the fashion among despised Lovers to rail upon their Mistresses, tho to tell ye true, 'tis an tiresome piece of Revenge, and beneath a generous Spirit. However, I never heard of any Libel that ever came forth to Angelica's Disadvantage, tho she were one that always made Mischief where e're she came. That was a wonder indeed, quo the Curate— But here they were interrupted by a Noise below i' the Court, where the Niece and the old Maid were ringing a Billings-gate Peal, as loud as two Saints Bells— which made 'em listen to hear what was the matter.   

CHAP. II.  
Of the pleasant quarrel that happened between Sancho and Don Quixote's Niece and Governante.  
THE Occasion of the Noise, it seems, was this; that Sancho Pansa knocked at the Door, and endeavoured to force his way into the House, desiring to see his Master. But Don Quixote's niece and Governess at the same time opposed him with all their Might; ye idle Varlet, ye Pumkin-headed Rogue, they cried, ye shan't come within these Doors— for you are he, and none but you that debauch my Uncle, and put him upon all his impertinent Rambles— Get ye home to your own Kennel, with a murrain, and don't trouble us wi' your Visits. Pandress to Satan, quo Sancho, thou art deceived above half in half; for if any body be debauched, 'tis I am the Person; 'tis I that ha' been led the Devil's Dance from Post to Pillar, upon Promises of more Butter then Bread, and not your Master; 'twas he that inveagl'd me from my Wife and Children with his colloguing, and dissembling, and fair Promises of an iceland he would give me— and I think a blind Man would be glad to see't. Hell consume thee, and all thy Islands together, replied the Governess— what should such a greedy Gut-cur do with Islands, unless they were made of Bag pudding, to eat 'em— Be gone, ye hungry, beggarly Rakeshame, be gone, ye Gorbelly'd Cur— I don't mean Islands to eat, but to govern, quo Sancho, and that far better then any four of the King's best Mayors of his Corporations. Govern where thou wilt, quo the Maid, thou come'st not within these Doors, thou Bundle of Iniquity, and Sack-full of Mischief— work ye lazy Rogue, work, and ne're trouble your head about Islands. The Curate and the Barber were ready to kill themselves with laughing at this pleasant Dialogue. But Don Quixote fearing lest Sancho should grow mutinous, and blunder out in his Passion some Discoveries prejudicial to his Reputation, ordered the choleric Governess to govern her Tongue, and let him in. Thereupon Sancho entered victoriously, and the Curate and the Barber took their leaves of Don Quixote, despairing of his Cure, finding him still so bewitched to his Dreams and Deliriums of Knight-Errantry. When they were out a' doors, Well, Neighbour, quo the Curate to the Barber, now shall we see that this Knight of ours, when we least think of it, will leave us i' the lurch for another Fegary. I expect no less, quo the Barber; i' the mean time, however, I would give a couple a Testers to hear the wise Discourse at this juncture between the Cuccow-brains of a Knight, and the Jobber-nole of a Squire; for indeed the Master's Madness without the Servant's Impertinency, were not worth a Straw. Patience, quo the Curate, I'll warrant ye an exact Account from the Niece and the Maid, for their itching Ears I'm sure will be listening. In the mean time Don Quixote and Sancho having locked the Chamber door, thus interparly'd.  
Thou dost very ill, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, to report, as thou dost, that I enticed thee from thy Dog-hole of a Cottage, knowing that I left my own House at the same time, a Palace, in comparison of thine. We went out both together, we travelled both together, and we run the same Fortune, and the same hazards both together; now if thou hast been tossed in a Blanket once, I ha' been thwack'd and pounded a hundred times, and that's all the Advantage I have had above thee. 'twas but Justice, replied Sancho, seeing that by your own Confession, rubs and Misfortunes. Slashes and dry Basting belongs properly to the Knight-Errants, and not to their Squires. Thou deceiv'st thyself, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, according to the old Verse, Quando caput dolet, &c. I understand no Language but my own, Sir, quo Sancho. I'll tell thee then, replied Don Quixote; when the Head aches, the rest of the Body is never well at ease: So then I being thy Master, I am also thy Head, and thou art one of my Members, as being my Servant: whence it follows, that if I am well swaddi'd at any time, much of the Pain will fall to thy share; as if thou art soundly cudgelled, I must in like manner be sensible of thy Sufferings. It may be so, quo Sancho, and yet when I was tossed i' the Blanket, my Head was a' t'other side the Wall, beholding me vaulting, and cutting Capers i'the Air, regardless of my Affliction; why did not you come in and take your share? Oh, Sancho! replied Don Quixote, thou art greatly mistaken; for at that very time I was more troubled in Mind, then thou wert tormented in Body. But leaving this Discourse till another time, and more leisure to rectify what has been done amiss, prithee tell me, Sancho, what do the Neighbours talk of me? What do they say of me i' the Village? What Opinion has the Nobility of me? How do the Knights discourse of my Valour, my Exploits, and my Affability? What do they think of my Design to restore to its ancient lustre, the almost-forgotten Order of Knight-Errantry? In a word, without any Consideration of Flattery or Respect, tell me truly and sincerely, like a true and faithful Servant, what thou hast heard. For I would have thee to know, Sancho, that if Princes were informed, as they ought to be, of the naked Truth, by men of unbiased virtue, tranquillity and Peace, Justice and Abundance, would bless the World, and this Iron Age of ours, by a miraculous Philosopher's ston, would be changed into an Age of Gold. Remember this Advertisement, friend Sancho, to speak the Truth, without appareling and disguising her Beauties; for she's a Lady that always ought to be seen naked. That I shall do from the bottom of Heart, replied Sancho, provided you will not bee offended, if I tell what I heard, just as I heard it, and no otherwise, and present ye Madam Truth as naked as ever you saw Lady i' your Life. Upon my Honour, quo Don Quixote, nothing shall offend me, speak freely, and without Circumlocution.  
In the first place then, Sir, you are to know, that your Neighbours take ye for a perfect Mad-man, and me for a man, that at best, has not overmuch Wit. The Gentlemen say, that your Worship, venturing beyond the Limits of Gentility, have assumed to yourself most arrogantly the Title of Don, and have dubbed yourself a Knight with two Acres of Land, a Tatter before and another behind. The Knights take Pepper i' the Nose, to see that your Gentlemen think themselves equal with them, especially your Gentlemen Squires, that mend and lam-black their own Shoes, and are forced to beg a Needle-ful of course Yarn to darn their own stockings. All this, nothing concerns me, replied Don Quixote; for thou know'st, I always wear good clothes, and never patch my Breeches. True it is, they may be a little out at Elbows sometimes, or want a Skirt, but that's the fault of my armor that loosens the Stitches, and rubs out the Cloath. Then Sancho proceeding, as for your Valour, your courtesy, your Exploits, and your great Design, the World speaks variously. Some say he's mad, but a good merry-conceited Fellow— others, that he's valiant, but his Luck's nought— others, that he's affable, but damned impertinent— In a word, they spend so many several Verdicts upon us, that they leave neither you nor me a sound Bone in our Skins. Hark ye me, Sancho, the more eminent virtue is, the more she's exposed to Calumny. Few of the great men of this World could escape her venomous Teeth. Julius Caesar, that valiant and prudent Captain, was looked upon as ambitious, and reproached for his Luxury, and Effeminacy in his Habit. Alexander was accused for a Drunkard and a Debaushee; that Hero, who for his renowned achievements well deserved the Name of Great. Hercules, after he had consumed himself in restless Toil, and Labours incredible, was bespattered with the Titles of voluptuous and lascivious. 'twas reported of D. Galaor, the Brother of Amadis, that he was so huffy no body could keep him Company; and of Amadis himself, that he would cry like a Child. And therefore, my dear Sancho, I never mind the Quips and Girds of Malice, if they gull my Reputation no more then these; being satisfied she deals no worse by me then she did before by those unblemished and renowned Warriors. Body o' my Father, quo Sancho, you say well, if this were all— but the Devil's in 'em, they don't stop here: Why, what can they say more, replied Don Quixote? More! quo Sancho— Cuds-foot, Sir, why we are still to flay the Cat's Tail, you have had nothing yet but Cream of Almonds and white Bread. But if y' have such a Desire to hear what severe Sentences are daily passed upon ye, I'll bring ye one presently that shall give ye a full Account, without missing a Tittle. For here's Bartholemew Carrasco's Son, who makes it his Business to visit all the noted Coffee-houses about the City, twice a day, newly come to Town with a Sack-ful of News. And he tells me, your Life is already in Print, under the Name of the Most Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote de le Mancha. He says, I am in too by by own Name of Sancho Pancha, and that they have jumbled in Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso by Head and Shoulders; nay, and as if the Devil had been their Intelligencer, they have crowded in some things too, that were only private Discourses between you and I; how the murrain they should come to know 'em otherwise, I can't for my Soul imagine. Assuredly, replied Don Quixote, it must be some Necromancer that has writ this Story— for they are here, and there, and every where, like Satan himself. How should he be a Necromancer, quo Sancho, for young Corrasco tells me, he writes his Name Cid Hamet Hen-en-baken? That's an Arabian Name, replied Don Quixote. That may very well be, quo Sancho, for they say, your Arabians are great Admirers of Hen and Bacon; if they don't, I'm sure I do. And thus, friend Sancho, thy Belly has put thee out; for thou art indeed within a mile of an Oak of the Name, which is Benengeli, not Henan-baken, you Logger-head, if I mistake not; and Cid signifies Lord. I never stand upon Names, quo Sancho, but if you desire to hear young Corrasco's News, I'll bring him hither flying— Prithee go, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, for my Victuals will do me no good, till I understand the Truth of this matter. With that, Sancho ran down Stairs, and returning in a short while after, brought young Corrasco along with him; and now how pleasantly they chatted you shall hear i' the next Chapter.   

CHAP. III.  
Containing the learned Discourse between Don Quixote, Sancho Pansa, and the young Corrasco.  
ALL the while Sancho was gone, Don Quixote thought every Minute a thousand years, till he came again. He sate like one that had been studying the Philosopher's ston, musing, and dreaming, and wondering who the Devil this Person should be, that had finished and printed the Story of his famous achievements, e're the Blood of his Enemies had scarcely done reeking upon the Blade of his Sword. But at length he concluded it must be some Necromancer who had wrought this Miracle, either as a Friend to extol his great Exploits, above whatever yet had been performed by the most famous Knights that ever pranc'd upon the Ball of the Earth; or else as an Enemy, to disparaged the Merit of his noble Actions, and debase 'em below the most pitiful Orchard-Robberies of the meanest Squires; tho, quo he to himself, I do not remember that ever the little Hen-roost Attempts of Squires, were ever recorded in the Book of famed. But let it be what it will, if the Book were printed, he thought it could not choose but be magnificent, lofty, and true, since 'twas the History of a Knight-Errant. This was his Consolation for a while; but then again, when he considered, that the Author had given himself the Title of Cid, and consequently must be a Moor; reflecting, I say, that the Moors were all a Company of Mountebanks and chemists, then he was ready to hang himself, fearing lest the Historian should have been too lavish in talking of his Amours, to the Prejudice of his illustrious Lady Dulcinea deal Toboso's Chastity; and mortally dreading, lest the Historian should ha' forgot to extol his own Fidelity, and the Decorum, and Reserv'dness, which he had always observed in his Passion for her; and how he had always slighted Empresses, Queens, and Ladies of all sorts of Qualities, and kept all his wanton and lascivious Inclinations at a Bay; for fear of tarnishing his Loyalty to his beloved dansel.  
plunged over head and ears in these melancholy Fancies, Sancho and the young Corrasco found him; at what time he seemed to wake out of a Dream, to receive the young scholar, whom he complemented with all the Civility imaginable.  
This Corrasco, tho his Name were samson, was none of the biggest in Body, but an anointed Crackrope, about four and twenty years of Age, lean and pale, but witty, and a notable Fellow for Bantring, as they call it now adays. He was round-visag'd, flat-nos'd, and wide-mouth'd, all the Signs of a wicked and scurrilous Disposition, and of one that would never scruple to abuse his Friend, so he could make Sport for himself, as he plainly discovered, when he saw Don Quixote. For immediately he threw himself upon his Knees before him; and after he had humbly begged the Favour to kiss his Highness's Hands, My Lord Don Quixote, said he, by the holy Order of Priesthood, you are certainly the most famous and renowned Knight-Errant that ever was, or ever will be through the whole extent of the Universe. All the Blessings of Paradise be upon Cid Hamet Benengeli, for writing the History of your valiant Exploits; and may he never want Claret, as long as he lives, that translated it into English, for the Delight and Pastime of Male and Female. And blessed are we, that the Copy comes out now in Peace and Quietness; for there had like to ha' been a foul Stir about it, while one Bookseller claimed one Limb of your Lordship, and another another. Is it true then, replied D. Quixote, that my Life is in Print, and that a Moor has writ it? 'tis very certain, my Lord, replied Corrasco; and that I believe there has been printed already in several Languages above twelve thousand Volumes at Lisbon, Valentia, Barcelona, Antwerp, Colen, Paris, London, &c. and I don't believe that any other Books will be printed for these seven years together. Truly, quo Don Quixote, one of the greatest Happinesses that can befall a Man i' this World, is to see himself in good Esteem and Reputation in the World. For Esteem and Reputation, quo the young scholar, I'll assure ye, my Lord Don Quixote, you ha' won it above a hundred Pikes length, from all the Knights-Errant that ever were. And the Moorish Author, and his Translators have been very industrious to set forth your Character with all the Ornaments that can give it lustre, your Undauntedness in Danger, your Constancy in Misfortune, and Patience in suffering Wounds, Buffets, and Bastinado's, and your Reserv'dness and Continency in your Platonick-Amours between yourself and the most Illustrious Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso. Bodikins, quo Sancho, I never heard her called the Illustrious Madam before, but only Madam Dulcinea; and therefore certainly that must be a fault i' the History. That's a small Mistake, if there be no worse, quo the scholar— Well— but signor Corrasco, quo Don Quixote, which of all my achievements and Adventures does the History most take notice of, and lay its greatest stress of Remark upon? Why, truly my Lord, quo Corrasco, in this the Judgments and Opinions of Men are divided; some cry up the Adventure of the Windmills, which your Highness took for so many Morgantes and Ascaparts; some, that of the Fulling-mills: Others extol to the sky that other, when you fought with the two Armies, that afterwards proved to be two Flocks of Sheep, where you wrought Miracles. Others are Tooth and Nail for the Adventure of the dead Corps that was carrying to Segovia. Others will lay ten pound to a Crown upon that of the Galley-Slaves: some are mad to pawn their very Souls upon that of the Benedictine Giants; but the more prudent sort are ready to make affidavit, that the Adventure of the Biscayner, ought to be engraved in Marble, above all the rest. I beseech ye, Mr. scholar, quo Sancho, is there no mention of the Adventure of the Carriers, when our precious Rosinante longed for the forbidden Fruit? There's every thing in, replied the scholar, the Author has left nothing out, not so much as honest Sancho's dancing Trenchmore i' the Blanket. I did not dance i' the Blanket, quo Sancho, for I danced i' the Air, to my grief be it spoken; and therefore that's another lie. Certainly, quo Don Quixote, there is no History i' the World where you shall find one man to be always prosperous, much less any Story of Knight-Errantry; where many times you meet with nothing but Crosses and Misfortunes. 'tis very true, replied Corrasco, and therefore there are some who have red your Life, that very much blame the Author for being so careful to inventory that infinite number of Drubbs, and Rubs, and Ribroastings, that you have received with Cudgels, Candlesticks, and Pitch-forks, from Carriers, Mule-drivers, and Penitents, in several desperate Encounters. However, quo Sancho, 'twas Truth of History. Why, truly, Mr. scholar, quo Don Quixote, they might as well ha' been left out, now I think on't; for Actions that neither impair, nor alter the History, are better buried in silence, then continued to Posterity, if they redound to the Prejudice of the Lord of the Story. Assuredly, Aeneas was never so pious as Virgil makes him, nor Ulysses never so wise as Homer describes him. I believe it, replied Corrasco; but 'tis one thing to writ like a Poet, another thing to writ like a Historian. 'tis sufficient for a Poet to report things as they ought to be; but a Historian must relate Matter of Fact, as it was really transacted, without swerving from the Truth, upon any Pretence whatever.  
If the worshipful Moor, quo Sancho, be so conscientious in telling of Truth, I hope, among all the showers of Bastinado's that fell upon my Master, he has not forgot mine; for they never took measure of my Master's Shoulder, but they were always so kind to take the same measure of my whole Body to boot. But 'twas no wonder, that, since 'tis his own Rule, that if once the Head aches, all the rest of the Members should suffer. Y' are an unlucky, dissembling Knave, Sancho, replied Don Quixote; for now, Sirrah, I see you can find a Memory, when y' 'ave a mind to't. How the Devil should I forget the Swadlings I ha' suffered, that are not well out o' my Ribs to this Hour? Hold your prating, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, and let Mr. Corrasco proceed. You speak very seasonably, replied the scholar, for with all these Interruptions, we shall ne're ha' done. Yet I must needs say this for honest Sancho, that he is no such contemptible person, as being the second i' the Story; and some there are, who had rather hear his impertinent Prattle, then all the learned Discourses of his Lord. Tho some there are again, that take him for a Cully, at least, a very credulous Simpleton, to believe his Master spoken a tittle of Truth, when he offered him the Government of an iceland. Forbear, Mr. scholar, quo Don Quixote, what I said, I said; and what I said, I intended; but this it is, I find that Sancho has not sowed his wild oats, there's a Glimmer in his Touch-box still; however, Age and Experience may fit him in time for a Government, at least, by that time I have one to give him. Fore George, Sir, quo Sancho, that iceland which I cannot govern at this Age, I shall never govern at the Age of Methuselah; but the Mischief is, we ha' Brains enough, but we want the iceland. Well, but leaving this business of the unfortunate Islands, I am very glad, Mr. scholar, that the Historian is so kind as to remember me, and so to speak of me, as not to give me an ill Character: For, by the Faith of a Christian, had he said any thing that did not become an old Christian, as I am, I should ha' rung him such a Peal, that the Deaf should have heard me. I confess, quo the scholar, as silly, and as illiterate Fellows as thou, have wrought greater Miracles then that, i' this Age. Miracle me no Miracles, quo Sancho, let every one have a care what he writes concerning other Men, and not put down at random, right or wrong, whatever comes into his Noddle. The main fault found with this History, quo the scholar, is this, That the Author has thrust into it, by Head and Shoulders, the Novel of the Curious Impertinent; not that the thing is ill writ, or badly invented, but because it has no coherence with the Story of Don Quixote. I'll lay my life, quo Sancho, the Son of a Whore has made a Gallimawsrey of my Master's Life, and crowded foul and clean, Higglede-pigglede, into his Cloak-bag. Pox take him, quo Don Quixote, I'll be hanged if the Fellow ben't some Narrative-writer, or one of those that scribble the Lives of Great Men, now adays, as soon as the Breath is out of their Bodies, in abominable Six-penny Duodecimo's. And thus has this Dogbolt undertaken my Story Habnab, like the Painter, who being asked, What he painted? answered, What comes next to hand— and when he had made a misshapen Cock or Bull, was forced to writ in Gothick Letters, This is a Cock, or This is a Bull. And so I fear me, my Life will require another confounded Commentary of witless, festivous Notes to explain it. Trouble not yourself for that, Sir, quo Corrasco, for the Gentleman has taken a world of Pains, and made every thing so plain, that a Boy of twelve years of Age may understand what he means. Nay, 'tis come to that already, that if the People do but see a lean, scragged Jade, scarce able to draw one Leg after another upon the Road, they presently cry, There goes Rosinante. Pages already Dogs-ear it, Boys red it, young Ladies make themselves merry with it; Gentlemen understand it, old Men applaud it; there's hardly a Dining-room Window, where you shan't find a Don Quixote; when one leaves him, another takes him up. In a word, 'tis a History that pleases all sorts of Sexes and Ages, as being a Book, wherein there is nothing that borders upon Aristotle's Problems, nor so much as a profane Thought. Otherwise it were not a true History, quo Don Quixote; and we know, that false Historians deserve the same Punishment as the Coiners of counterfeit Money. Nor do I know why the Author should stuff his History with Tales of a Tub, that are nothing to the purpose; as if there had not been matter sufficient for the Exercise of his Wit, had he only confined himself to my Designs, my Sights and Tears, my Encounters, my Penances, &c. which, I'm sure, would ha' made a Volume bigger then all Tostatus's Works, or the Book of Martyrs. In my Opinion, Mr. scholar, 'tis not so easy a thing as men imagine, to writ a History, or any Book whatsoever, which requires a solid judgement, and a ripe Understanding. To speak wittily, and writ pleasantly, belongs to great Wits. The pleasantest Part in a Play, is the Fool's, and yet he must be no Fool, I'm sure, that acts that Part. On the other side, History is a sacred thing so far as it contains Truth; for where Truth is, there God himself is also: and therefore, for those that make Books, equal in number to Fritters upon a Shrove-Tuesday, I cannot conceive their Compositions can be worth a Straw. There is no Book so bad, quo the scholar, but something useful may be picked out of it. That's true, replied Don Quixote, yet oft it happens, that Men who have gained a Reputation for doing well once or twice, lose it again when they come to print often. The reason's plain, quo the scholar, for the more they writ, the more they are pried into, and examined. All your great Poets and famous Historians are still subject to the Censures, even of such as never could put Pen to Paper i' their Lives. That's no wonder, quo Don Quixote, for there are many Divines, not worth a Rush in a Pulpit, will judge incomparably of another man's Sermon. All this is Truth, replied Corrasco, and therefore I could wish these Momus's and Censurers would be more merciful, and less scrupulous in examining the Motes of that same Sun, whose Works they callumniate; and that they would consider, tho Homer sometimes may seem to take a little Nap, How many a tedious hour consumed his Lamp? How many a live-long Night he kept himself awake, to bring those famous Works of his to light? For many times it may so happen, that what those morose Censurers reprehend for Faults, may be rather Perfections; like Moles, which, tho they are Blemishes i' the Skin, yet sometimes add to the Beauty of the Face. Besides that this is certain, let a man be never so eloquent, never so learned, never so just, it is impossible for him to please all the World. And that, I fear me, quo Don Quixote, will be the Fate of my History, to please but few, there being but few wise Men to red it. But the number of Fools, replied Corrasco, is without number, and they from high to low, from rich to poor, admire your Story. Only some there are, who tax the Author for want of Memory, or defect of Intelligence, because he does not give us an Account who 'twas that stolen Sancho's Grizle; only we find by the Story, that the Ass was stolen, and yet by and by, we find him riding the same individual Ass again, not knowing how he came by her; enough to make a man think that Sancho stolen her himself again. Then they say, that the Author forgot to tell us what Sancho did with the hundred Pieces in Gold, he found i' the Cloak-bag upon Sierra Morena. Mr. scholar, quo Sancho, I am not in a Condition at present to cast up accounts, for I find a gnawing at my Stomach; and such is my Constitution, that if I don't repair the Detriments of Concoction every two hours, I shall waste like a stale Lobster, and grow as lean as a hermit— When I ha' dined, I am for ye,— that is, when I ha' satisfied Nature, I'll satisfy you, or any man that wears a Head, either as to the loss of my Ass, or the true laying out of the hundred Pieces, or let the Demand be what it will— And so, without saying a word more, or expecting any Reply, away he went. Don Quixote desired the scholar to stay and take a Colledge-Commons with him, to which he added a couple of Pigeons more then usual, by way of Exceedings. The young Corrasco accepted his Invitation, and stayed. All Dinner-time they discoursed of Knight-Errantry, and the scholar observed the knights Humour exactly; after that, they took a Nap for Digestion's-sake, till wakened again by Sancho's Hobnails, they prepared for a second colloquy.   

CHAP. IV.  
Wherein Sancho satisfies all the young Schollar's Queries, with other things profitable to know, and fit to he related.  
SAncho Pansa being now return'd, and beginning where he left off, Mr. scholar, quo he, you desire to know when, and where, and by whom my Ass was stolen. To which I answer, and say, That the same Night that we fled to avoid the Hue and Cry, which we had just reason to fear would pursue us, after those two cursed Adventures of the Galley-Slaves, and the dead Man, that was going in peace to his Grave, my Master Don Quixote and I betook ourselves into the thickest, and most unfrequented Part of all the Black Mountain: where he resting his Head against his Lance, and I, without alighting from my noun dear Grizle, wearied with our late Encounters and Bastinado's, fell fast asleep, and slept as soundly as if we had been stretched out upon two Feather-beds, especially your Friend and Sancho. For to say Truth, the Devil had hung such a Weight upon my Eye-lids, that the Thief, whoever he was, had leisure enough to support the four Corners of the Pack-saddle with four stout Stakes, and then to led away the Ass from between my Legs, without being perceived by me i' the least. Which is no new thing, nor so difficult to be done; for so it seems the Country-fellow's Horse was stolen from under him in Bartlemew-Fair; and thus was Sacrapant also robbed at the Siege of Albraca, of a stead that cost him fourscore and fifteen Pound, by the great Thief Brunel, the Horse being fairly stolen from betwixt his two Thighs, as he bestrid'd him. At length I waked, but with my stirring, and stretching myself i' my Pack-saddle, down came the Stakes, and down came I all a' t'one side upon the hard Stones, wi' the Pack-saddle upon me. Presently I looked for my Ass, but no Ass was to be found— Woe is me then! how thick the Tears fell from my Eyes as big as French-beans, and I made such a dreadful Lamentation, that if your Historian has forgot it, I would not give him a brass Farthing for his Dedication. Some few days after, attending upon Madam, the Princess of Micomicon, I knew my Ass again, and the Fellow that rid her, in the Habit of a gipsy, who was one of those wicked Rake-hells, that my Master and I had saved from the Gallies. This is not the Mistake of the Historian, quo the scholar, but only that he sets Sancho upon the same Ass's Back that was lost, before he gives us Intelligence of his being found. As for that, replied Sancho, if the Historian be more Beast then my Ass, how can I help it; but it may be, 'twas a Fault of the Printer. 'tis very probable, quo Corrasco; but now i' the second Place, What became of the hundred Pieces, did your Master and you divide?  
No, quo Sancho, my Master, I'd ha' ye to know, scorns Money— I spent 'em myself upon myself, my Wife and Children— they ha' fared well ever since— for I must needs say this for my Wife, she loves her Belly better then her Back— and that's the reason she takes so patiently my late Rambling and scaperloitring after my Master Don Quixote's Tail— For had I come home with empty Pockets, as I went out— Heaven knows whether I had not been in Holofernes's Condition before now— I am sure, at least, one house could ne're have held us, besides the loss of both the Drums of my Ears. And now if y' have any thing more to say to me, I am here ready to answer the King in Person; for what has any body to do, whether I brought home, or not brought home, whether I spent or not spent— and therefore, pray spare your Quips and your Quirks, good Mr. Schollard, for if all the Thumps and Thwacks that I ha' received i' these Rambles, were valued but at Ha'pence a piece, and I to be satisfied in Money for every one, a hundred and a hundred Pound in Gold more would not pay for the tenth part; which I wish Mr. Curate had for his share— Come, come, Mr. Schollard; He that will meddle with all things, may go show the Goslings— but let every man take his own Nose by the end, and not be so busy to mistake black for white, or white for black— every man is as God made him, and sometimes a great deal worse. Truly, friend Sancho, quo the scholar, your Proverbs are very sententious, and I shall take special care that they be recorded by the Author in his next Edition.  
How, quo Don Quixote, will the Author print a second Edition? Yes, Sir, quo the young Corrasco, and would fain put out a second Part too— But he says, he cannot find it, neither does he know where it is— so that for this same very reason, and for that 'tis generally said, That second Parts are seldom worth reading, I fear me, we are like to see no more of it. And yet abundance of People that love Mirth, and hate Melancholy, cry out— More Quixote's Fegaries— More Quixote's Fegaries— let but Don Quixote appear, and Sancho talk— 'tis as good as a Play at any time.  
And how stands the Author affencted, quo Don Quixote? Fully resolved, Sir, quo the scholar, as soon as he has found what he seeks for, to furbish it up, and publish it immediately; more for his own Profit tho, then for any Kindness to your Worship. Nay then— quo Sancho, if the Author seek his own Gain, he's like to writ a fine History, by fore-George; rather like your Taylors upon an Easter-Eve, that stitch with hot Needles and burnt Silk to make hast; we shall have a Huddle of Flim-flam, and Trim-tram, that will never hang together— But let Mr. Moor have a little Patience, and my Master and I will furnish him, my life for his, with Matter sufficient of all sorts, as well successful and unfortunate, as between both, not only to make a second, but a hundred Parts more, if his leisure will permit him; surely he thinks we do nothing but sleep in a Haymow— but let him come to the point— and see whether we fail him. In short, Mr. Schollard, if my Master Don Quixote would have taken my Advice, we had been i' the Field before now, redressing Wrongs, and subduing Oppression, as all Knight-Errants are obliged to do.  
Scarce were Sancho's last words out of his Mouth, but they heard Rosinante neighie; which Don Quixote took for such a lucky Omen, that he resolved to take t'other Ramble within three or four days at farthest. To which purpose he discovered his Resolutions to the young Corrasco, desiring his Advice which way he should steer his Course. If you will follow my Advice, replied Corrasco, you will do well to take the Road for Saragossa; where within, these few days, upon St. George's Festival, there is to be a most famous Tilting 'bout, and much Honour to be won, if you can but bear away the Bell from the Arragonian Champions; for that done, you ham-string all the other Champions i' the World. Moreover, the young scholar applauded his Design, yet admonishing him withal, not to be too free in exposing himself to Danger, but to be a good Husband of his life, which was none of his own, but theirs that stood in need of his Succour and Assistance in their Afflictions and Distresses. That's the very thing now, Mr. samson, let me be hanged if it ben't, quo Sancho, that makes me sometimes ready to run mad; for my Master, I'll assure ye, will make no more, when he's i' the Humour, to set upon a hundred armed Men, then old Marriot would ha' done to have encountered a dozen roasted Chickens. Cuds-me-life, Mr. Schollard, there's a time to assail, and time to retreat, and not to be always St. George, and have at thee, bold Dragon. For if my Memory don't fail me, I ha' heard my Master Don Quixote himself say, That Valour lies just i' the middle between cowardice and Rashness: which being so, I would not have him run, when there's no need: On the other side, I would not have him venture his Flesh, but when he's sure to get the better. But above all things, I would have my Master to understand, That if he intends to take me along with him, the Bargain's to make upon this Condition, That he shall fight all the Battels, rencounters, Encounters, Skirmishes, Duels, Quarrels, and On-sets himself; and that I am only to look after his clothes, the Wine, and the Victuals, wherein he shall find I'll serve him as diligently as a fairy; but for me to draw my Sword against Carriers and Mule-drivers, because they are no Knight-Errants, in good sooth-law, I beg his pardon— 'tis a thing I shall never consent to; and I think I do fairly to tell him before-hand. For my part, Mr. samson, 'tis not famed and Honour that I covet, nor do I care to be thought a second Orlando, but only to be renowned for one of the most faithful Squires that ever followed the Heels of Knight-Errant. And if after all my Services, my Master Don Quixote will be so kind as to bestow upon me one of those Islands he talks of, I shall be his humble Servant, and thank him; but if he does not, why then, naked I came into the World, and 'twill be no such great matter if naked I return to the Dust. It may be, the Bread I shall eat without a Government, may taste as well as if I were the greatest governor i' the World. And what do I know, but that the Devil is providing me one of these Governments for a Stumbling-block to give me a Fall, and dash out my Teeth? I was born Sancho, and Sancho I intend to die. Neverthess, if Heaven would bestow an iceland or a Province upon me, without any Trouble, or running any Hazard, I am no such Fool neither, God be thanked, to refuse a good thing when 'tis offered me; according to the Proverb, When the Cow's given thee, ne're refuse to led her home by the String. In truth, friend Sancho, quo the young Corrasco, thou speakest like an Oracle. But be patient, Patience is a plaster for all Sores; Trust in God and thy Master, my Lord Don Quixote, and he'll gi' thee, not only an iceland, but a Kingdom. I am afraid, as soon one as t'other, so God help me, quo Sancho; and yet let me tell ye, Mr. samson, should my Master give me a Kingdom, he should not find it thrown into an old Sack; for I have felt my own Pulse, and find myself, thanks be to Heaven, sufficiently strong, and healthy to govern either a Kingdom, or an iceland, which he pleases; and this I ha'  told my Master a hundred times. Sancho, cried Corrasco, Honours change Manners; have a care, that when you come to be a governor, you do not grow proud, and forget your own Mother. That's good Advice indeed, quo Sancho, for those that were born among Hogs, but not for such, whose Souls are covered four Fingers thick with your old Christian Fat, as mine is. Men of my Condition scorn to be proud or ungrateful. Stick to thy Principles, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, the Proof of the Pudding's at hand; for, if I mistake not, I have a Government just now i' my Eye. But, Mr. Corrasco, added he, pray tell me, Are you a Poet?— if you are, I would desire ye to make me a Copy of Verses upon the Subject of my Departure, which you may call D. Quixote's farewell to his Mistress, Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso; and I would have it be an acrostic, if you please, that is, for every Verse to begin with the Letters of her Name. Why, truly Sir, I am none of the best Poets in Europe, of which there are a very few now adays, God knows, no, not above three and a half in all your Poetical Countries, as Italy, France, and England, put 'em all together; however, I'll endeavour to satisfy your Lordship; tho the Task will prove the more difficult, because there are seventeen Letters in the whole; so that if I make four Stanza's of four Verses a piece, then there's a Letter too much; and if I make five Stanza's, then there will be three too little; but I'll endeavour to smother one, and so it may do well enough. By any means, Mr. Corrasco, replied Don Quixote, make 'em so, that no other Woman living may pretend the Verses were made for her. After this, they concluded to be gone within eight Days. Don Quixote also enjoined the scholar to be secret, and not to say a word either to his Niece, his old Maid, the Curate, or Mr. Nicholas the Barber; who would be sure to use their utmost Endeavours to put a stop to their generous Design. Corrasco promised not to open his Lips to any Soul living; and so having begged of Don Quixote to give him an exact Account of his Misfortunes and Success, took his leave, and departed. And Sancho at the same time went to make all necessary Provisions for his Journey.   

CHAP. V.  
Containing the pleasant Discourse between Sancho Pansa and his Wife, &c.  
THE Translator of this History, when he came to look over this fifth Chapter, would needs have it to be down-right Apocrypha, because it introduces Sancho speaking in a more lofty Style, and after a more scholastic manner, then could be expected from such a stupid Ignoramus as he; and because he talks of matters far above his Understanding. However, he would not leave it out, believing it to be his Duty faithfully to follow his Original.  
Sancho then, says he, came home so blithe, and so merry about the Eyes, that his Wife beholded him with a joyful Aspect, as far as she could see him. So that when he came near; Husband, quo she, you look as pert as a Pearmonger's mere; what is the Occasion of your Mirth, my Heart? I should be much more merry, dear Chuck, quo Sancho, were I not so well pleased as I am. You speak Riddles, Husband, quo his Wife, I don't understand ye— for I am no such Fool yet, to think a Man would be discontented, if he could help it. Why, know then, my dear Honey, quo Sancho, I am overjoyed because I am going to serve my Master Don Quixote again, who is resolved upon a third Frisk in chase of Adventures; and I for my part, think 'tis better to go along with him, then to lye starving at home; for who knows, Wife, but we may find another Bag of Gold, as big as that we ha' spent?— On the other side, it grieves me to leave my sweet Swotterkin, and my poor Children, the Pledges of our Youth; for to tell thee Truth, I take no delight to led a Goat's life in clambring over Mountains, and jaunting over Forrests— So that if Heaven had been so kind to have granted me a small Estate, that I might but eat Bread dry-shod at home, I would ha' renounced these Wild goose chases after Knocks and Bastinado's— But Misfortune has otherwise disposed of my short time i' this World— And these are the Hopes, and these the Sorrows that make me both joyful and disconsolate at the same time. In good faith, quo Teresa, y're got so deep into your Knight-Errantries, that ye talk above my Element. The God above understands me, quo Sancho, and that's sufficient. In the mean time, Honey, take care for these next three days, of my dear Grizlepate, that she may be in a Condition to bear Arms; double her Ordinary, look out my Pack-saddle, and let it be mended— for in short, we are not going to a Wedding, but to compass the Earth; to meet with Giants, and Dragons, to encounter Hobgoblins, and to hear nothing but roaring, and rumbling, and bellowing, and howling, and yelling, which, nevertheless, will be all but mere scar crows, if we don't meet with your cursed Carriers, and enchanted Moors— Dost understand me, Wife? I make no question, replied Teresa, but that Squires-Errant do not eat their Master's Bread for nothing; only I beseech God to preserve thee from all Mischances. Truly Wife, quo Zancho, did I not think thou shouldst see me in a short time, governor of an iceland, I' my Conscience I should fall down dead immediately at thy feet. Not so, my dear Love and Joy, quo Teresa; Let the Pullet live, tho she ha' got the Pip; only live, and let all the Governments i' the World go to the Devil. Thou cam'st out of thy Mother's Womb without any Government that I know of, thou hast lived without a Government hitherto, and without a Government thou mayst be carried to thy Grave, when it shall please God. How many People are there i' the World that live without Governments, and yet live at Ease and Content? The best Sauce i' the World, is Hunger; and therefore the Poor always eat with a good Stomach. But to the purpose, Husband, if it should be thy good luck to get a Government, prithee don't forget thy poor Wife and Children: Consider that our Son already numbers fifteen, and I think 'tis time for him to be sent to School, especially if his Uncle design him for the Church. Then for your Daughter, I am persuaded a Husband would not scar her out of her Wits; for, if I am not mistaken, she longs as much to be married, as you do for a Government. For what says the Proverb, mary your Daughter betimes, lest she mary her self; and 'twere better she were ill bestowed, then be a Miss, tho 'twere to two Lords at a time. Hark thee me, my dear Wife, quo Sancho, upon the Faith of a man believe me now, the second day after I come to my Government, it shall be my business to mary our Daughter, and to match her so well, that she shall be, at least, a Lady all over the World. Prithee now, good Husband, none of your ladyships, I beseech ye,— Like Blood, like good, and like Age make the happiest Marriages. Let her have plain Neat's-leather and Sarge— and for laced Shoes and fine Petticoats, they are fitter for Ladies. She that never was at the Dancing-School, how ridiculously would she behave her self in her Silks and her satins? What fine Discoveries would she make of her Swine-serving Breeding? Th' art a Fool, quo Sancho, I'll sand her to a Boarding-School but for two Years, and thou shalt see how strangely she'll alter. Prithee let her be but a Lady, and let all the Gossips i' the Town be hanged, if they please— I warrant thee, Woman, she'll do well enough i' the country. I say still, Husband, quo Teresa, Let every one measure himself with his own Ell. 'twould be a very pleasant thing indeed for us, to go and mary our Daughter to a Lord, for him, in a short time, to be always upbraiding her, and calling her Madam Hog-wash, Gillian a' croyden, and Pig-driver's Daughter— No, no, Husband— I'll ne're mary my Daughter to such fine Folk, by our blessed Lady, not I— I han't bread her up, I hope, as I ha' done, to throw her away at length. No, no, Sancho, do thee bring me Money, and let me alone wi' my Daughter— There's young Dick three, old Tree's Son, I find him beginning to smirk upon the Wench already, he's an honest Fellow, and her Match— and then we shall have Parents, Children, and Grandchildren, and God's Blessing always among us; mary her the Lord knows where, and we shall see our Son-in-law and Daughter, the Lord knows when— mary her at Court among Lords and Ladies, and then she'll understand no body, and no body will understand her. Wife of Barabas, and Beast of the forest, quo Sancho; why, without rhyme or Reason, shouldst thou thus obstinately dissuade me now from marrying my Daughter to one that shall make her a Jointure of eight hundred a Year, and get me Lords for my Grandchildren besides?— Suppose the Lord her Husband dies, dost think eight hundred a Year wont maintain her as long as she lives? Besides, she'll live near, and save something by House-keeping in his life-time. I have heard my Grandfather say, That he that will not, when he may, when he fain would, shall have nay— Shall we, when Fortune knocks at the Door, shut her out?— No, no, when the Wind blows fair, let's take the Advantage of the Gale— and let's hold Opportunity by the Forelock, before she turn her Tail—[ This Huddle of wise Sayings, and some others out of Sancho's Mouth, made the Translator take this Chapter for Apocrypha] Then Sancho proceeding; Bruit, said he, what Injury will it be to thee, for me to get a Government, and raise our Fortunes? What Harm will it be to thee, for me to mary my Daughter to a Lord, and make thee thyself, Woman, a Lady; and then thou mayst come to Church, and lean over the Gallery upon thy Velvet Cushion, in despite of all the giggling Ladies i' the County? Why, what a God's name, Woman! wouldst always live i' the same Posture, neither lower nor higher, like a Picture i' the Hangings? fie— fie— talk no more on't; I say, little Sanchia shall be a Countess, speak till thy cawl burst. Husband, quo Teresa, have a care what thou sayst; I am afraid these Earldoms will be the ruin of your Daughter. You may make her a duchess, or a Princess, if you can, but I'll never give my Consent. For my part, I was always a Lover of Equality— I was christened Teresa, without any Additions of Madam or Madamoisell— my Father was called Gaffer Cascayo, or Gaffer ston; and my Name's Teresa, or Margery Pansa, because I am unfortunately your Wife; otherwise my Name might ha' been still Margery ston; but where the Kings are, there are the Laws. However, either of these single Names content me, without being laced with any Additions. By him that made me what I am, I'll be as he made me, and no otherwise— I'll be no bodies Laughing stock— I'll give no body cause to cry out, when they see me, Look, look— she that kept Hogs i' the Stubble t'other day, she that went to Mass with an old Napkin pined about her Head, look, how she struts it in her Cloth a'Gold Manteau turned up with Velvet— What! no less then a whole Silkman and Milliner's Shop upon her maingy Back at one time! Lord bless us! What will this World come to! No, no, by my faith-law, God grant me my five or six Senses, or as many as I have, and I'll tie up their Tongues from quipping a' me i' this fashion, I'll warrant 'em— that is, I'll give 'em no cause, and then let 'em speak, if they can. You may go, Husband, and be a Lord, or a governor, or a President, or what you please, by the Parent of my Mother, your Daughter and I will not stir an Inch from our Station— let them seek for Jointures, that cannot work with their ten Fingers. For my part, I had rather have a broken Leg, then a Crack i' my Reputation— And therefore, Husband, march you, and your Don Quixote together, to your Islands, and your Governments, and don't study Contrivances to debauch your poor Daughter; tho after all's done, I wonder how your Master came to be a Don; for I'm sure, neither his Father, nor Grandfather were any more then Headboroughs of the Hundred. May I be roasted, Wife, if I don't believe thou hast got a Familiar i' thy Belly— The Lord bless thee for a Woman, what has all this Stuff that thou hast twisted together, thy Cascayo's, thy Cloath a' Gold Manteaus, and thy Presidents, to do with what I ha' said? Ninny-hammer and Shallow-brains, as thou art, for I can call thee no other, since thou canst not understand Reason— For should I ha'  told thee, that thy Daughter was to throw her self from the top of the Monument, or to trot about the World like a gipsy, or a Bess-a-bedlam, then I should not ha' blamed thee for being troubled; but if in less then two Hits of a Tap-ball, I make her a Countess; if I fetch her from the Straw, to sit under a Canopy, and to set her Bum upon more Velvet Cushions then all the Empresses of Morocco, why shouldst thou be against it? Oh! Husband, Husband— quo Teresa, 'tis because of the Proverb, Husband, That that covers thee, discovers thee— No body minds the Poor, but all Eyes are gazing upon men in Grandeur and Authority— if a poor man become wealthy and great, it sets all Tongues a grumbling and back-biting; and the worst is, that when they once begin, they never leave off. Oh, but my dear Teresa! I tell thee things that thou never heard'st of i'thy life; nor do I speak of my own Head, but what I heard from one of our Lent-Preachers, who  told us, if my Memory fail me not, That what we see daily before our Eyes, take a deeper root in our Remembrances, then things that are past and gone.[ And this Discourse, so far above Sancho's Genius, was another, and one of the strongest Arguments to persuade the Translator, that this Chapter was not authentic.] And therefore, quo Sancho, proceeding in his Philosophy, when we see a man sumptuously habited with a great Rope of lackeys, hanging like Onions at the Tail of his Coach, we pay him Respect in spite of our Teeths; tho we remember him formerly to have been but a Foot-boy, or at most, a Clerk's Clerk himself; and his present Condition causes us to forget his former Poverty; and how mean and base soever his Parentage were, we look upon him what he is, and not what he was. Let him have been found in a Church-porch, if after he comes to Preferment, he shows himself liberal and courteous, he deserves as much esteem as if he had been a Lord of five hundred years standing; and that all the Records of his Pedigree i' the Herald's Office, were Worm-eaten with Age.  
I don't understand a Tittle what you say, Husband, replied Teresa, and therefore even follow your own Inventions, and don't break my Brains with your Retricks and Philosophies— but if y' are so devolved to do as ye say— devolved, Wife! what's that?— you should say, resolved— speak like a Schollard, my dear Honey-suckle— For the Lord's-sake, Husband, quo Teresa, Schollard me no Schollards, I speak as God-a-mighty taught me— and for hard words, I give all my share to Mr. Curate— only this I ha' to say farther, That if you are so mad to be a governor, pray take your Son Sancho along with ye, and teach him to be a governor after you are dead. For 'tis but reasonable for Parents to teach their Children their Trades. When I am fixed i' my Government, quo Sancho, I'll sand for him by the Post, and sand thee Money withal— for there is no body, but will lend Money to a governor— and do thou provide him such clothes, that he may appear not what he is, but what he ought to be. Well, well, Husband, for that take you no care— do you but sand Money, and I'll make him as fine as a Parrot. So then, Wife— 'tis concluded, you say, between us, quo Sancho, that our Daughter shall be a Countess.  
Mercy a' my Soul i' the mean time, cried Teresa, for I'm sure my Daughter's first Lady-day, will be the last of my life— However, do what you please— you Men are the Masters, and we poor Women must bear our Curse of Obedience, tho our Husbands are no better then cucumbers. And so saying, she fell a' weeping, as if her Daughter had been breathing her last Gasp— But Sancho appeased her with a Promise to delay her Preferment as long as he could with conveniency. And having so said, away he posted to Don Quixote to receive Orders for his Departure.   

CHAP. VI.  
Containing what passed between Don Quixote, his Niece, and his Maid; which is one of the most important Chapters in the whole History.  
WHile Sancho Pansa and Teresa Cascayo, or Margery ston, his Wife, were thus no less eagerly then impertinently arguing the Case, Don Quixote's Niece and Maid were at their Wits end. They saw the good old Knight was as full of his Frenzies as ever, and was resolved upon a third frolic; and therefore they used their utmost Endeavour to persuade him to the contrary: but all they could do, was but basting of Stones with Butter.  
Among other Arguments which they used to bring about their Design, the Governess adventured to use this threatening Language; Sir, quo she, if you will not be ruled, but will needs run a rambling again, like a Jack with a lantern in a Winter-night, and still be vagabonding from your Family, in search of Hobgoblins and Fairies, to make yourself a Laughing stock to all the World; I'll never cease petitioning both God and the King, till I either prevail for cure, or get ye locked up in Bedlam, for a Mad-man, as ye are. Joan, quo Don Quixote, what Answer Heaven will give thee, I know not; neither can I tell what the King will say to thee, but this I know, that if I were in his Majesty's place, I would ne're be troubled with a quarter of those impertinent Sheets of gilt-Paper that are delivered to Princes every day; and therefore, as it is one of the greatest Vexations they have, to hear this idle Story, and t'other Flim-flam, I hope the King will be so kind to himself, to make thee stay till he has nothing i' the World else to do. But, I beseech ye, Sir, quo the Maid, pray tell me, Are there no Knights at Court? Yes, without doubt, replied Don Quixote, several— as well for the Ornament of the Court, as to set forth the lustre of Royal Grandeur— Why then, quo the Maid, would it not be better for you to be one of those Knights, then thus to run a Robinhooding, as you do. Hear me, Joan, quo Don Quixote, all Knights cannot be Courtiers, neither can they, nor ought all Courtiers to be Knight-Errants; there must be of all sorts i' the World; and tho there were no other but Knights i' the World, yet should there be a great difference between Knights and Knights. For Courtiers, without so much as stirring over their Thresholds, or quitting the Court, travail all the World over with their Eyes, surveying the Maps, without Labour or expense. But we that are the true Knight-Errants, really and truly roam and wander over Hill and Dale, Night and Day, Summer and Winter, exposed to Heat and could, Hunger and Thirst, and all the Hardships that Nature can endure. We not only behold the Pictures of our Enemies, but meet 'em armed cap-à-pie, at every turn, and every hour, never standing upon Trifles, or the Laws of Duels, or examining whether our launces or Swords are of an exact Size, or no; whether our Enemies have any Charms about 'em, or any privy armor on; nor ever regarding whether the Sun be in our Faces, or upon our Backs, nor any other Punctilio's or Ceremonies observed among single Duelists; things which thou understand'st not, but I perfectly do. And yet I would have thee know thus much however, That every Knight-Errant is so far from being afraid to meet ten Giants, whose heads are as high as the Clouds, their Thighs like the Tower of Babel, and their Arms like Masts of Ships; their Eyes as big as millstones, and burning like Glass-house Furnaces; I say, a Knight-Errant is so far from being afraid of meeting ten of these Giants, that he meets 'em with a settled Countenance and undaunted Courage, he assails 'em, closes in with 'em, and if it be possible, vanquishes and murders 'em all in an Instant, tho armed at the same time with the Scales of a certain Fish, much harder then an Adamant; and laying on, instead of Swords, with dismal Hangers, thirty foot long, and seven foot broad, sharp as Razors, and all of Steel of Damascus, or else with Iron Maces as big as the Monument; such as I ha' seen full often to my cost. This, Joan, I ha'  told thee, to show thee the difference between Knights and Knights. And in truth, I could wish, that all Princes knew how to make the Distinction, and that they understood a little better the Merit and Importance of Knight-Errants, among whom, as we may red in their Lives, there have been some that ha' saved not only one, but many Kingdoms at a time. Oh, Sir, quo his Niece, shaking her head— have a care what ye say— For is it not plain, that all the Stories of Knight-Errants are nothing but a company of lies and Fables; and if they are not burnt by the hand of the common Hangman, yet are they so branded and stigmatized for Falsehood and Imposture, that they deserve to be so. By the living Jupiter, quo Don Quixote, all inflamed with Rage and Choler, wert thou not a Woman, and my near Kinswoman, I would lash thy bare Buttocks, as bad as ever the Doctor lashed his Maid, for uttering such unheard-of Blasphemies! What! such a little pitiful Arseworm as thou, that canst hardly tell nine, to be so bold and audacious as to censure Knight-Errants! What would the great Amadis de gall ha' said, had he heard thee prate at this rate? And yet I am apt to believe he would ha' pardoned thee, for he was one of the most affable and courteous Knights of his time, and a great Defender of Ladies. But you might ha' lit into the hands of one that would ha' yerk'd your Bumfiddle for ye, y' faith, my dear Niece; and therefore have a care next time how ye talk such Bugg's Words, as these. For all Knights have not the same Moderation, nor are they all of the same mettle; for some are of Gold, and others of Copper, yet all seem to be Knights. Nevertheless, we ourselves have a Touchstone to try 'em by. For you have some base Rascals that leave no ston unturned to seem Knights; and some Knights of Quality there are, that ride Post to the Devil, on purpose to stifle the Lustre of their Birth. Some are advanced by their Ambition and virtue. Others there are, that sink under the burden of Effeminacy and 'vice; and between these two sorts of Knights, it requires a great judgement to make a right Distinction, for they both carry the same Title. Bless me! cried the Niece, in truth, Uncle you are so learned, that I believe, for a need, you could step into a Pulpit, or at least, could hold forth upon a Stall. And yet for all that, you have so little Wit, as to think yourself still a young man, that are as crazy as a rotten Post, that ye are strong, when I durst venture to blow ye down with one Blast o' my back-side myself; that you can set things to Rights, when ye bend i' the back, like the Sign of the Dolphin— And then you say y' are a Knight— I'de fain know who the murrain made you a Knight— I'm sure the King never did; for Knights must have great Estates— and I am certain you ha' little or none to speak of.  
Niece, quo, D. Quixote, thou sayst very right as to the business of Estates; and therefore to add to thy Knowledge, I have a good mind to tell thee somewhat more then ordinary concerning Pedigrees. All the Pedigrees i' the World may be reduced to four sorts. Some men there are, who are born of obscure Parentage, yet raise themselves by degrees to sovereign Dignity. The second sort, being born to Royal Eminency, preserve and maintain their Grandeur without any decay. Others there are born Noble and Illustrious, that unravel themselves into nothing; like Pyramids that having a spacious and large Foundation, lessen by degrees, till they vanish with an imperceptible Point. The last sort far more numerous then any of the rest, are they, whose Extraction being mean, or at least, not very remarkable, they so continue, neither rising higher, nor falling lower Of the first we have a notable Example in the Ottoman Race, who deriving their Original from a poor and miserable Shepherd, have advanced their Dominion to the highest Pinnacle of Grandeur. A great number of Princes, born successively to fair Inheritances, and preserving their Estates within their ancient Limits, without Enlargement or Diminution, are an Example of the second sort. And for the third sort, that have ended in a Pyramid, we have a thousand Examples; all the Pharaohs and Ptolomys of Egypt, the Caesars of Rome, together with that infinite Crowd of Median, Assyrian, Persian, graecian, and Barbarian Monarchs and Princes, of whose Race there are not any now left i' the World; or if happily any might be found, we should find 'em in very mean and low Condition. I have nothing to say of the common sort, that only serve to make up the number of the Living, neither ambitious of famed, or understanding what Merit is.  
From what has been said, Girls, you may see, that there is a great difference between the razes of Men, and that only those Families are great and illustrious, where Wealth, Magnificence and virtue most eminently appear. I say virtue, for that a Person of high Birth, without virtue, seems more vicious then another person; and for that he who is rich, and not liberal, may be truly looked upon as a most miserable Creature, that possesses without Enjoyment. Now the poor Knight has no other way to show that he is a true Knight, but by his virtue. It behoves him therefore, to be affable, courteous, humble, just, without Pride, without Malice; and by that means, tho he give little, as having but little to give, his private Liberality will be as much esteemed as theirs that are profuse with Ostentation before a Multitude; and possessing all those noble Qualities, there is no body but will believe him to be of illustrious Parentage, and pay him that Respect, and those Honours which are due to his Merit. I must inform ye farther, Girls, that there are two ways for men to enrich and advance themselves, by Learning, and by Feats of Arms. Now for my part, I find myself more inclined and adapted for military Employments, as being born under the Influence of the Planet Mars; for which reason, in Compliance with my Stars, and my own Inclinations, I am resolved to follow that Profession in despite of all the World; and therefore you torment yourselves in vain, to resist the Decrees of Heaven, and to oppose my own Destiny, my own Reason, and my own Desires. I know that Knight-Errantry is accompanied with infinite Hardships; yet on the other side, I understand the infinite Benefit and Glory that attends it. I know that virtue leads us through a very streight and narrow Path, and that the Road of 'vice is broad and spacious, leading us, with all its Charms, to Death Eternal; whereas the narrow way of virtue, full of Thorns and briars, and difficult to pass, guides us to Immortal Life: according to that of the Poet: 
Through this same narrow Path, with Cares oppressed,  
At length we climb to our Immortal Rest.  
They heaven renounce, who think the other Way,  
More easy, leads 'em to the Seats of Day.   
Blessed Lady! my Uncle's a Poet too, quo the Niece, he knows all things, and can do every thing— Nay, I'll hold a Wager, if he would but undertake it, that he could build a Cathedral with as much ease, as a Bird-cage. Ah, my dear Niece! replied Don Quixote, I could safely swear, that were it not for this Knight-Errantry, that transports me, as it does, quiter beside my Senses, there is nothing which I durst not undertake to perform, nor any Curiosity that could scape my hands, especially quilted Balls and Tooth-pickers.  
But here their farther Discourse was interrupted by Sancho, who rapp'd at the Door, like a Constable, and made a noise, like Tom a' Lincoln, to be let in. Upon which the Governante slipped out of the way because she would not see him, for she hated him with a mortal Hatred. The Niece opened the Door, while Don Quixote stood with his Arms expanded to receive him, and having embraced him, as the Devil hugged the Witch, they locked themselves once more into the Chamber, where their Discourse was no less pleasant then what they had before.   

CHAP. VII.  
Containing a second colloquy between Don Quixote and his Squire, with other most famous Adventures.  
NO sooner did the Governess perceive that Don Quixote and Sancho had locked themselves in together, but she presently surmis'd their Design, and not doubting but the Result of this same private Interview, would prove no less then a fixed Determination to take another Vagary, she flung her scarf about her Neck, and like a Wench posting to a Cunning Man, away she trots as pensive as a Girl that had lost three Silver Spoons, to find out young Corrasco, whom she thought to be the most proper person to check her Master's unbridl'd frenzy, as being a Man of Wit, and one of Don Quixote's new Acquaintance. Having found him out, with a black Pot in his hand, and a Pipe in his Mouth, tho somewhat shy, for fear of being arrested, she fell at his feet all in a could Sweat. What's the matter, Mistress Governess, quo Corrasco? What dismal Accident has befallen thee, that brings thy Soul, to this Affright, to the very root of thy Tongue? Nothing, Mr. samson, quo the Maid, nothing else, but that my Master's departing, he's departing, there's no help for't. How, departing! What dost mean, quo samson? Is he fallen into an Apoplexy? No, no,— quo the Governess, he's only leaving his Senses, and departing from his Wits— He's going for t'other broken Shoulder— God forgive me for saying so, I wish he might break the one half of his Neck down Stairs. The last time, he was brought home athwart an Ass, like a Calf before a Butcher, from head to foot as black as my Hood, with the Knocks and the Bruises his Playfellows had given him. And the second time, forsooth, he came riding home in a wagon, shut up in a Cage— Lord bless me! I wondered what strange Beast it was— and who should it be, but my monstrous Master— for I never saw a man so monstrously battered, and shoulder-sprain'd i' my life. He might well say he was enchanted, for I'll be hanged if his Mother that bore him, could ha' known him; a' looked as yellow as the back side of a Parchment-skin, with his Eyes so buried in his head, that to fetch 'em back again, it cost me twenty dozen of Eggs, God knows as well as my poor Hens, that could tell the Truth, were they able speak— There's no need of Witnesses for that, quo the scholar, all the Parish knows thou wert never given to lying— But, Mrs. Governess, d' ye fear nothing else but your Master's Escape? Nothing else! quo the Maid; why, is not that enough?— If that be all, quo Mr. samson, let me alone, do you only go home, and get me something hot for my Supper— You may also, if you can, say the first four Staves of the Nunc dimittis backward, as ye go along—  
Sure you ha' drank a Cup too much, Mr. samson,— Say four Staves of the Nunc dimittis backward! why, my Master's Pain lies in his Head, and not in his Teeth— I know what I say— don't you dispute with me that ha' been a Reader of a Parish, till I could red there no longer, tho Sunday were a priviledge-Day— I say, don't you dispute with me, but go home, and do as I bid ye— The Governante, thus snubb'd, return'd home as fast as she could trudge; and young Corrasco went to consult the Curate— of which we shall give ye a farther Account by and by—  
In the mean time, Don Quixote and Sancho being alone in their Retirement, had a long Conference, which the Story relates after this manner:  
Sir, said Sancho, I have at length brought it to that pass, that my Wife is dissolved to let me attend your Worship wherever ye go— dissolved! Sancho, Wilt thou never speak English? thou shouldst say, resolved. Sir, quo Sancho, this is now the second or third time that I ha' warned ye of your Captiousness at my Pronunsations, especially when you understand what I mean. If ye don't— then you may say, Sancho, the Devil take thee, speak plain— Then if I don't explain myself, you may distracted me— for I am not so infocible as you think for—  
Now the Devil take thee, Sancho, if I understand thee at this time— distracted thee!— and thou art not so infocible! What a' pox is all this Gibberish?— Why, Sir, quo Sancho, infocible signifies a man that is— as a man should say— not given— so and so— Infocible is— what d' ye call that word— puh— 'tis at my Tongue's end— you understand me, Sir— By all my Progenitors, less then e're I did, quo Don Quixote— Why then, quo Sancho, there's an end of the Discourse— for I can speak no better, and so farewell iceland. I guess, quo Don Quixote, thou wouldst say, thou art not so indocible, but that thou art able to learn, if I instruct thee— I'll hold my life, quo Sancho, you understood me at first, but only you had a mind to puzzle my Brains wi' your Impertinencies, merely to hear me knock your fine words out a' joint. 'twas the least of my Thoughts, I assure thee, quo Don Quixote— but prithee tell me— What says Teresa?  
Teresa, quo Sancho, bids me make sure work wi' your Worship— She tells me, That Paper speaks, when Beards never wag; That 'tis good to be sure— That a bide i' the Hand's worth two i' the Bush— That he that lives by hope, dies breaking a' wind backward— That one Hold-fast, is better then two I'll give Thees— Better my Dog dirty, then no Dog at all— 'tis true, Women and Fools Bolts are soon shot, but sometimes they speak reason. I believe so too— quo Don Quixote; but prithee go on, Sancho, for thou talk'st monstrous sententiously to day—  
I say, quo Sancho, as you know better then I, that no body knows who shall live, nor who shall die; that a man's here to day, and gone to morrow— That as soon goes the Lamb to the Spit, as the old Weather— In short, we cannot promise ourselves to live an hour longer then God has appointed. For Death is deaf, and when he knocks at the Door, he's in post-haste— nor Force, nor entreaties, nor Crowns, nor mitres can prevail with him for one minute's delay— at least, if we may believe our Preachers. All this is truth, Sancho, quo Don Quixote— What wouldst infer from hence? Why, Sir, quo Sancho, I think 'tis very requisite you and I should understand one another, and that we should agree upon a certain Sum to be paid monthly so long as I shall have the Honour to serve your Worship— and to be paid in Money— not in recompenses, with a Bond for Performance of Covenants— For these recompenses always come slow, or scarce are worth accepting, or else never come— but God bless Me with what is my own. In a word, I would be glad to know what I get, be it little or more. A Hen sits upon one Egg, as well as upon twenty— Sixteen Farthings make a Groat, and four Groats make sixteen Pence; Many littles make a mickle— and while a man gets, he can never lose. However, should it so fall out, tho it be a thing that I never expect, or hope for, that your Worship should give me the iceland you ha' promised me, I am not such an ungrateful Pinch-penny, but that I am willing to discount upon the Revenue for what Wages I receive.  
Friend Sancho, quo Don Quixote, a Cat is oftimes as good as a Rat— You say very true, quo Sancho— but I hold a Wager your Worship would ha' said, That a Rat is as good as a Cat— However, 'tis all one since I find your Worship understands me— So well, quo Don Quixote, that I ha' dived to the very Bottom of thy Thought-bag— and can see without a Prospective-glass whither all thy musty Adages and Proverbs tend. And indeed, because th' art a poor fellow, I should never scruple to pay thee thy Wages by agreement in dry Money, but that I could never discover in any History of the meanest Knight-Errant, that ever they paid their Squires either by the Month, or by the Year, or indeed, that they ever paid 'em any Wages at all. That which I can remember is only this, That their Squires served 'em in hopes, and that many times when they least expected it, Fortune seating her self in their Master's Laps, and chucking 'em under the Chin, presently they found themselves recompensed with an iceland, or a County, or some such kind of Trifle. If therefore you think good to serve me upon these Terms, and these Expectations, you may, if not, beso las manos, fare ye well— For I must not, for love of your sweet Countenance, ranverse all the Customs of ancient Chivalry. And therefore, Sancho, go home again, tell your Wife my Resolution, and so advice together; if either she or you, or both, dislike my Proposals, however let's be still Friends, and so part. While there's a Cummin-loaf i' the Dove-coat, the Pigeon-house shall never want Customers. Nevertheless, Sancho, let me tell ye, fair Hopes are better then Misery in Possession: And 'tis ill wasting your Bait upon Gudgeons, when you may hope to catch Carps. I speak this to let you see I can piss Proverbs as well as another: and so in one word for a thousand, if you will trust Fortune as I do, you may; if not, God bless thee, and make thee a Saint; no question, but I shall find Squires enough, less saucy, less talkative, and more obedient then ever thou wert—  
Sancho was Thunder-strook when he found his Master so indifferent; for he thought verily Don Quixote could ne're ha' pissed without him. Now while he was in this same Agony of Melancholy and Despair, in dropped Corrasco, together with the Niece and the Governante, who followed him close to see what Method he would take to dispossess Don Quixote of his Devil of Knight-Errantry.  
He was no sooner entered, but he embraced Don Quixote's Knees, and with a loud and serious Tone; Choice Flower of Chivalry-Errant, quo he, most radiant Light of War, chief Honour and Glory of thy Nation, I beg of all Saints, and all Souls, that whoever shall oppose thy generous Resolution of a third Ramble, Prosperity may never bless 'em; may they be unsuccessful in wooing, and never get their Wives with Child; and then turning to Don Quixote's Maid, 'twill be in vain, Mrs. Governess, quo he, to say the Nunc dimittis backward any more: For Heaven has decreed, that my Lord Don Quixote must return to the famous Exercise of Chivalry-Errant; and I should act against my Conscience, should I not encourage him myself, to make known the Strength of his Arm, and the Vigour of his invincible Prowess, which he cannot forbear to do, without defrauding the miserable of his Assistance, without injuring the Widow and the Orphan, and exposing the Honour of Ladies and Virgins, whose Bulwark and Support he is; and without breach of all the Laws of that incomparable Order, which Heaven so potently supports for the general Good and Safety of Mankind. Courage, my Lord Don Quixote— proceed, most valiant Hero— and if you want a Squire, I am here ready to serve your magnificent grandeur, as deeming it the greatest Honour that the World can bestow upon me.  
Hark ye there, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, turning toward his Squire, I  told thee I should never want Squires. Thou seest who offers me his Service, no less then a University scholar, a Reader, and an Instructor of Youth to boot; one that has suffered much by Hunger, could, and drought, yet nimble, young, and healthy; and which is more then all the rest, one that whatever he knows, never tells any body but Friends. But Heaven forbid, that I should rob the Church of such a Member, or the Liberal Sciences of such a Pillar and Support. Let him live, and like another Orpheus, live to tame Beasts in Ludgate or the Fleet, where his vast Knowledge may be of greater use. For my part, any Squire shall serve my turn, since Sancho thus forsakes me—  
I'll go, I'll go, cried Sancho, all in Tears and Blubbering, like a Widower of three hours standing— 'T shall ne're be said of me, quo he, No longer Pipe, no longer Dance; I am not come of an ungrateful Race, and I am thoroughly satisfied in the great Desire you have, and how your Worship makes it your study to do me good. And if I did ask your Worship for Wages, 'twas only to please my Wife, who, when she sets upon a thing, all the Devils in Hell cannot satisfy her, till she has her Will; but since God has made me a Man, I'll be a Man at home too, as well as in other places; and if she wont be quiet, I'll nail her up in a Barrel a' Tenter-hooks, and roll her down Mauvern-Hills, before I'll be plagued with her. And therefore, Sir, you have now nothing more to do, but to make your Will; but be sure to make it without a power of Revocation, and then let's be gone as soon as you please. Alas, my dear Master! don't you believe but I am ready to follow ye to all the four Corners of the Wind, and to signallize my Fidelity and Care of your Person, above all the Squires-Errant, that ever were recorded in immortal Story.  
Thereupon Don Quixote and Sancho embraced again, and became as good Friends as ever; and so with the Approbation, and good liking of young Corrasco, who was now Don Quixote's privy-councillor in Ordinary, it was concluded, that Don Quixote should be gone within three days, which they reserved for themselves to provide all things necessary for their Journey; more especially a whole Helmet and Vizor, which was the only Appurtenance to a Knight-Errant, which Don Quixote wanted at that time. Happy man he, in knowing Corrasco, who presently  told him where there was one to be had, a sound and well-tempered piece of Mettle, only 'twas somewhat rusty with lying.  
The Niece and Governess were so strangely startled to find that signor Corrasco had deceived their Expectations, that they cursed him to the bottonles Gehenna, tore their Hair, clawed their Faces, and set up such a howling and yelling, as if they had foreseen Don Quixote's certain Death, and all the fatal Disasters of this same third Vagary. But Corrasco's Design, to tell ye the truth, after he had consulted the Curate and the Barber, was to furnish the Author with new matter for a second Part, wherein I think he did very well.  
And now all things being in a readiness, and Sancho having pacified his Wife, the two Hero's set forward i' the dead time of the Night, unknown to any living Soul, but only Corrasco, who would needs accompany the worthy Knight about half a League upon his way. Which done, the scholar besought Don Quixote to give him an Account from time to time, of whatever befell him, whether good or bad. Don Quixote gave him his hand upon't, and then they both embraced, and took their leaves, the scholar returning back to the Village, and the Knight continuing his Journey for the famous City of Toboso.   

CHAP. VIII.  
What befell Don Quixote going to visit his Lady Dulcinea.  
NOW blessed be the mighty Alla, cried Cid Hamet Benengeli, at the Beginning of this Chapter, repeating his Benediction no less then three times, when he heard the News that Don Quixote and Sancho Panca had once more taken the Field. For now, quo he, Readers of this Story may expect a second Part of the matchless achievements, unheard of Discourses, and surprising Adventures of that famous Baron of Mancha; enough, if it were possible, to drown all his former Transactions. But let 'em both live together, and let these his last Feats of Arms begin from his first putting foot in his Stirrup for Toboso, as the former began in the Plains of Montiel.  
The Renowned Don Quixote and the faithful Sancho were no sooner partend from the scholar, but Rosinante began to neighie, and Sancho's Grizzle to sigh and bray; which the Knight and the Squire took for happy Omens of their Success; tho to say truth, the sighings and brayings of serious Grizzle, far exceeded Rosinante's Mirth; whence Sancho concluded, That this third Frisk would prove much more to his own, then his Master's Advantage. I confess, I do not believe he grounded his hopes upon any Knowledge which he had in Judicial Astrology, or that he had been to inquire of Saffold the Necromancer; only 'twas a piece of Superstition which he had learnt among the old Women, That if his Ass stumbl'd, or tripped, or fell down, he would ha' given his best Sunday's Coat, that he had not stirred out of his House all that day; for he was wont to say, That stumbling or falling, were only Signs of ripped Soles and broken Ribs; and tho he were a Cods-head, he was not much out of the way in this.  
Friend Sancho, quo Don Quixote, the Night comes on apace, so that I doubt me, 'twill be dark before we can reach Toboso. However, thither it is that I intend to go, before I undertake any Adventure, to receive the Benediction, and take my leave of the most incomparable Dulcinea, being assured after that, of being successful in all my Enterprises; for nothing renders a Knight-Errant more valiant, and more fortunate in all his Undertakings, then to find himself beloved and favoured by the Lady of his best Affection. I am apt to believe it, quo Sancho; but I'm afraid you'll find it a difficult thing to see Madam Dulcinea, and talk with her, at least, in a place proper to give ye her Benediction, unless she should throw it ye over the Mud-wall of the Court, where I first saw her, when I carried her the News of your Gambols, and freakish Pranks i'the midst of the Black Mountain.  
Thou art infinitely mistaken, my poor silly Friend, quo Don Quixote— Mud-walls of a Court, dost call 'em, where thou sawst the peerless Paragon of Beauty and Gentility! why, thou art blind, Man— they were the gilded Balconies, or else the sumptuous Galleries of some magnificent Palace. It may be since altered, quo Sancho, but as far as I could then discern, it was a perfect ordinary Mud-wall, at least, if I ha' not lost my Memory. Be't what it will, quo Don Quixote, thither 'tis we must go; and provided I may see her, let it be over the Wall, or through a Window, through Chinks or Lattices, for which way soever the least Beam of her Beauty reaches my Eyes, it will so enlighten my Understanding, and fortify my Heart, that no mortal will be able to match me for Prudence and Valour. Good faith, quo Sancho, when I beholded this same Sun of a Lady Dulcinea, methought it did not shine so bright as to cast forth any Rays or Beams at all that I could see— but perhaps it was because she was sifting of Wheat, which caused such a thick Cloud, as obscured its Brightness. Wilt thou never beat it out of those stupid Brains of thine, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, that Madam Dulcinea was sifting a' juuat, an Employment so much beneath her Quality and Merit? Surely thou hast forgot our Poets Verses, who telling us how the four Nymphs that he saw ascend from the crystal Streams of Tagus, spent their time; brings 'em in sitting upon the Grass, and working those rich Embroideries of Gold and Pearl, which there he describes with so much Art and Learning, as if he had been Master of Embroiderers-Hall himself. And so, no doubt, was Dulcinea employed when thou beheldst her, but that some damnable Enchanter, envious of her Glory, cast a Mist before thy Eyes, or so dazzled thy sight, as to take one thing for another. Which makes me fear, that the Author of my History is one of those malicious wizards that will never give me a good word, but only sport with my famed and Reputation to divertise himself with lies and idle Stories, far remote from truth. Oh, Envy, Envy!— thou mortal Poison of bright shining virtue, and inexhaustible Source of infinite Mischiefs. There is no other 'vice, friend Sancho, but has something pleasing in itself; but Envy trails always at her heels, dissension, Madness, Treachery, and Disorder.  
This is that which I mortally dread, quo Sancho; for I dare say, that in that same Story which Neighbour Corrasco has seen of our Lives, my Honour is exposed like a courtesan set upon her Head naked, and then kicked down stairs. And yet upon the faith of an honest Squire, I never spoken ill of any Necromancer i' my life; nor have I Wealth enough to be envied. Tis true, I am a little malicious now and then, and that I do talk at random sometimes, yet I was always counted more Fool then Knave. And were it only for this, That I believe in God and the catholic Faith, and am a mortal Enemy of the Jews, the Historians ought to take Compassion upon me, and spare me i' th' their libels— But before-George, let 'em say what they can, naked I came into the World, and naked I must go out; I neither win nor lose; and therefore I say again, let 'em writ their worst, I care no more then the great Turk— nor will I give 'em, begar, what the Cat left i' the Malt, to make 'em hold their Tongues.  
This puts me in mind, quo Sancho, of what befell a famous Poet of our Times, who having made a smart satire against all the Ladies of the Court, whose Names were up, forbore to name one, as not being certain whether she were fit to be put in his Catalogue or no; who not finding her self in the List, made a great Complaint to the Poet, and asked him, What Injury she had done him, that he should leave her out of his Roll? Desiring him withal, to enlarge his satire, and put her in, according to her Merits, or else she would claw out his Eyes. Thereupon the Poet went on, and gave her a Character with a Vengeance, to the great Satisfaction of the Lady, who was glad to see her self in Print, tho it were at the expense of her Honour. I must tell thee, Sancho, this desire of Honour, and to be talked of hereafter, is a bewitching thing. What caused Horatius to throw himself armed into Tiber? What made Mutius Scaevola, with that undaunted Patience, hold his Hand in the burning flamme till it was consumed to Ashes? What encouraged Curtius to throw himself headlong into the gaping Earth? What made Caesar pass the Rubicon, after so many unlucky Omens? By the Lord Harry, I don't know, quo Sancho. And now to come to modern Examples, What made a small number of Spaniards under the famous Cortez, being landed in the new world, to sink their Ships, to deprive themselves of all manner of Safety, by flight? 'twas all to get Honour, Sancho; Honour that spurs us on to all great Actions, and inspires us with Resolution to contemn the most surprising Terrors, and even Death itself; and all in hopes of a determined famed, that ends with the Subversion of this world. Whereas we Christian Knight-Errants cumbat rather for that eternal Honour enjoyed in Heaven, then for that vain Renown that shall perish with the world's Conflagration. In killing Giants, we aim at the overthrow of Pride. And in our daily war against our Passions, we combat Envy by Generosity, Anger by Humility, Gluttony and Drowsiness by Temperance and Vigilancy, Incontinency by that inviolable Fidelity which we observe in our very Thoughts toward our Mistresses; and Sloth by continual travail through the world, in search of all Adventures, which, together with the Name of Christians, may acquire us the Character of Illustrious and Renowned Knights. And these, Sancho, are the Steps, by which we mount the Pinnacle of Honour.  
I understand, Sir, to a hair's breadth, quo Sancho, every Tittle you have said. But still I would fain be resolved one Doubt that strangely perplexes the inside of my skull. What is't, Son Sancho, replied Don Quixote? speak, and I'll endeavour to release thee from thy Anguish. Why then, Sir, quo Sancho, pray resolve me— those Julius's, Augustus's, and all the rest of those eternised and immortalised Champions you have numbered up, all dead so long ago, where are they now at present? The Heathens, answered Don Quixote, are, without all question, in Hell. The Christians, if they were good Christians, either in Paradise or Purgatory; at least, if their Friends were so remiss as not to be at the Charges of having 'em prayed out; tho I cannot believe such great Personages as they could want either Money or Friends upon such an emergent Occasion. So far, so good, quo Sancho. Now then for the sepulchres where these great Lords lye interred, be there any Silver Lamps still burning therein? Are they hung about with Crutches, broken Legs and Arms, Wax-heads and Glass-Eyes, or with what are they hung? The Tombs of the Idolaters, answered Don Quixote, were for the most part, magnificent Temples; Julius Caesar's Ashes were set upon the top of a Pyramid, all of one ston of a prodigious bigness, which they call at this day, St. Peter's Needle. The sepulchre of Adrian the Emperor was a great Castle as big as a large Village, formerly called Adrian's Mole, now the Castle of St. Angelo. Queen Artemisia laid her Husband in a Mausoleum, so large, so magnificent, and so singular for the Curiosity of the Workman-ship, that it was accounted one of the seven Wonders of the world. But never any of the Tombs of the Gentiles were adorned with Hair-cloths, Hour-glasses, and Death's-heads, or any other Offerings that signalized 'em for Saints.  
Thus far we are right, quo Sancho; now pray, Sir, tell me, which is the greater wonder, to raise a Man from the dead, or to kill a Giant? The Question's easily answered, quo Don Quixote, certainly to raise a Man from the dead. Then I'll be with ye presently, quo Sancho: For then we must believe the famed of those that raise the dead, restore sight to the blind, and heal the lame, before whose Tombs we daily behold infinite Crowds of devout People continually kneeling and adoring their relics, must be much more glorious both in this and the other World, then that of all your Heathenish Emperors, and all the Knight-Errants that ever were born. I grant it, quo Don Quixote. Very good, quo Sancho, and now expect a sparring-Blow— for if the Bodies of the Saints are allowed such privileges and Prerogatives, as ye call 'em, to have their chapels continually burning with Lamps, and with the Approbation and Leave of our holy Mother the Church, to have their Smocks, their Petticoats, their Huckle-bones, their Hollow-Teeth, their Combings, the Bridges of their Noses, Tips of their Ears, with a thousand other relics preserved in Gold Boxes, and to have their Shrines adored and enriched with the Offerings of Emperors, Kings, and Princes, to the immortalizing their famed, and the Propagation of Christian Devotion— And what of all this, quo Don Quixote, what's your Inference— Why I infer from hence, that it would be our best way, our nearest way, and our safest way to turn Saints. For by that means we shall acquire that famed and Immortality, which we aspire to at a far cheaper Rate, and with the ten thousandth part of the Trouble. 'twas but yesterday, or t'other day, or I cannot tell when, that two Carmelite friars were canonised, and you cannot imagine the Press of People that crowded to kiss the Iron Chains that they wore about their Wasts, instead of Girdles; and with their Hankerchiefs to touch their relics, which, I warrant ye, were looked upon with more Veneration, then Orlando's great Sword that hangs up i'the Kings armoury. So that for ought I see, 'twould be much better to be a friar of some begging Order, then one of the most valiant Knight-Errants that ever slay Giant. Two dozen of Lashes bestowed by a man's own self upon his own Shoulders, are more pleasing to God, then two thousand Blows laid on with Heart and good Will upon Dragons Scales, or the insensible Backs of Hobgoblins. Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou sayst very well; but we cannot all be Monks— there are many ways which God makes use of to bring his Elect to Heaven. Knight-Errantry itself is a religious Order; and there are Knight-Errants in Heaven. St. George, St. Taffey, St. James, St. Andrew, St. Patrick, St. Martin, S. Christopher, with a hundred more that I could name. However, quo Sancho I have heard say, there are more friars in Heaven then Knight-Errants. That may very well be, quo Don Quixote, for where there's one Knight-Errant, there are ten thousand friars of all sorts.  
In such Discourses as these, the two Adventurers spent that Night and the next Day, without encountering any Occasion to signalise their virtue, at which Don Quixote was very much disgusted. But at length the next day toward Evening, they discovered the famous City of Toboso, which our Champion no sooner discovered, but his Eyes run over with joy; whereas Sancho, on the other side, became very melancholy, and much disturbed in his mind, because he knew not the House where Dulcinea lived, and had never seen the fair Lady in his life, no more then Don Quixote. So that the one was mad till he saw her, and the other ready to befoul himself because he had not seen her. However, Don Quixote, notwithstanding the heat of his Desires, would not make his Entry in the day time, but stayed till 'twas night, for the more Solemnity of the Business.   

CHAP. IX.  
Which, when you ha' red, you will see what is in it.  
IT was now near the hour of Midnight, when Don Quixote and Sancho descended from a little Hillock, and entered Toboso. There was no body stirring i' the Street, but a profound Silence every where, while every body was a-bed, and fast asleep, with their Legs stretched out at their full Ease. Only the Dogs kept a filthy noise, and with loud Acclamations, after their manner, welcomed the noble Champion to Town. The Hogs grunted, the Asses brayed, and the Cats were at their loud music upon the Tiles. Which made altogether such a Confusion of Discords, that Sancho trembled, and filled th' enamoured Champion's Pate with a thousand inauspicious Conundrums. Yet in the midst of all his Terrors, Sancho, quo he, ride on, the Devils are at Barley-break; however, show me the way to Dulcinea's Palace, perhaps she may not yet have left off playing at Cards, and so we may chance to speak with her before she retires to her Rest— Body of Phoebus, quo Sancho, what Palace do ye mean? The Palace where I saw her, was no more then a Cottage, and one of the meanest in all the Village— I'll lay my life, quo Don Quixote, thou met'st her coming from the Womens Parlament-house, as they call it— and yet I dare say, hadst thou seen it within, 'twas all over gilded, with Seats of Cedar, and richly perfumed— Well, Sir, quo Sancho, suppose I am mistaken, and that Madam Dulcinea's House be a Palace, d' ye think this is a time a night to find the Gates open? And would ye ha' me go and knock at such an unseasonable hour as this, to alarm all the Town? Why, what! ye are not going to a Bawdy house sure, that you think to be let ●n at all hours! Come, come, take my Advice, let's to the next Inn, and rap up the Folks that make it their Trade to be disturbed i' their sleep, and not go to visit Ladies like Bears— First, I say, let's see where the Palace stands, quo Don Quixote, and when we ha' found it, I know what to do— But stay— methinks I have a Glimmer i' my Eye of something large and spacious, 'tis a Structure too, and doubtless must be that same Palace which we hunt for.  
Ride on, Sir, then, quo Sancho, tho I'll first see it with my Eyes, and feel it with my ten Fingers, before I cease to be an Infidel in this Particular. Thereupon Don Quixote lead the way, and having road about two hundred Paces, he arrived just under the Steeple of the Parish-Church. We are mistaken, Sancho, cried he, this is the Church. I see 'tis replied Sancho, and I wish to God we have not found our Graves i' the Yard; for 'tis a confounded ill sign, and bodes no good to mistake Churches for Palaces i' the Night; especially when I  told ye, that this Lady's House stood in Turnagain-Alley. Dunderhead, accursed of Heaven, quo Don Quixote, when didst thou ever see a Royal Palace built in an Alley? Sir, quo Sancho, all Countries have their particular Customs, and perhaps it is the Custom of the Princes of Toboso to build their Palaces in small narrow Streets— And therefore let me alone, I'll try what I can do to find out this Dog-hole of a Palace— it may be, I may meet with it in some Chink or other, unless the Devil ha' swallowed it— Pox take it, for me, for putting us to all this trouble— Speak reverently, Sirrah, quo Don Quixote, of my Mistress and her Palace, if thou intend'st to live in peace.  
I beg your Pardon, quo Sancho, tho to say truth, you'd make a Saint swear— For how d' ye think I should be able to find our Mistresses's House, that I never saw but once i' my life, when we ride as it were in an Oven for darkness; and you yourself cannot find it that ha' seen it a hundred times.  
Guds my Dignity, quo Don Quixote, this Fellow will make me mad by and by; why ye Brute, ye heretic, I never saw the matchless Dulcinea i' my life, never set my foot in her Palace, but only fell in love with her upon the loud Report that flew abroad, of her being one of the most beautiful and lovely Princess's in the World. Oh, now I understand ye, Sir, quo Sancho! and gi' me leave to tell ye, if you never saw her i' your life, y' good faith, no more did I neither. How can that be, replied Don Quixote? Didst thou not tell me thou sawst her winnowing of Wheat, when thou broughtst me the Answer of the Letter I wrote her? The Curse of my Grannam possess him, for me, that knows Madam Dulcinea, any more then the great Turk. Sancho, quo Don Quixote, there's a time to droll, and a time to be serious— because I say that I never saw the peerless Dulcinea i' my life, which is true; is it for you, Sauce-box, to say, you never saw her, which is a damned lie?  
In the midst of these Quandaries and Disappointments, by and by they heard a man and two Horses coming towards 'em, and by the noise of the Plough which the Horses drew along, they guest it might be some body that was going a' field to his Day-labour; and all the way what should the Fellow sing, but the Ballad of Chivey-Chace.  
With that an Arrow forth he drew,  
And feathered it so fetuously—  
Sancho, quo D. Quixote, I'll be hanged, if we meet with any good luck this Night: Dost hear what this Boar sings? What then, quo Sancho? What has Earl Dowglass, or Earl Piercy to do with us, or we with them? By this time the Plough-boy being come pretty near 'em; Good morrow, Friend, quo Don Quixote, which is the Princess Dulcinea's Palace? Sir, quo the Plough-boy, I am but a stranger i' the Town, where I have served a good wealthy Farmer, not much above a Fortnight— But look ye, Sir, go to yonder House with the Pale before it, and there lives the Curate and the Clerk, who are the likeliest Persons i' the Parish to tell ye where this Princess lives; tho I don't believe any such Princess lives hereabout, unless she be some person of Quality that may be a Princess indeed in her own House. 'tis a thousand to one, quo Don Quixote, we shall find the Lady we inquire for, among that sort of Ladies— 'tis very likely, quo the Boy; and so saying, Yapp, quo he, to his Horses; and without staying for any more Questions, fell a singing his Ballad again to the music of his Horses Bells.  
Sancho perceiving his Master dissatisfied with the Plough-boy's Answer, and very much disordered in his Countenance; Sir, said he, you see 'tis broad day, for Heaven's sake let's not sit here to be stared at, as if we were drying ourselves i' the Sun; either betake yourself to some good house, or else to some Wood without the Village, where you may sit and pick Strawberries, while I return and inquire from House to House, and Door to Door, where this Palace is wherein your Mistress lives. Certainly I must be cursed i'my Mother's Womb, if I don't find it, supposing it to be above Ground. And when I ha' found it, I will go to her Highness, and tell her that you are here hard by, and then in most humble manner beseech her, that you have the Liberty to pay her a Visit, and that it may be so contrived as to be done without Prejudice of her Honour.  
By my Dignity, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou hast spoken a thousand Sentences in three words; I approve thy Advice, and therefore let's go i' the first place, and find out a convenient place of Retreat. Which done, thou shalt return to find out, see, and deliver thy Embassy to this same Queen of Beauty, from whose Discretion and courtesy, I ha' reason to hope for Favours more then wonderful. Sancho sate upon Thorns till he had got his Master out of the Town, for fear he should discover the Trick he had put upon him in counterfeiting the Answer which he carried him from the Lady Dulcinea, when he was i' the Black Mountain; so that he lead the way, and put on at a more then usual rate, till after about two miles riding, they came to a Wood, where Don Quixote alighted, with a Resolution to stay till Sancho had met with his dear Dulcinea: In which Negotiation several Accidents fell out, that require new Attention, and a strong Belief.   

CHAP. X.  
Containing a Relation how Sancho found out a way to enchant the Lady Dulcinea; with other Passages no less certain then ridiculous.  
DON Quixote being thus retired into a Chess-nut Grove, not far from Toboso, ordered Sancho forthwith to be gone, and not to return till he had spoken to his Lady, and obtained leave, that the Knight, her Beauties Captive, might be permitted to kiss her Hands; and a positive Promise to vouchsafe him her Benediction, from whence alone he could hope for prosperous Success in all his Enterprises. All which Sancho cheerfully undertook to perform, and obliged all his Fidelity to bring him back as good an Answer as he had brought him before.  
Go then, my Son, replied Don Quixote, and have a care of being daunted when thou approachest the bright Rays of that Sun of Beauty. Happy, O happy thou, above all the Squires upon Earth; whose fortunate Bliss it is, to behold at once all the Treasures of the Terrestrial Globe, enclosed in one Person; forget not, I entreat thee to engrave in thy Memory the manner of thy Reception, whether she change Colour upon thy delivery of thy Embassy; whether thou observ'st any Commotion or Disturbance in her Countenance, when she hears my Name; whether she seem to sit in her Chair of State, like one that sate upon itching Powder; if she rise up, whether she stand sometimes upon one Leg, and sometimes upon another; whether she repeat three or four times the Answer that she gives thee, letting thee go, and then calling thee back; then she nods thee a farewell, and then she crys, but stay Friend, and then she repeats her Answer again, and then she dismisses thee— and thou art half way down stairs, and then she calls thee again; and then lifting her lily white Hand to her Head, she scratches a little where it does not itch, and then she repeats her Answer again. In short, observe her Eyes, her Lips, the Tone of her Voice, and every Motion and Gesture of her Body; for by the true and faithful Account which thou giv'st of these things, shall I be able to penetrate the Secrets of her Heart, and to understand whatever it imports me to know, in reference to the happy Success of my Amours. For I must tell thee, Sancho, if thou dost not know it already, that the outward Motions, Gestures, and Actions of Lovers, are the most certain Discoverers i' the World of the inward Passions of the Heart. Go then, Sancho, and enjoy a better Fortune then thy Master; and may kind Heaven grant thee such Success, as may be welcome to a person that sits between the two Stools of Fear and Hope, in this same forlorn Solitude wherein thou leav'st me.  
I fly, quo Sancho, and return in a Trice; in the mean time, Sir, set your Thoughts at rest— S'life, Sir! a Knight-Errant with a Heart no bigger then a filbert! cheer up, and stand to your Pan-pudding— Faint heart never wooed fair Maid— Where there's dried Meat, there can be no want of victuals— And then again;— The Hare leaps out of the Bush, where we least look for her— I speak this, because that if I can't find Madam Dulcinea's Palace to day, I may find it to morrow— And when I ha' found her, I'll bring her to Reason, or I'll make her fly up with Jackson's Hens. For the Passion a' Patience, away then, quo Don Quixote, and mayst thou prove as successful in my business, as thou art in finding out Proverbs ready pickled upon all Occasions.  
This said, Sancho shew'd his Master his back parts, and switching his beloved Grizzle, made all the hast he could to the Town. In the mean time Don Quixote kept his Saddle, resting himself upon his Stirrups, and leaning his Head against his Lance, top full of pensive and confused Imaginations. Nor was Sancho less tormented in his Brains then his Master, not knowing what Course to take to satisfy his extravagant Fancy. No sooner therefore was he got out of the Wood, but turning his Ass about, and perceiving his Master quiter out of sight, he alitt; and laying himself down at the foot of a three, thus began to dialogue with himself.  
Brother Sancho, quo he, can you now imagine whither your Worship is going? Is it in search of any Ass thou hast lost? No— What is't then thou art drawing dry foot after? Only a Princess— only a Princess that surpasses both Sun and Moon for Beauty and Brightness— Well— and where dost think to find this only Princess, Sancho? Where! why in the great City of Toboso— And who employs thee? why, the famous Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Hot-presser of Oppressors, that gives Drink to the hungry, and Meat to those that are a dry. So far thou art right, Sancho; and dost know where she lives? Not I, before George— but my Master says she lives somewhere in a great Castle, or else in a Royal Palace— Didst ever see her by any Accident i' thy life? Neither I nor my Master neither, so God help me. But suppose that the People of Toboso, believing or suspecting that thou camest to inveigle their Princesses, or spirit away their Daughters, should decently noint thy Shoulders with oil of Faggot-stick, till they left thee nere a sound Rib to hoop in thy Bowels, dost think they would do well, or no?— Why, truly were I to be Judge in another man's Cause, I might perhaps be a' their side. On the other side, I am apt to think, that when they came to consider I was only a Servant, and that what I did, I did by Command, they would not be so liberal of their Cudgel grease. Never trust to that, my dear Sancho; the People of Mancha are a surly Generation of Men, and will endure no Tricks to be put upon' em. By the Lord Harry, if they smell thee out once, 'twill behove thee to have Shift of Skin and Bones— Ware Hawk— ware Hawk— Why shouldst thou go about to search for more feet then the Cat has, to gratify another? And perhaps when all's done, I may as well find Dulcinea in Toboso, as Joan Whackum in London. No— no— I renounce thee, Satan, I renounce thee— 'tis the Devil has put me upon this Employment, and would fain ha' me pounded like Beef-Steaks, to make me tender for his Supper— but I defy thee, Satan, I defy thee.  
After these Expostulations, Sancho pondered a while, and then beginning afresh; But yet they say, quo he, there's a Remedy for all things but Death, under whose Yoke we must all submit when our time comes. Therefore, Sancho, never despair, nor go about to throw the Helve after the Hatchet. This Master of mine, by a thousand Signs that I ha' seen, is a Mad-man, fit to be locked up in Bedlam; and to deal ingeniously with thee, Sancho, I think thou art, within a quarter of a Yard and a Nail, as great a Fool as he, to serve him as thou dost, unless it be for the Proverb's sake, Trim-tram, like Master like man; and another as good, show me thy Company, and I'll tell what thou art. Now then my Master being mad— and so mad that he mistakes many times black for white, and white for black— as when he took the Windmills for Giants, and the Flocks of Sheep for Armies, 'twill be no difficult matter to make him believe the first Country Girl I can meet with, to be the Princess Dulcinea. If he will not believe me, I'll swear it; if he swear again, I'll swear faster then he. If he stamp, and stare, and tell me I lie; I'll stamp, and stare, and tell him he lies; and thus I'll so out-face, and out-stare, and out-swear him, that he shall either have such an ill Opinion of me, as never to sand me any more of his first of April Errants; or else believe, and then I'll swear it, that some of those Necromancers that envy his Happiness, have transmogrify'd the glorious and matchless Dulcinea into some Doll Common or other, on purpose to despite him.  
This Contrivance restored Peace to Sancho's troubled Thoughts, believing now he should have all desired Success in his grand Affair. Thus therefore calmed and quieted, he stayed till the Evening, thereby the more to amuse his Master; at what time he descried at a distance three country Wenches upon three young ragged Colts, directing their Course to the place where he lay. The Author says nothing whether they rid side-ways, or a straddle; nor does he say, they were dressed i' their holiday Habit, like Wenches that were coming from Market, which is not material to the Point. But this he says, That so soon as Sancho discovered the Girls, away he road back to his Master in post-haste; whom he found i' the same Posture that he left him, breathing out his Amours in Sighs and Lamentations. Ah, my dear friend Sancho, quo he! and is long looked for come at last? I'the Name of prophesy, What News? What News? Are we to mark this day with a black or a white Bean? With neither, Sir, quo Sancho, but let it be a read Letter Day, in Characters fairer then This Indenture, and more welcome then St. John's, or St. Michael's to the wanting Landlord. Why then, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, it seems thou bring'st us good News. Good News! quo Sancho, such News never came to an eldest Son of his Father's sudden Death. You ha' no more to do, but to trot gently into the open Fields, and by that time you have rid four Bows shots, you will meet Madam Dulcinea coming to gi' ye a Visit, with two of her Damsels— Holy Father, quo Don Quixote, What angels Voice is this I hear, friend Sancho? Dost tell me truth, or dost thou in kindness abuse me, thinking with false Joys to intoxicate my Sorrows? What shall I get by that, Sir, quo Sancho, to tell you a lie, and be found out the next Minute? There's neither Pleasure nor Profit i' that, Sir; And therefore don't sit talking there, but ride on away-bit, and you'll see her coming; I mean the Princess your Mistress, arrayed and bedeck'd like her noun self— She and her two Damsels are all three but so many glittering Ingots of Gold. And then for Diamonds, Rubies, and Pearls, they hang about their Shoulders in Clusters, like read and white Grapes upon a clambring Vine— Gud's-lid, I wonder how they and their Horses are able to bear 'em— their dishevelled Hair hangs down in Curls to their very Wastes, like so many Sun-beams sporting with the Wind: and more then all this, they are mounted upon three Gambolling Hags, as sleek as the Back of an Eel, and worth their weight in yellow Gold— Gambolling Hags! ye Block-head— quo Don Quixote— Ambling Nags thou meanest— S'life! should the Princess hear thee talk so like a Clown, she'd take me for some Cheesemonger rather then a Man of Honour— Well! quo Sancho, Gambling or Ambling Hags, or Nags— there's no such great difference that I see— but let 'em be Hags or Nags, I am a Pagan if I ever beholded such beautiful Creatures as those that ride upon 'em, especially Madam Dulcinea, who, by Guds-nigs, would ravish a Mahometan.  
Come on then, my dear Sancho, quo Don Quixote, let's away— and for these happy Tidings thou hast brought me, I freely bestow upon thee all the Spoils of the first Adventure we shall meet with; or if that content thee not, then take the three Colts of my three Mares that are now ready to foal, upon the Town Common. I like the Colts, quo Sancho, but for the Spoils, they may cost your Worship dear, and be worth nothing.  
And now they were got into the open Plain, at what time they discovered the three country Girls within a Stone's throw. Upon which, Don Quixote casting his Eyes towards Toboso, and seeing no other then these three Tatterdemallions upon the Road, strangely dejected in Spirit, quo he to Sancho, Was the Princess come forth of the City, when you left her? How d' ye mean forth of the City, quo Sancho?— Where be your Eyes? i' the Nape of your Neck? I see nothing, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, but three tattered Scrubs upon three ragged Colts.  
Now God deliver me from the Devil, quo Sancho, what a Winter Fog ha' you before your Eyes, that you cannot discern three Nags, as you call 'em, I protest as white as Snow, from three ragged Dun Colts! Why then, quo Don Quixote, I'll give thee leave to pill off my Beard, if it be so— Body a' Caesar, they are either ragged He-colts or She-colts, or else I lie, as sure as I am Don Quixote, and thou Sancho Pancha; and I dare swear it, should there be occasion.  
I think the man's betattl'd, quo Sancho— I say, make hast— snuff your Eyes— ride up to the Princess quickly, and e're she come too near us, pray go pay your Homage, like a man of breeding, to the Lady of your Affections. And so saying, Sancho himself, kicking with both Heels, hastens up to the Wenches before his Master, alights from his Ass, and after he had stopped the foremost Colt, holding the Collar in his hands, and falling upon his Knees; Great Princess, quo he, both Queen and duchess of Beauty, vouchsafe to cast an Eye of Favour upon yonder Knight your Slave and Captive, whom the very sight of your illustrious Presence has petrify'd into a could and senseless piece of Marble, without Pulse or Motion, as being daunted, dismayed, and dazzled with the lustre of your Majesty. I am Sancho Pancha, his Squire, and he himself the wandering, scaperloitring Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance.  
By this time the enamoured Knight being alighted also from his Horse, had clapped himself down upon his Knees by his Squire, like devout Man and Wife in a Tomb i' the Chancel; but perceiving his Goddess to be no other then a fusty Joan Ruggle, a mere blubber-cheek'd, swarthy, flat-nos'd, greasy Trugmullion, he found himself in such a strange Aversion to Female Adoration, that he could not so much as open his Lips. On the other side, the Wenches no less astonished to see two men in such different Guises, upon their Knees, and stoping the poor Colts, were in a perk of Troubles. But at length, the boldest, and the foremost of the three, unwilling so to be prayed out of her Maiden-head, and not liking the frolic; Gentlemen, quo she, pray rise and go about your Business, and let us go about ours, for we are in hast; we have Hogs to serve, and Kine to milk, and our Dames expect us at home—  
To whom Sancho; Most illustrious Princess, quo he, and Lady in common of Toboso, how can a Heart so hard and cruel, dwell within so fair a Breast, and not relent to see the Prop and Pillar of Knight-Errantry kneeling at the feet of your most glorious Highness?— Hoy-day! What ha' we got here trow? quo the second— These Purse-proud Cockneys think they may abuse us country Girls at their pleasure, as if we could not return 'em a Rowland for their Oliver— No, no, y' are i' the wrong Box, y' fackins— Here are none for your turn— If ye are so hot, the Town's before ye—  
Rise, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, for now I find my cursed ill Fortune persecutes me still with her accustomed Malice, and has damm'd up all the Passages that should convey Contentment to my miserable Soul that lingers in this frail Trunk of mortal Flesh. But oh! thou living Sun of human Beauty, Master-piece of Heaven, and only Remedy that can cure this afflicted Heart which adores thee; tho the villainous Enchanter that continually disturbs my Rest, have now cast Mists and Clouds before my Face, and hides those peerless Beauties from my sight alone, under the foul disguise of rural Deformity; disdain me not however, but look upon me with a glance of Pity and Affection; at least, if not by the same Power transformed into some ugly Shape, that may render me frightful to thy All-charming Eyes— Thou seest, Celestial Princess, both my Submission and my Zeal; and be assured my constant Heart will never fail to pay the Homage due to thy divine Beauty, maugre all the Artifices of my inveterate Foe.  
Marry-gap, Mr. Smell-smock, wi' your Lyricum fancies, quo the country Wench— What's all this for? In short, Sir, you do but waste time— we are all, I think, bespok'n already; for my part I am— And therefore I beseech ye, ride on, Sir, wi' your Gridiron-cheeks— you seem to be very old, and I'm sure y' are very ugly— nor indeed do we understand your high Language. She had no sooner spoken the words, but Sancho let her pass, overjoyed that his Stratagem had so well taken.  
On the other side, Madam Dulcinea, no less glad to be thus rid of her troublesone Gallant, and fearing pursuit, with a Pin thrust through the end of her Withie-wan, so berickl'd the Colt's Buttocks, that the resty young Jade, unaccustomed to such kind of smart Instigations, fell a kicking and flinging so outrageously, that the Girts of the panel breaking, down came the pretended Princess. Presently Don Quixote ran to help her up, and Sancho to mend her Furniture; which being done, and all things made fast again, the amorous Knight went about to have taken his enchanted Mistress in his Arms, with an Intention to have re-seated her upon her sumptuous Side-saddle, as Sancho had sworn it to be: but the fair Lady getting up at the same time, took a run, and laying her hand upon the Crupper of the Colt, at one Jump leaped cleaverly into her panel, where she sate astride, like the Queen of the Amazons her self.  
By this Air, quo Sancho, our Lady Mistress is as nimble as a Titmous. Let me die, if I don't think her fit to teach the best Horsemen in Morocco to mount their Barbaries. See how she smokes it away, and without Spurs makes her young Palfrey run like a Grey-hound; her Damsels of Honour too, are as notable Whipsters as she— fore-George, they fly like the Wind: For indeed they rid for their lives, not daring to slacken their place, till they were got out of the Reach of two such Saint-like Wooers, understanding neither their Devotion, nor their Courtship.  
Don Quixote pursued 'em as far as he could with his Eyes, and when they were quiter out of sight, Sancho, said he, What dost think of the confounded Malice of these damned Enchanters, thus to deprive me, Caitiffs as they are, of the greatest Happiness i' the World, to have seen the peerless Dulcinea in her natural Shape and Glory? Certainly I was born to be the very Example and Mark of Misfortune itself, against which these Vermin are employed to shoot all the Arrows of her Hatred. Nor were these Traytors content to transform the matchless Dulcinea into a deformed Puzzle of a country Wench, but they must take from her that lovely Scent too, which is peculiar to Ladies of her Quality, who always smell of Amber and Arabian Perfumes: Insomuch that when I went to embrace her to lift her up again into her Saddle, as thou call'st it( for I cannot beat it out of my head, but that it was no more then a panel) such a rank Hogo of garlic and raw Onions invaded my Nostrils, as had like to ha' taken away my Breath.  
Dregs of Mankind, then, cried Sancho, in a terrible Passion, Scoundrels of enchanters, Oh, that I might have the pleasure once to see the whole Rabble of such Imps of Satan threaded together upon one String, and hung up a smoking like Herrings at Yarmouth! Was it not enough for ye to change those Eyes of my Mistress, brighter then Aurora's, into Acorns? her Golden Tresses into a read Cow's Tail? Was it not enough for ye to alter the whole Frame and Form of her Body, but that you must be meddling with her Breath, and alt'ring the steam of her Flesh, which was sweeter then the Morning Exhalations of Roses, by which we should ha' known her to ha' been the Person we sought for, tho under Disguise? And yet for all this, I must confess, the Lady Dulcinea never appeared to me to be deformed, but rather on the other side, methought I never saw a more lovely Creature i' my life; by the same token she had a Mole upon her right Lip, which gave root to seven or eight hairs of a deep Norway read, about two fingers long, looking like so many strings of Gold Wire.  
According to the Doctrine of Moles, quo Don Quixote, the Lady Dulcinea having such a Mole upon her Lip, should have such another upon her Thigh; tho I must tell thee, Sancho, the hairs thou talk'st of, are too big to grow upon Moles. By the life of Pharaoh, quo Sancho, 'tis true as I tell ye— there they were, and they looked too, as if she had brought 'em along with her into the World; but I must needs say, they are very becoming. That I believe, friend Sancho, replied Don Quixote; for Nature could not add to Dulcinea's Features any thing but what was the Perfection of her Workmanship: so that those Moles were no Deformities in her, but bright and glittering Stars that augmented the Lustre of her Beauty. But prithee tell me, Sancho, that which appeared to me no other then a panel, was it a Pillion, or a Side-saddle? It was a Side-saddle, an't like your Worship, with an inestimable embroidery, by this fair sky, worth half a Kingdom. How the Devil came it to pass, quo Don Quixote, that I could see nothing of all this? Well! I have said it, and must say it as long as I live, I am the most unfortunate among Men. Upon that, the Crackrope of a Squire could hardly forbear laughing to see how artificially he had gulled his credulous, and All to-be-fascinated Master, which he gloried in till his dying Day, as one of his chiefest Master-pieces.  
At length, after several other Discourses of the same nature, they mounted again, and took the Road for Sarragosa, whither they hastened to be present at one of the most pompous Festivals that is solemnized in that City. But they met with so many Adventures and Rubs by the way, which by reason of their Novelty: their Strangeness, and their Curiosity, must not be left out.   

CHAP. XI.  
Containing the prodigious Adventure of the Chariot of the Officers of Death.  
BUT tho Don Quixote were got a Horse-back, yet was he so o'rewhelm'd and doz'd with Melancholy to see himself so despitefully fooled and baffled by these villainous and Caitiff Necromancers; more especially in the late Transfiguration of his high-born Princess into a country Wastcoteer, without any possibility, of himself, to dissolve the enchantment, that his Senses quiter forsook him. In which disconsolate Condition he road in a careless Posture, with folded Arms, and the Reins of his Bridle thrown upon Rosinante's Neck. Who, as he was a Horse of great Understanding, finding himself without any control, at his full liberty, and tempted by the goodness of the Grass, took his opportunity( as any other ingenious Horse would ha' done) to graze four mouthfulls, and step two steps forward to the next fair Tuft, as one that thought his Master in no great hast. Which his faithful Squire perceiving, Sir, said he, 'tis not for Beasts to be sad, but only for rational Men; yet men that suffer their Reason to be overcome by their Sorrows, make Beasts of themselves. Recollect yourself therefore, and ride wi' your Bridle i' your hand, like a Man: Wake, Sir, wake by any means, and show yourself a Knight-Errant— S'life Sir, you jog along more like a Hartford-shire Tanner, then a Lady's Champion. What a Devil's the matter? Are ye dreaming of a dry Summer?— I ne're beholded a man so mop'd i' my life— I'd rather Beelzebub should carry all the Dulcinea's i' the world a' pick-back to Hell, then lose one single Knight-Errant, more worth then all the enchantments and Transmogrifications upon Earth—  
Peace, Sancho, peace, replied Don Quixote, not a treasonable word more against the enchanted Princess Dulcinea. 'tis I am the sole occasion of her Misfortune— cursed be those Hell-hounds of Enchanters that envy my Glory, and deprive me of my Felicity. By Cuds-liggers, replied Sancho, 'tis a sad case; nor do I think there is that Heart so hard in mortal Breast, that would not melt to see how strangely the Lady's altered— Well mayst thou say so, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, for thou hast seen her in all her Lustre, when her Beauties dazzled all the world, and shone without a Cloud; when no enchantments dimmed thy Eyes, as they did mine. But alas! 'tis I alone that prove the fatal Consequences of their dangerous and venomous Effects. By the way, Sancho, I must tell thee, thou didst not make a right use of thy Eyes neither, by the Description of this Lady's Beauty, which thou madest me. For thou told'st me, if I forget not, she had Eyes of Pearl— for Eyes like Pearl, are more properly to be ascribed to the Fish called a Guilthead, then to a Lady. Wherefore I rather believe, that Dulcinea's Eyes are like Turquoises, or green Emeralds, which are arched over with two celestial Rain-bows instead of Eye-brows— and therefore keep the Pearls till thou com'dst to her Teeth. For assuredly, Sancho, thou wert mistaken, and tookest her Teeth for her Eyes. That might be, replied Sancho, for I was then as much dazzled with the sight of her Beauty, as you were troubled just now at her Deformity. But it behoves us to leave all things to God, who both foresees and knows whatever is to happen in this same Vale of Tears, this wicked world, where there is nothing without a mixture of Malice, Imposture and Villainy.  
I' the mean time, Sir, there is a thing newly come into my Head, that troubles me more then all the rest, which is this, That when you have vanquished a Giant or a Knight, and then command 'em to present themselves at the feet of the Lady Dulcinea, where aduce this poor Knight or Giant shall find her, or how we shall be able to direct' em?— Methinks I see the Tom-ladles already at their Duties, saunter, saunter, gaping and staring, wi' their hands i' their Pockets, and inquiring through all the Streets of Toboso, for the Lady Dulcinea, who, it may be, has met 'em five or six times full But, and yet are they still to seek; for they know her no more then they knew my Father deceased.  
Perhaps, replied Don Quixote, the force of the enchantment may not extend to Giants and Knights that are vanquished— But we'll try the Experiment upon the next that we luckily light upon.  
I like your Design very well, Sir, replied Sancho, for thereby we shall find out the Truth, whether the Enchanters are in fault, and whether they conceal my Lady's Beauty from you alone, or no— for then it is Malice fore-thought in them; and 'tis you that suffers, and not she. So then if our Mistress be well, let us be glad for that, and bear the rest of our Afflictions as well as we can; and we can take no better course then by seeking out new Adventures, which will draw off our Thoughts another away, till Time, the best Physician i' the world, shall perfect the Cure.  
Don Quixote was just about to have return'd him an Answer, when he descried upon the Road a kind of a Cart, like a Hay-cart, that carried a Company of People in strange and different Habits. He that seemed to be the Carter, was a most hideous Hobthrush, enough to scar a hundred Knight-Errants. In the next place, as the Cart drew nearer and nearer, he discovered a Resemblance of Death with a human Countenance. On the one side of Death stood an Angel with large expanded Wings of divers Colours; on the other stood an Emperor with a Crown that seemed to be of Gold. At the feet of Death lay the God of Love, with his Bow and his Arrows, only he was not hoodwinked. Next to these there appeared a Knight completely armed from head to foot, only that instead of a Helmet he wore a Hat with a large Plume of Feathers; nor were these all, there being several other persons, which like the rest, were variously disguised.  
So strange a Spectacle as this, surprising our valiant Champion, put him into a could Sweat, and his hair stood an end with that force as to lift up his Helmet two inches above his skull; and as for Sancho, you might ha' smelled him with the Wind i' your Teeth, above a Furlong and a half. But Don Quixote in a trice returning to himself, discovered all the marks of Joy imaginable in his Eyes, not doubting but that Fortune offered him an Opportunity to perform Miracles in a more then ordinary Adventure. With this inward encouragement he advances, and like one resolved to expose himself to all the Dangers that could threaten Mortality, posting himself before the Cart; Gee-ho-man or Devil, quo he, with a surly menacing Tone, tell me, at thy Peril, who thou art, whither thou art going, and who all these Inhabitants of some other World are, that ride in thy Cart, which seems to be rather Charon's Boat, then a terrestrial Tumbrel?  
Sir, quo the Devil, very calmly and civilly, we are a Company of poor Comedians that Yesterday, being Corpus Christi day, acted the Tragedy, called The Parliament of Death, behind yonder Hill, and now are going to play the same over again this Evening in the Village you see before us; and we go in our Habits to save the labour of new attiring ourselves. That young man represents Death; that other, an Angel; that same Woman, who is the Poet's Concubine, plays the Queen— There is one that personates an Emperor, and there is another plays the soldiers Part, and I, Sir, am the Devil at your Service, one of the chief Actors i' the Play, for I speak the Prologue; if you have any other Questions to ask me, pray proceed; for as I am the Devil, I understand the whole Plot; and I must tell ye farther, that our Poet is one that makes all the chief Plays for Bartlemew and Southwark Fairs— He has been a little down i' the world hitherto, but he hopes to mend his Fortune at one time or other—  
By the faith of a Knight-Errant, cried Don Quixote, when I first saw this Tumbrel, I thought some strange Adventure had been offered me— but now I find there is no trust in outward Appearances. Drive on, honest Friends, drive on in peace, go act your Play; and if I can do ye any Service, believe me ready to assist ye with all my heart— for I ha' been a great Admirer and Reader of Plays and Masks, from my very Cradle.  
No sooner were the words out of his Mouth, but the Fool in the Tragedy, having stayed a little behind, overtook his Fellows: He was clad in a read and yellow Coat, hung about with little Bells, with a Stick in his hand, at the end of which were tied three large blown Bladders full of blew Beans. This Fool, coming near Don Quixote, fell a skipping and leaping after his antic fashion, and all the while kept fencing with his Stick, and thumping the Ground with his rattling Bladders, which made such a Confusion of sounds, that what with his Bladders, and what with his Bells, that Rosinante, till then the patientest Horse alive, scared out of his Wits, took his kerb in his Teeth, and notwithstanding all the Rider's Skill, fell a frisking, curvetting, and running, as if the Devil had sent post for his Master.  
Sancho fearing some Mischief would befall the best of Champions, skips from his Patient Grizzle, and runs with all the speed he could to help him; but before he could come near, by many a Bow's shot, Rosinante had made a false step,( for he was troubled with Corns) so that both Horse and Rider had done all their tumbling Tricks, and were both come to the Ground before his Approach. On the other side, the Knave of a Fool perceiving Sancho's Ass without a Master, leaps into the panel, at what time the dull Beast, awakened with the Thumps of his Bladders, and the ringing of his Bells, took such a female Fright, that away she ran toward the Village, as swift as a Hare in her first Course.  
Sancho, with incredible Sorrow, beholding his Master's Fall, and the Flight of his Ass, was in a great Quandary whither to bend his Succour. But at length, good Nature over ruling, notwithstanding his unexpressible Affection for his Ass, he determined in favour of his Master. To whom, after he had helped him up again, and fixed him in his Saddle; Sir, said he, the Devil is run away with my Ass. What Devil, quo Don Quixote? The Devil that was hung with Bells, quo Sancho. cheer up, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I'll fetch him again, let the Devil lock him up in the darkest and deepest Stable he has in all his lower Regions. Follow me only to the Cart, I'll unharness all their Trumpery-draggers, I warrant thee— Thou shalt have 'em all, Sancho, to recompense thy loss—  
Joy be wi'me, quo Sancho, there's no need— Temper your Choler, I beseech ye, Sir— the Devil has abandoned my Ass, and the poor Creature is returning back again. I knew the loving Soul would never leave me, if once he could get his Liberty. And true it was what Sancho said; for the Devil and Grizzle it seems had been showing their Tumbler's Tricks, in imitation of Don Quixote and Rosinante: And then it was, it seems, that Grizzle getting up first, scudded back to her dear Master, and the Devil was fain to foot it to the Village.  
I care not for that, replied Don Quixote, I'm of opinion, 'tis fit to chastise the Insolence of this Devil, tho 'twere only to make him an Example; and if I can't light upon him, I'll be revenged upon the first I meet, tho 't be the Emperor himself. I beseech ye, Sir, let it alone— there's nothing to be got by meddling with these strolling Interluders: For tho they are Fellows condemned by the Statute-Law, yet they find more Friends then honester People. I knew one of these Stage-tredders sent to Prison for two Murders, and yet he escaped without paying a Farthing. I tell ye, Sir, all the loose, idle, extravagant, lawless Part of the world esteem and adore 'em for the Pastime and Sport which they make; and therefore since we have our Ass again, let 'em go and be hanged for a Company of Vagabonds as they are.  
No— quo Don Quixote, were't for nothing else, 't shall ne're be said, I was afraid of the Devil, tho all Mankind took his part: and with that, he spurred after the Cart, which was now got pretty near to the Village, crying out, T' your Prayers, Vagabonds— T' your Prayers, Varlets— I'll teach such Bruits as you are, to be civil to the Beasts that carry the honourable burden of a Knight-Errant's Squire.  
These loud Threats of Don Quixote's assuring the Players of his fell Intentions, presently Death, the Emperor and the Angel leaped out of the Cart, and joined with the Devil; nay, Cupid himself and the Queen adventured to hazard their Persons in the common Calamity. And thus entrenching themselves altogether, on the other side of the wagon, well stored with the usual Ammunition that stony High-ways afford in such cases, they resolved upon Self-preservation and Defence. Don Quixote, on the other side, perceiving 'em so well prepared, and so courageously determined, stopped his Career, and sate considering with himself, how he might attack this formidable Battalion, with least danger to his person; at what time Sancho having overtak'n him, and perceiving how advantageously the Enemy had posted themselves; Sir, said he, I don't like this Adventure by no means— and in my judgement, 'tis a mere madness to undertake it— for what defensive Arms have you to keep off a shower of Stones and Brick-bats, unless you could walk with the great Bell of Lincoln over your head? Have not you had a enough of these Broils to your cost? and will you again be singly encount'ring a whole Army, where an Emperor fights in person, attended by Death himself, and assisted by good and bad Angels?— Lastly, consider that tho they be all Emperors, Princes, and Angels, yet there is not so much as one Knight-Errant among' em.  
Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I never found thy Advice worth a Button, till now; 'tis very true what thou sayst, and I must alter my Resolution; for indeed I ought not to draw my Sword against any one living that has not been dubbed a Knight-Errant. And therefore, Sancho, 'tis thy business to revenge thyself upon these Rakeshames of Comedians for the Injury done to thy Grizzle; however, I'll stay to encourage thee, and give thee wholesome Advice. Sir, replied Sancho, 'tis not for the Professors of Christianity to think of Revenge— a true Christian must forgive and forget. And as for my poor Grizzle, who is as peaceable as myself, I shall be able to accommodate the business well enough with her, and persuade her to reason; for I know her humour so well, that she'll be better contented with one Measure of Oats, then with all the Revenges i' the World. Nay then, good Sancho, discreet Sancho, Christian Sancho, patient Sancho, if that be thy Resolution, let's leave these idle Apparitions, and proceed in search of more important Adventures, of which, methinks, we should meet with great Variety in this country. And so saying, he wheeled off, ridding the Players of a thousand Fears, and putting an end to the most dreadful Adventure of the Chariot of Death, at the same time; thanks to the sage and prudent Counsels of Sancho Pancha, whose Name be eternised in History for so pious and glorious an Action.   

CHAP. XII.  
Containing the strange Adventure that befell the valiant Don Quixote with the gallant Knight of the Wood.  
THE next Night, which was the Night that followed the fatal Day wherein Don Quixote encountered the Chariot of Death, the Knight and the Squire reposed their weary Limbs; and then it was that Don Quixote, at Sancho's persuasion, made a short Supper upon such Provision as Sancho's new Wallet afforded. Now while they were feeding, Ah, Sir! quo Sancho, had not I been a fine Fool to ha' chosen for the Reward of my News, the Spoils of your first Victory, instead of your three Colts? Faith, Sir, I shall say't as long as I live, He that waits upon Fortune, is never sure of a Dinner— Come, come, A Sparrow in hand, is worth a Bustard upon the wing.  
All this is very true, quo Don Quixote, yet hadst thou let me alone, thou hadst had by this for thy share an Emperor's Crown of Gold, and Cupid's painted Wings; for I would ha' torn 'em from the Shoulders of his Deity-ship, and thou shouldst ha' worn 'em thyself. And what then, quo Sancho? I hope you are not so simplo to think me such a Child to be pleased with Gewgaws; or to believe that Emperors in Plays are crowned with pure Lombard-street Gold. And what should I ha' got by all their St. Martin's Trumpery?  
Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I don't believe all to be Gold that glisters; however, I would not have thee think the worse of Comedians or Comedies, which are of great use in a Commonwealth, as being the Looking-glasses that represent to our sight the Beauties and Deformities of virtue and 'vice; in them we behold all the Actions of human Life; nor is there any thing that more truly shows us what we are, or what we ought to be. Prithee, Sancho, tell me, Didst ever see a Play where Emperors, Kings, Popes, Knights, and Ladies of all sorts and sizes, Clergy and Laity, Gentle and simplo are brought upon the Stage? One acts a Ruffian, another a Cheat, another a bawd, another a Divine, another a Lawyer, another a soldier, another a Fop, and another a fond Lover— But when the Play's done, and the Actors have changed their Habits, they are all as they were again, hail fellow well met. All this I ha' seen, quo Sancho. Why thus, quo Don Quixote, all men living, i' their turns, act their Parts in the same manner upon the grand Stage of the World, till at length comes Death, entering at the last Scene of our Lives, strips us of all our Honours, and Characters of Distinction, and lays us all equal in the Grave— Bless me, quo Sancho! what News you tell me! as if I had never seen a Game at Chess, where, as long as the Play lasts, every piece of Wood does its Duty under several Names of Kings, Pawns, Rooks, and Knights, and when the Game's over, they are all put higglede-piggledy into the Bag together again, without any difference, just as you say we are laid up, like the Lumber of the World, in the Bowels of the Earth. I think, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou grow'st wittier and wittier every day then other— Oh, Sir! quo Sancho, you may be sure I learn something every moment by keeping you Company, else I should be the very'st Dunce in Nature— Those Lands must be very barren indeed, that never yield any Crop, when they are well dung'd and manured— I mean, Sir, that your Discourses have been the Dung which you have spread upon the barren Soil of my Understanding; and the Time that I ha' spent in your Service, has been the Tillage, which I hope has so well manured me, as to bring forth Fruit worthy the Husbandman's Pains.  
Don Quixote was so pleased with Sancho's Learning, that he laughed to excess beyond his accustomed Gravity— for he thought him extremely improved— nay, sometimes was so astonished at his Notions, his Similes, and his Proverbs, that he thought him half inspired, and began to think him fit to govern not only an iceland, but all the Turkish Empire; tho many times, 'tis true, the Squire would make a Trip, when he soared too high above his Capacity, and come tumbling down from the Mountain of Simplicity to the deep Abyss of Ignorance, as you may have already found, if you have observed the Story as ye ought to do.  
In these and such like Discourses it was that they spent the most part of the Night, till Sancho was willing to let fall the Port Cullices of his Eye-lids, which was the Phrase he used, when he had a mind to go to sleep. Thereupon he unhalter'd his Grizzle, and took off her panel, leaving her at her full Liberty to feed and fill her Belly. But as for Rosinante, he only took off his Bridle, for that Don Quixote had expressly forbid him to meddle with his Saddle, where, and whenever it were that they slept in the Field; it being an ancient Custom prudently established, and inviolably observed by all Knight-Errants. And therefore, guard a— touch not the Saddle for your Ears. I cannot say, but that the Squire might slacken the Girths a little to give the Horse more freedom to eat his victuals; and if it happened that Rosinante laid himself down and rolled in a Cow-turd at any time, it was but only Sancho's bestowing a small Curse upon him, and cleaning the Knights Furniture again. And now you may be sure, that neither Rosinante, nor Madam Grizzle made any scruple whose Grass it was they eat, but lovingly fell too, and fed like Horses upon what Nature had spread before' em.  
And indeed it was a wonderful thing, the Friendship and Kindness that was between Madam Grizzle and Rosinante, insomuch that Tradition informs us, how that the Author of this History composed several Chapters upon that Subject, tho he would not insert 'em in his Book, for fear of breaking the Laws of Decorum. Yet some few touches to show the unparalleled Amity between two dumb Creatures, could not escape him; where he writes, That these two matchless Brutes( if they might be called Brutes, and not rather rational Animals) took a most singular delight to scrub and lick one another; and that when they were weary of that Pleasure, Rosinante would lay his long Neck over Grizzle's Crest, and thus they would stand with their Eyes fixed upon the Ground, in a deep Metaphysical Contemplation for three whole Days and Nights together, unless disturbed, or that Hunger compelled 'em to a Divorce. Some say the Author did not scruple to compare their Friendship to that of Nysus and Euryalus, or Pylades and Orestes; which if it were so, deserves a universal Admiration, to the shane of men, that so ill observe the Rules of Friendship one among another. Nor must we blame the Author for comparing the Friendship of Beasts with that of Men; for that the Beasts themselves have been men's Instructors and Tutors in many other things of great Importance; while the Stork taught 'em the use of Clysters; Dogs, the benefit of vomiting; Cranes gave 'em an Example of Vigilancy; Ants, of Providence and good Husbandry; Elephants, of Honesty; and Horses of Loyalty. But to return to the Story—  
No sooner were these two peerless Examples of cordial Affection thus turned to Grass, but Sancho, stretched out at full length under a spreading Oak, fell fast asleep; while Don Quixote, leaning his careful Head against the stump of another smaller three, fetched a short Slumber, which perhaps might have continued somewhat longer, had be not been wakened by a noise behind him, which made him start up of a sudden, like a Hare frighted out of her Form; at what time he saw two men a Horse-back, of which the one, as it were, letting himself down from his Saddle, like a Bundle of Feathers from an Upholdsterer's Garret, cried to the other, Alight, Friend, and let us unbridle both our Horses— here's excellent feeding for 'em; besides that, the Silence and Solitude of the place seems most agreeable to entertain my amorous Thoughts. And having so said, he laid himself down upon the Grass, yet not so easily, but that his armor made a rattling, which caused Don Quixote presently to think he had met with one of his Brethren.  
Upon that, away he goes to his Squire, and having waked him with three or four Tuggs by the Elbow, So-ho, Sancho, quo he, whispering him i' the Ear— I spy an Adventure— God sand us good luck, quo Sancho; but where's this worshipful Adventure, I would fain know?— Look yonder— Dost not see a Knight lying all along upon the Grass?— I' my Conscience he is a Man of Sorrow, for I saw him throw himself upon the Ground with such a Negligence, as if he had been regardless of his Bones, whether he broken 'em or no— And what of all this, quo Sancho, why must this be an Adventure? I do not say 'tis an Adventure, replied Don Quixote, but it may prove an Adventure in time— for most Adventures begin thus.  
But hark— Sancho— I think I hear music too— 'tis either a Lute or a Jews-Trump— hold a little— 'tis a Lute— and by his clearing his Throat, we are like to have a Song too— I  told thee 'twas an Adventure— Upon my life, Sir, you say true, quo Sancho, this must be some enamoured captivated Knight— Did you see him pull down his Breeches, Sir? Why so, Sancho, replied Don Quixote? Because, quo Sancho, 'tis the Epsom Proverb, That shittten-come-shite's the beginning of Love— as Love's the beginning of all Adventures— 'tis very true, quo Don Quixote; for all Knights-Errant are obliged to be in Love— But hold thy prating a while— by the Song we shall understand the Secrets of his Heart— For out of th' Abundance of the Heart the Mouth speaks— there's Proverb for thy Proverb, Sancho: Not a word more— but whilst— the Song begins— 

The SONG.  

MOst lovely fair, but cruel Iris,  
My heart, my heart for thee on fire is;  
Oh! how I could, and would, and would and could!  
But thou, alas!  
Hast neither Life nor Mettle in thy Blood.  
Now, my dear Lamb, play not the Ass—  
Perhaps ten thousand are not of my mind,  
Why then shouldst thou to me be so unkind?  
A fairer Chapman then myself,  
More never bid for all thy Beauty's Wealth:  
Take thy first Chapman, lest the Market fall,  
And then thou lye Fly-blown upon the Stall.   

She will not hear—  
Which makes me stamp, and stare,  
Lament, and howl, and tear my hair—  
Oh! what are Women's Breasts made of, I trow?  
Some say of Snow,  
But I say no—  
For Love would enter then, and melt it too.  
Some say of ston—  
Which I disown;  
For Love would force its passage through.   

No, no— her heart is harder far then ston,  
Which makes me sigh, and sob, and grunt, and groan,  
quiter weary of my life— then quickly Death,  
Oh, quickly, quickly stop this useless Breath,  
And rid me of my Pain, my Pain, my Pain—  
Yet stay— life sweet— now I think on't again,  
Rather then fail,  
i'll live— tho but in hopes I may at length prevail.     
After he had done singing, the poor Knight of the Wood fetched such a Sigh as would ha' blown up the Roof of a Cathedral; and then with a mournful, doleful Voice; O fairest Fair, said he, altho the most ungrateful among Women, how is it possible, most High-born Rosamond of Tunbolstretia, thy heart should be so hard to suffer the Slave of thy Beauty to spend his days, and flower of his Youth, in truanting about the World, wandring like a gipsy, and raving, like a Tom a' Bedlam, over Hill and Dale, exposed to Rain and Sunshine? In how many Duels upon Putney-Heath, Barn-Elms Walks, and Chelsey-Fields, has my Courage, and the Strength of my Arm been tried in thy Defence? How many Hectors, Bully-Rocks, and Huffing-Dicks, have I made eat their Swords to the very Hilts for blaspheming thy Chastity, and villainously swearing no more then this, She paints? How many times have I thrashed Whipping-Tom, when thou hast quaked for fear of his Lash? And lastly, how many times have I basted that same Bravo of Mancha for preferring his Trugmullion before thee? and every time I made him eat his words, and swallow 'em down his perjured Throat?  
He lies in his Lungs, quo Don Quixote, for I am of Mancha myself, and I never did eat my words, nor ever will eat my words, to the Prejudice of my peerless Mistress Madam Dulcinea's Beauty; and therefore this Knight must be a Mad man— but hold a little— we shall hear more of his raving by and by perhaps— That you may be sure of, quo Sancho, for he talks as if he intended to expostulate a Month together. But contrary to Don Quixote's and Sancho's Opinion, the Knight concluded his Complaints at the same time; for having heard Don Quixote's Voice, and perceiving himself to have been discovered, he rose up, and cried out, Who's there? What are ye? Are ye of the number of the Fortunate, or the Afflicted? Of the Afflicted, cried Don Quixote. If so, replied the Knight of the Wood, ye may approach, and here behold the same Sadness, and the same Affliction.  
Upon so kind an Invitation Don Quixote advanced, at what time the Knight of the Wood taking him by the hand; Sir Knight, quo he, sit down; for I perceive you are so, having found ye in a place where only Sorrow and Solitude keep Company, the only Stations and Reposes of Knight-Errants. I am a Knight, replied Don Quixote, and of the same Profession that you name; and tho my Sorrows, and the Remembrance of my continual Misfortunes usurp the seat of my Mind, and plague my Brains, yet have I a Heart no less sensible of the Calamities of others; and I pity yours the more, having heard the mournful Complaints which you so lately made of that ungrateful Fair One, whose Name you uttered in the depth of your Grief.  
Now you must know, that while the two Knights were thus parlying together, they sate close one by the other, upon the hard Earth, like intimate and loving Friends, and not like mortal Foes that were to Ribroast each other by break of Day— In which posture of Peace and tranquillity, quo the Knight of the Wood to Don Quixote, Probably, Sir, Knight you are in love? Unfortunately I am, replied Don Quixote; tho the Misfortunes that arise from a well placed Affection, ought rather to be taken for the Favours of Heaven, then for any Disasters. This might be true, replied the Knight of the Wood, if the continual Disdains of ungrateful Women did not perplex our Reason, and deprive us of all our Hopes. For my part, quo Don Quixote, I never had the least frown from my Mistress. By Yea, and by Nay, quo Sancho, interrupting him, never i' this World. She's as tame as a do with a Bell about her Neck, and as soft as Lamb's Wool. Is that your Squire, quo the Knight of the Wood? The same, replied Don Quixote. He's a saucy Fellow, quo the Knight of the Wood: I never heard before of a Squire that durst presume to interrupt his Master when he was speaking himself; should my Squire but dare to open his Lips i' my presence, I'd kick him into the other World. A Cat may look upon a King; quo Sancho, by my faith, I ha' talked more then once or twice, and in the presence of— but I ha' done; the more ye stir, the more 'twill stink— At the same time the other Squire gave Sancho a twitch by the Sleeve, and whispering him i' the Ear, Come, Brother, said he, let us two go where we may talk by ourselves, and leave our Masters to tell one another the Stories of their Amours; they have enough, I'll warrant ye, to hold 'em till Morning. With all my heart, quo Sancho, and then I'll tell ye who I am, that you may be able to judge whether I am a person to be shut out of Company for a Wrangler, or no.   

CHAP. XIII.  
Containing a Continuation of the Adventure of the Knight of the Wood, and the pleasant Discourse that passed between the two Squires.  
THUS the Knights and the Squires were divided into Parties, the one recounting their Lives, the other repeating the Stories of their Ladies and Mistresses. And tho it had been proper to have set down the Discourse of the Masters before the Squires, yet the Author thought it not worth his while to insist upon such a Nicety, but tells ye, That the Knight of the Wood's Squire first broke silence; quo he to Sancho, 'tis a laborious and troublesone life we led that are Squires to Knight-Errants; and we may truly say, that we eat our Bread by the Sweat of our Brows. And we may as truly say, quo Sancho, that we eat our Bread by the shivering of our Bodies; for there are no poor Creatures that suffer more could then we do; tho if we had our Bellies full, 'twould be some Consolation; but sometimes we go whole days together, and never so much as break fast till ten a' clock at Night, unless it be upon the Wind that blows. However, quo the Squire of the Wood, this may be endured upon the hopes of a good Reward; for that same Knight-Errant must be cursed in his Mother's Belly, that at one time or other in his life has not an iceland, or a Earldom to bestow upon his Squire.  
For my part, quo Sancho, I have already  told my Master, that I will be contented with the Government of an iceland; and he is a person so noble and so liberal, that he has promised me such a recompense several and several times. I cannot pretend to such great things, replied the Squire of the Wood; I should think myself well paid for all my Services with a fat Sine cure, for which I ha' my Master's Promise as well as you. Why then belike, quo Sancho, your Master is a Knight o' the Church Militant, since he is able to procure benefice for his Squires. As for my Master, he is a Secular Person, tho some of his Friends, who, in my Opinion, had no true kindness for him, would have advised him to be an Archbishop; but he thanked 'em, he never would, because he had a Design to make himself an Emperor; and let me die, if at that time I were not wickedly afraid he would have entered into Orders, not finding myself capable of Ecclesiastical Preferment. For mark ye me, Sir, tho I resemble a Man, yet I should make but an ugly Beast in Ecclesiastical Habit.  
Governments of Islands are not so easily managed as you think for, replied the Squire of the Wood; besides, there are some Islands that won't afford Water to wash your hands; some mere barren Rocks, others only the Habitations of Conies; and the best are Charges which Governours take upon their Shoulders, and sink under the weight. And therefore to deal freely with thee, I think 'twould be much better for us that are under this confounded Hardship and Slavery, to return home to our Houses, where we might live more at our Ease, and spend our time much better in Deer-stealing, and robbing of Fish-ponds— He's a poor Squire indeed, that lives i' the country, and has not a Horse and a Drag-net at his Command— I ha' ne're a Horse, quo Sancho, but I have an Ass, which I affirm, without boasting, to be worth two of my Master's Rosinante; God sand me a bad Christmas, and may it be the next, if I would truck with him, tho he would give me a whole Quarter of Oats to boot— Then for your Greyhounds, I'll ne're be without a Brace or two; the forest, you know, is hard by us; and what says the Proverb, stolen venison is sweet—  
Brother Squire, quo the Squire of the Wood, 't has been my Resolution long since to abandon the Service of these intoxicated, hare-brained Knight-Errants, and return home to my Wife and Children, of which I have, thanks be to God, three Oriental Pearls of my own, whose Education it behoves me to mind.  
I ha' but two, quo Sancho, but for their Learning, they are fit to be Secretaries to the Pope himself; especially my Girl, that I breed up to be a Countess, so soon as God pleases, tho my silly Wife be utterly against it. How old is that dansel you design for a Countess, replied the Squire of the Wood?— About fifteen and a half, quo Sancho— Morblew, she's as sound as a roche, as tall as a May-pole, as fresh as an April-morning, and as strong as a Wine-Porter. By the Pleasure of Generation, quo the Squire of the Wood, these are Perfections to fit her not only for a Countess, but to be famed to Posterity for another Robin-hood's Maid-Marrion; the young Whore would make a brisk Wood-Nymph, I'll warrant her— My Daughter's no Whore, replied Sancho very mustily, nor her Mother before her, nor shall be, so long as I live i' this World, and can help it: And therefore pray consider what ye say— and don't let your Tongue run before your Wit— but talk like a young man that had been bread among Knight-Errants, who are all Manners, and Civility itself.— Puh— quo the Squire of the Wood, I find you ne're travelled far from the Smoke of your own Chimney— you don't understand the City way of Commendation— 'tis the Fashion now adays, if you would commend a Blade that has fought bravely, to cry, God take me, if the Son of a Whore did not fight like a Devil;— and of a Woman— God take me, if I ever heard a Jade speak better i' my life— and where Phrases alter, we must talk according to Custom; and you ought to renounce those Children that perform not those Actions for which their Parents were so commended. Well, well, quo Sancho, if those be your Commendations, I renounce 'em; for by the same Argument you may call my Wife and Children Whores and Jades, and say you did it in their Commendation— Pox o' your Commendations, if those be your Commendations— I had like once to ha' had my Pate broken only for saying, such a Lady who had manfully defended a Castle, was a Brave Virago, because the word Virago is sometimes taken in an ill sense— and therefore men must be cautious in their Expressions, and pick and choose their words, when they talk of honest Women and Virgins— For my part, I love my Wife and Children— and to the end I may but see 'em once more, the Lord deliver me from this mortal Sin of Squire-Erranting, into which I am fallen a second time, deluded and bewitched by my covetous hopes to find another Bag of Gold as big as that which I found in the midst of the Black Mountain. For this Temptation of the Devil so haunts me, that methinks I see another Bag at this very moment lying just before my Nose, that I have taken it up, looked in it, handled the bright Angels, have 'em all under my Arm— that I have carried 'em home, bought Land, let Leases, and live like a Prince— And this Imagination of mine it is that continues me in my Master's laborious Service, who, as I may say between ourselves, is more a Mad-man indeed then a Knight.  
Why this, quo the Squire of the Wood, is just according to the Proverb, Covetousness is the root of all Evil; and since we are come to talk of our Masters, I do not believe there's a greater Fool i' the World then mine. For he is one of those of whom the Proverb says, He that meddles with another Man's business, milks his Cow into a Sieve. For he, to recover a certain Knight that has lost his Wits, is turned Coxcomb and Mad-man himself, runs rambling from Post to Pillar; and when all's done, I fear me, 'twill prove but the Lamentation of a bad Market. I'll be whipped if your Master ben't in love, quo Sancho. Yes, yes, we know that, replied the Squire of the Wood, he's in love with one Madam Rosamond of Turnbolstretia, a confounded humersome carrion; I can't tell what to make of her— she's neither Fish, nor Flesh, nor good red-Herring; but that's not the thing that now troubles my Master, he has other windmills in his Pate, as you will see in a short time. There is no way so smooth, quo Sancho, wherein a man may not sometimes meet with something to give him a fall; but if it mizzle in some Houses, it reins millstones in ours. However, if it be a Consolation to have Society in Misery, let that be our Comfort, that we are both in the same Predicament, thou serv'st one Fool, and I serve another.  
He is a Fool, I must confess, quo the Squire of the Wood— but he is valiant withal, tho more a Knave then either valiant or foolish.  
Mine, quo Sancho, is so far from being a Knave, that he has no more gull then a Pigeon; nor will he hurt a Worm, he's such a Blockhead, that a Child of two years old may make him believe 'tis Night at Midsummer-Noon, tho the Sun shine never so bright; and this down-right Simplicity of his, is that which makes me love him like the Apple of my Eye, and so loathe to leave him, notwithstanding all his Extravagancies. However, dear Brother, quo the Squire of the Wood, when the Blind leads the Blind, they are both in danger of falling into the Ditch: and therefore y' good faith, let us steal home again to our Wives and Children, and let 'em run a rambling after Adventures that have a mind to come home by Weeping-Cross.  
Here the Squire of the Wood perceiving that Sancho spit often, and very dry; Brother, quo he, the moisture of thy Lungs is very much wasted, but I have a Remedy for thy Distemper; and so saying, he went and fetched a large Leather Bottle of Wine, and a huge Piece of a Mutton pastry, that it looked like the Corner of a chapel of Ease, and strangely overjoyed Sancho when he felt the weight of it— Well! quo Sancho, God love ye, and all them that love their Bellies— I see, Brother, you know what's good for yourself— Oh, Brother! quo the Squire of the Wood, if ye took me for a fresh-Water Squire, ye are deceived; I never travail, but my Wallet is the greater load of the two, and I carry as good victuals as the General of a Field. Few words to the wise, quo Sancho; and so saying, he fell on without saying Grace, bite and swallow, bite and swallow, as if he had never eat in a Month before. At length, when his leisure would permit him; Brother, quo he, thou art the most loyal, noble, liberal, round and sound Squire that ever I met with, thou deserv'st to serve the King— S'life— here sits miserable I that ha' nothing i' my Wallet but a piece of Cheese so hard, that you may shoot it in a Morter-piece through the Gates of a City, a few Onions, and three or four dozen of Filberds— shane befall my Master's Nigrality, and his cursed Opinion, that dried Fruits and salads are th' only Dainties fit for Knight-Errants. In good faith, replied the Squire of the Wood, I am not for Nebuchadnezzar's Diet; let our Masters observe the strict Rules of their Chivalry; if I stir a Mile, I must ha' my Belly-timber and this Bottle, the faithful Companion of my Travels— the Leather Boteel, Oh, the Leather Boteel— this is my Joy, my Consolation, the Mistress of my Affection, that I kiss above forty times in a quarter of an hour; and so saying, he gave the Bottle to Sancho, who rearing it to his Mouth, with his Eyes fixed upon the Stars, kept himself in that happy Contemplation, till his Lungs were no longer able to hold out; and having finished his draft, leering upon the Bottle, with his head a' one side, and fetching a deep Sigh, by Guds-niggs, quo he, how this Son of a Whore Bottle has cooled me! Oho— quo the Squire of the Wood, have I caught ye wi' your Son of a whores! where's your Manners now? Guilty, my Lord, quo Sancho, I see 'tis no Injury for a man to call his Friend Son of a Whore, when he loves him— And now by the Remembrance of her you love best, prithee tell me, Is not this your Wine they call Porto, Porto? Thou hast a Vintner's Palate, upon my life, quo the Squire of the Wood— thou hast named the Wine, and 'tis the best that ever Colborn had in his Cellar. I have an excellent Nose, you see, quo Sancho, let me but smell to a parcel o' Wine, and I'll tell ye, whether it be fine or green, whether 'twill keep, and all the good and bad Qualities of it. Nor is this to be wondered at— for I had of my Ancestors, by the Father's side, two of the best Wine-Coopers that ever jumbled Wine i' this World. These two were called to give their Judgments of a Pipe of Canary; the one smelled to his Taster, the other sipp'd no more then a Sparrow drinks at a time, and spurted it out again. The one said, the Wine tasted of Iron; the other, that it had a smack of old Leather— The Vintner, however, protested the Wine was neat, without mixture— well the thing past on— but when the Wine was drawn out, What d' ye think they found at the bottom of the Cask? but a Key that hung in a small Tagg'd-Leather Point. Judge you now whether these men had not exquisite Palates, and whether a person descended from such a Family, may not be fit to be Taster General for all the Vintners in London— Well! quo the Squire of the Wood, but what does this Knowledge avail ye in that Rascally employment you follow? And therefore let's leave off this strolling Occupation in time, and betake ourselves to some more profitable Course of life; Thee, to thy Wine-tasting, and I to what God directs me— tho I must tell thee, the Vintners of London, who are the Vintners of the World, are grown so proud and self-conceited, to the shane of all Wine-bibbers be it spoken, they think no men i' the World can taste Wine like themselves— nay, ye shall have a Drawer, but newly admitted access to the Wine-Vault, that shall out-face a Gentleman's Palate, and tell him he lies in his Teeth— Therefore when thou meetest any of those saucy Rascals, as thou art a Squire-Itinerant, be sure to break their Pates, or kick 'em down Stairs—  
In the midst of these, and such like Discourses, the two Squires having filled their Bellies, and their Bones requiring rest, fell fast asleep; where we shall leave 'em— And now let's hear what passed between the Masters   

CHAP. XIV.  
Containing the Continuation of the Adventure of the Knight of the Wood.  
AMong other Discourses that passed between Don Quixote and the Knight of the Wood, the Story relates how the latter of the two thus proceeded. In short, Sir, quo he, by Destiny and Choice, I became enamoured of the peerless Rosamond of Turnbolstretia. I call her Peerless, because there was never any Female in this World that ever equalled her in Beauty and Merit; but on the other side, if I may presume to say it, never any Woman upon the face of the Earth surpassed her in Ingratitude— Whatever I could do, all the Offers and Protestations I could make her, could never bring her to take the least notice of my Affection. She saw me willing to do any thing to gain her good Will, and put me upon more desperate Designs then Hercules himself was renowned for, still feeding me with Hopes and Promises, and still baffling my Expectations.  
Once she sent me to challenge that same Giantess of an Hostess at Lincoln, so tall, that Ascapart himself could not kiss her, unless he stood upon a Joynt-stool; and so strong, that she would drive twenty Bailiffs before her at a time. I went, I saw, and overcame— and I made her down of her Knees, and drink the Pope's Health, tho she happened to be a heretic. Another time she commanded me to go and remove Stonehenge( which is a prodigious number of vast Stones, every one as big as an ordinary Castle) from Shaftsbury to Amesbury Plain— I did so, and there they stand to this hour— Then she ordered me to go and throw myself headlong into a Hole in derbyshire, called the Devil's Arse, and upon my return to tell her how far the bottom reached, which some Vertuoso's in England would give ten thousand Pound to know— I did so, and was above a Month a falling; at length I pitched within three Furlongs of the antarctic Pole, and was ten Months more before I could get into Ethiopia, and thence home again: so that I may safely swear, I fetched a Compass about the world much more remarkable then ever Captain Drake did— Yet after all this, th' ingrateful Rosamond of Turnbolstretia called me Coxcomb for my Pains, and bid me go about my business, for she had nothing more to say to me. After this she put me upon challenging all the Hectors, Bully-Rocks, and Huffing-Dicks i' the Kingdom, with a Command not to see her Face, unless I brought Confessions under all their Hands, that she alone was the only Lady that deserved the Crown of Beauty, and that I was the most valiant Knight living— and i' my Conscience, were the Notes to be fil'd, they would reach up as high— let me see— I would not willingly be taken tripping— as high— as one of the Pyramids in egypt. But the most noble Victory which I won, was that, when I fought hand to hand with the famed Achilles of the times, Don Quixote de la Mancha; 'tis true, I had a pretty tough 'bout on't— but for all that I brought him upon his Knees at length, and made him confess that the fair Rosamond of Turnbolstretia was incomparably far more beautiful then Dulcinea deal Toboso.  
Don Quixote could hardly forbear from showing his Passion; he had a hundred ye lies ready upon the Tip of his Tongue, only he refrained out of a particular Design to draw from the knights own Mouth a Justification of his words, or an acknowledgement of his being mistaken. To which purpose, Sir Knight, quo Don Quixote, I am willing to believe that you have vanquished all these Knights and Champions you speak of— but as for your vanquishing Don Quixote de la Mancha, I very much question it; perhaps, Sir, it might be some body like him, tho I can't think there are many in the World that resemble him.  
Body a' Caesar, quo the Knight of the Wood, d' ye think I don't know Don Quixote de la Mancha?— I tell ye, I fought him— beat him— had him at my mercy— and to let ye see that I know him— He's a tall, scragged, wither-fac'd, leathern jaw'd Fellow— grizzle-hair'd, hawknos'd, with long thick black Mustacho's, like a Limehouse-Master of a Ship— and he calls himself by the Name of the Knight of the sad Figure. Lastly, he bestrides the far famed Rosinante— his Squire's Name is Sancho Pancha— and he owns for the Mistress of his Affections, one Dulcinea deal Toboso, alias Joan Ruggle of Hockley i' the Hole, Spinster— And if these ben't Tokens enough to justify what I say, I wear a Sword by my side to punish arrogant Incredulity—  
Sir Knight, quo Don Quixote, Fair and softly, as Lawyers go to Heaven— not so hot, I beseech ye— for you must know, that this Don Quixote you talk of, is one of the best Friends I have i' the world, insomuch that I love him as well as I do myself; and by the Description you ha' made me of him, so certain and so punctual, he should be the person subdued and vanquished by your Prowess— On the other side, I am so clearly convinced by my own Knowledge, that he never was subdued or vanquished by any person living under the Canopy of Heaven, that I for the Blood of me, can't tell what to make of your Story; unless that some Enchanter( as there are a great many that persecute his Honour) should have taken upon him to appear in his Shape, and suffered himself to be thrumm'd and lambasted, a' purpose to defraud him of that Renown, which his famous Exploits have acquired him over all the habitable World— Which seems the more probable, in regard it is but two days ago that one of those Caitiff Infidels transformed the fair Dulcinea deal Toboso into a foul and despicable country Dowdy; and if this be not sufficient to convince thee of thy mistake, here is Don Quixote himself in person to justify, either armed or unarmed, afoot or a horse back, that y' are a Son of a whore, a poor Man, and ye lie— And so saying, up he started, laid his hand upon the Hilt of his Sword, expecting Wonders to be wrought by the Knight of the Wood, who calmly and soberly made him this careless Answer— Sir, quo he, a good Pay-master scorns to be in debt— He that could thwack your Jacket, when Devil incarnate, has no reason to fear the Threats of human Imbecility— but in regard that only Ruffians and Window-breakers fight by night, let us expect the morning light, that the Sun may be the Witness of our Valour; on this Condition, that he who is vanquished shall be wholly at the Victor's Mercy, to do whatever he shall be commanded, according to the Rules of Chivalry.  
I accept the Conditions, quo Don Quixote, and at the same time both the Champions went to look out their Squires, whom they found snoring together like two Western Barge men: But they presently wakened 'em out of their sweet Sleep, and gave 'em order to get their Horses ready, and to see that their Tackling was tight and sound, fairly intimating the bloody Combat that was to be between 'em so soon as the Sun should be up to lend 'em his light. Sancho was Thunder-strook at the News, for he dreaded the event of such a fatal Encounter, especially after the Stories which the new Squire had  told him of the Knight of the Wood's Valour.  
Sancho, however, would not discover his Perplexity, but up he roused and went with his Companion to seek for the Horses. By the way, quo the Squire of the Wood, I find our Masters are to fight to morrow— by which I perceive we must not be long Friends; for 'tis the practise of our Order, according to the French Custom, that when the Principals are engaged, the Seconds, who are the Squires, must not be idle, but ought to try their Skill and their Mettle at the same time. This may be a Custom, quo Sancho among Desperado's and Duellers, but among Squires-Itinerant I know no such practise— neither did I ever hear my Master speak of any such thing, who has all the Statutes of Knight-Errantry by heart. Besides, if there be any such Statute, then there must be a Penalty; and I had rather pay the Penalty, which cannot be above two Groats, then forfeit my whole Estate in Lint and plasters— for methinks I see myself cleft into two equal halves, like a slit Deal, already; and what the closing me together again will cost, Heaven and the Surgeon only knows. And then, my dear Brother, there's one thing more— I ha' ne're a Sword, nor never wore one i' my life that I remember—  
Why then we'll take another method, quo the Squire of the Wood;— I ha' got two Oaken Plants just of the same length and bigness to a hair's breadth, you shall measure 'em yourself and take your own choice; for we must not stand still with our hands in our Pockets— What will that signify, quo Sancho?— nothing but the dusting of our doublets— and for my part, I had mine scoured at the Cloath-workers but just before I came forth— How d' ye mean, quo the Squire of the Wood; I intend to screw on at the end of each Cudgel, a couple a' Clock-weights of led, made purposely for the Sport— for there are more Instruments of Death then one— Body o' my Father, Brother Squire, quo Sancho, if you have a Head of Brass, what's that to me? mine is only a hollow round Bone covered over with a thin Skin, and a little Flesh, God knows— In a word, Brother Squire, tho your Cudgels were as limber as Taylors Lists, I am not in a Humour to fight; let our Masters fight if they please, and hear on't i' the other World— let us drink, till one of us falls first: there I'm for ye— and 'tis the shorter and the safer way— Time will take care, ne're fear it, to dispatch us out of the World, we need not be so hasty of ourselves. We need not be so furious to gather the Plums that will drop o' themselves when they're Ripe. However, quo the Squire of the Wood, there's a necessity for it; we must fight half an Hour— not a Minute, quo Sancho; it shall ne're be said I quarrelled with a Man that gave me good Wine, and good victuals— besides, I am angry with no Man living— how the Devil can a Man fight when he is not angry? Oh! but there's a way to wake your Choler, quo the Squire o' the Wood; with three or four good dusts o' the chaps, and half a dozen kicks o' the Guts before we go to't— Ay, Ay, quo Sancho, and there's a way too to lay your fury so fast asleep, by spatting out those mischievous Brains of yours, with a good Leaver, before we go to't that it shall never wake more unless i'th other World— where you shall hear of me I am no such Milk-sop, that will let every body play with my Nose— Come, Come, take heed of waking a sleeping lion— They that look after Wool, many times return without Hair— God has blessed Peace, and laid his Curse upon War— let us do so too— if a Cat too much baited in a narrow Room becomes a Dragon, what may I turn to, too much chafed, that am a Man— Well quo the Squire, 'twill be day presently, and then we shall see what's to be done—  
And now the little Birds began to chirp their Early Salutations to the Dauning Light; and fair Aurora discovering her Eastern Beauties, shook from her Dewy Locks those showers of Pearls, that enlivened and enriched the flowery Meadows. The Fields were fresh and Gay, the Woods were merry; Serenity and Sunshine laughed upon the Earth.  
Only Sancho was strangely surprised with fear and Affliction; for no sooner Day-light began to distinguish Objects, but the first thing that offered itself to Sancho's view, was the Squire of the Woods Nose, which was of that unreasonable length and bigness, that it overshadow'd his whole Body. To tell ye truth, the Author of the History in arabic, who, good honest plain dealing Soul, was no friend to Hyperboles, modestly averred it, to have been about the bigness of one of the Arches of London Bridge, and to stand bending as they do; and besides, that it was Camel-back'd i' the middle; there shooted forth also from the sides of it, as it were seven other lesser Noses, so bestudded with Warts, and Carbuncles of all sorts and Colours, blew, green, and rubicund, for number like the Sands of the Sea, that it rendered the Countenance of the Squire most hideous, and in human. And this Monstrous Apparition it was, that put poor Sancho into such a panic dread, that he made vows in his Heart to all the Saints in the uppermost Region for his deliverance: and so disturbed the natural Operations of his Body, that he fell a vomiting and scummering as if he had swallowed a whole Pothecary's Shop; so that he resolved to endure five hundred Kicks o' the Paunch, rather then his Choler should waken to combat such a dreadful Hobgoblin.  
In the mean time Don Quixote fixed his Eyes upon his Adversary, but could not see his Face; in regard he had already put on his Helmet and pulled down his beaver: however he observed him to be strong Limm'd and well Set. Over his armor he wore a Coat that seemed to be of Tissue, glittering with little pieces of Looking-glasses cut into half Moons, very dazzling and mighty Emblematical. About his Helmet waved a Plume of yellow, green, and white Feathers, and his lance, which he had set up against a three, was very thick and long, with a Steel Head at the end, about a Foot in length, and scoured as bright as an Andiron. Don Quixote observing all this, judged him to be a Man of great strength; but was so far from being dismayed, like his Squire Sancho, that advancing towards the Knight with a lively and undaunted Countenance, Sir Knight of the Looking-glasses, quo he, if your eager desire of Combat have not extinquish'd all your good Nature, lift up your beaver I beseech ye, that I may see whether the Air of your Face be answerable to the Vigour and Proportion of your Body.— You may have time enough to examine that hereafter Sir Knight, quo the Knight of the Looking-glasses; at present I have not leisure to satisfy such a vain piece of Curiosity; for every minute of delay from Combat, is still so much time robbed from Rosamonds Beauty and my own Honour. At least you may tell me, quo Don Quixote, while we get a Horseback, whether I be the same Don Quixote or no, whom you pretend to ha' vanquished. Why truly Sir, quo the Knight of the Looking-glasses, you are as like him as if y' had been spit out of his Mouth: But in regard you say you are persecuted by Enchanters, I will not swear you are the same. 'tis very well replied Don Quixote; but by the Host of egypt, if Heaven, my mistress, and my own Courage fail me not, before a Cat can lick her Ear, I'll see that disdainful Face of yours, and make ye know I am not that Don Quixote whom you vapour so briskly to have Hamstring'd. At the same time they both mounted, and partend from each other to take ground for their Career— But before Don Quixote had rid twenty Paces, the Knight of the Looking-glasses calling after him, Sir Knight quo he, you remember the Conditions, that the Captive shall be at the mercy of the Victor— I do, replied Don Quixote, provided the Victor impose nothing contrary to the Laws of Chivalry— That's but just, replied the Knight of the Looking-glasses.  
Thus they partend a second time; when Don Quixote cast his Eye by chance upon the Squires huge Toting Nose; upon which while he was staring and gaping with more astonishment then the Country Folks gape upon the Picture of the Rhinoceros, Sancho, who would not stir from Rosinante's Crupper, as being in Mortal fear of his Companion with the Elephants Snout, took an occasion to whisper his Master i' th' Ear, and desire him to help him up into a three, where he might in safety behold the Combat, which he believed would be one of the sharpest that ever were Fought. Sirrah, quo Don Quixote, is this a time to disturb me wi' your fooleries?— To tell you truth, Sir, quo Sancho, that ugly Nose does so terrify me, that I dare not trust myself alone upon the Ground with that hideous Monster: I wonder how the Devil the Knight can endure such an Apparition in his Company— I wish it may not be the Necromancer himself that protects him— I confess replied Don Quixote, I never saw such a Stygian spectacle i' my Life, I cannot blame thee for being afraid— and so saying he road among the Boughs, till Sancho got up behind him and so scrambl'd into a three, where he sate like a Judge in a Balcony.  
Now while Don Quixote was helping his Squire, the Knight of the Looking-glasses setting Spurs to his Horse, began his Career as fast as his Horses heels could carry him, which truly was no more then a gentle Trot; for indeed his Courser was neither more mettlesom, nor much better in heart then Rosinante— just such another Spittle as your Prentices ride out a Town, upon a Sunday Morning. But seeing Don Quixote busy, as I said before, he stopped i' the middle of his Career, to the great comfort of his Hackney. Which when Don Quixote beholded, he couched his Lance, and setting his Spurs to Rosinantes sides, gave him such sharp Memento Mori's, that the Story says, he forced him into a Gallop. On the other side the Knight of the Looking-glasses lay, dig, dig, like a Seaman between his Horses Ribs, as if he would ha' spurred out his Bowels, but the more pains he took, the more stock still the Jade stood. Don Quixote took no notice of this disorder of his Adversary, but presses on furiously, unhorses him, and sends him flounce to the hard Earth with such a damnable squelch, as beat all the Breath out of his Body— insomuch that poor frail Mortality lay without Life or Motion, helpless.  
Sancho no sooner saw the Knight fallen, but down he comes spinning from his three, like a Spider from the Top of a Window, and falls a running to the Spoil, like a Spaniel after a new Shot Wild-duck. But when Don Quixote had unlac'd the Knights Helmet to give him Air; Heaven's! in what an amazement was he, when he saw the Face of the Knight of the Looking-glasses? for at the same time he beholded the very Aspect, Physiognomy, Shape and Lineaments of his Acquaintance, young Samson Carrasco's Countenance.— Sancho— Sancho— quo He, come hither quickly, quickly— look, see, view, survey, observe, and consider that Face— and then tell me what thou thinkest of the Malice of Necromancers, and the force of enchantments?— Upon those words, Sancho drew near, and beholding such an exact resemblance of his Friend Samson; have Maria quo He, Crossing and Blessing himself, as if he had met his Grandfathers Ghost— for Heaven's sake, Sir, make sure work— run your Sword in at his Throat, and out at his Fundament— 'tis a thousand Pound to a Nutshell but you may chance to Murder one of those Necromancers that so maliciously haunt your Good fortune. By the Mass, and so I will, quo Don Quixote— and so saying, he was just going to open poor Samson's Teeth; when the Knight of the Looking-glasses Squire came running, and crying out with a loud Voice, Mercy, Mercy, Sir Knight, for Heaven's sake, Mercy— 'tis your Friend and Acquaintance, young Carrasco, the Student of Brazenose— and I am his Squire— save his Life and take his Goods— Avast quo Sancho, where's your Nose?— here, quo the Squire, and so saying, he pulled his Monstrous Vizard from under his Coat. Sancho also at the same time, now rid of all his fears, which had so disturbed his Eye-sight before, that he could not see Wood from Trees; Blessed Virgin, quo he, whose this? Tom grig the Thatcher, my old Friend and Neighbour? The very same, quo the Squire— and I'll tell ye at more leisure, the occasion that brought us hither. In the mean time, desire your Master not to imbrue his hands in Christian Blood, but to be merciful to the Knight that ly's at his Mercy; for that asuredly, and without any Mental Reservation, he is no other then the poor and unfortunate Student, samson Carrasco.  
At the same time the luckless Knight of the Looking-glasses, began to breath and come to himself; which Don Quixote observing, set the point of his Sword to his Throat, and with an Imperious tone, Sir Knight, quo he, y' are a dead Man, if you deny to aclowledge, that Dulcinea deal Toboso bears away the Bell of Beauty from your Strumpet Madam Rosamond of Turnbolstretia: and unless you promise me, so soon as you shall be cured of your Wounds, to go to Toboso; where you shall prostrate yourself at the Feet of the Lady Dulcinea, and surrender your Person to her Disposal, as the Trophy of my Conquest; and if she grant ye your Liberty, as perhaps she may upon your good behaviour, then to find me out by the sound of my famous Acheivements, and give me an exact account of your Reception, and Dismission, which are Conditions Natural and Essential to the Order of Knight-Errantry.  
I do confess and aclowledge cried the unfortunate Knight of the Looking-glasses, that the Heelpiece of Madam Dulcinea's Cobbl'd show is worth all the Kisses of Mrs. Rosamonds Lips. I do also promise to fulfil all your Commands in going to Toboso, and returning from thence. You shall also confess, cried Don Quixote, that the Knight whom you pretend to have vanquished, was not, neither could be the famous D. Quixote de la Mancha; but only some Body in his likeness, as I on the other side do confess and aclowledge, that you are not the Student Samson Carrasco, but some other whom my Enemies the Necromancers have moulded into that shape, to moderate the impetuous violence of my wrath, and to oblige me to Clemency, foreseeing the certainty of my Conquest. All this I aclowledge and confess, grant and allow, replied the Knight, as you would have it confessed, acknowledged, granted, and allowed; and whatever else you would have allowed, granted, acknowledged, and confessed— And now I beseech ye, Sir, help me up, for I feel myself very much bruised by my fall. Thereupon Don Quixote, and Tom grig the new Squire, raised the Knight of the Looking-glasses upon his Legs; Sancho all the while fixing his Eyes upon the new Squire, and asking him a thousand Questions, the answers to which convinced him fully that Tom grig was the real Tom grig, and no Delusion: tho the notions of Sorcery and Necromancy, which his Master had fixed in his noddle, were so strongly imprinted in his fancy, that he could not believe what he saw with his Eyes, and felt with his hands.  
To conclude, the Man and the Master still persevered under the same mistake— the Knight of the Looking-glasses having taken his leave withal respect and submission, repaired to the next Town for Spruce Bear, and Lucatello's balsam; and Don Quixote continued his Journey to the City of tournaments. And now you shall hear who the Knight of the Looking-glasses was, and who was his Squire with the Kingston Bridge Nose.   

CHAP. XV.  
Giving an account who the Knight of the Looking-glasses, and his Squire with the Toting Nose, were  
DOn Quixote jogged merrily along, Triumphing and Glorying in the great Victory he had got over the Knight of the Looking-glasses, whom he would not allow by any means, to be any other then one of the most Valiant Knights under the blew sky. And besides that, relying as he did upon the solemn Promise the forlorn Knight had made him, and which he could not violate without transgressing the Laws of Chivalry errand, and rendering himself unworthy the noble Profession; he now expected sudden news of his Princess Dulcinea, and whither she still continued under the Bonds of enchantment or no. But Don Quixote dreamed one thing, and the Knight of the Looking-glasses thought another: For the Latter was only for curing his broken Ribs; tho' not without mischief in his Head, as one that was resolved to make his Adversary pay for the Cure at the long Run.  
In the mean time the Author of the Story unwilling to leave the least doubt unremov'd that might puzzle the Reader, tells us, how that when the Student Carrasco advised Don Quixote to take his third Ramble, it was done after a long Debate with the Curate and the Barber, who unanimously concluded, that the best way to recover the poor Gentleman out of his Freakish Distemper, was to let him go, and that samson meeting him upon the Road, like a Knight-Errant, should take an opportunity to Duel him, and thrash his Doublet, which was thought no difficult thing to do: and that after he had vanquished him in fair Combat, the Student should impose Conditions upon the Captive, according to the Laws of Chivalry; of which the chief should be, that Don Quixote should return home, and not stir out of his House in two years without permission; which they knew Don Quixote would inviolably observe, for fear of infringing the Statutes of Chivalry-Errant; in which time they thought he might be weaned from his extravagant Imaginations, or be otherwise cured of his Frenzy.  
This Task the Student Carrasco willingly undertook, and Tom grig his Friend, and Sancho's Neighbour, at the same time proffered to be his Squire. To this purpose Carrasco having equipped himself, as you have heard under the Title of Knight of the Looking-glasses, and his Squire having got himself a Vizard with a huge Nose, that he might not be known to Sancho, they followed Don Quixote so close, that they overtook him flushed with Victory, just after he had accomplished the Adventure of the Chariot of Death, and found him in the Wood, where this fatal Encounter happened. Where it luckily fell out, upon Carrasco's Miscarriage, that Don Quixote was so extravagantly obstinate in not believing Carrasco to be Carrasco: for otherwise the poor Student had been degraded for ever, from appearing more in his Changeable Silk' i the Readers Desk.  
And now Tom grig seeing the ill Success of their Journey, and the unfotunate Carrasco so rudely rewarded for his good Will— In good Faith Mr. Student, quo he, the Laborour is worthy of his Hire, and we have had our Wages justly paid us: 'tis an easy thing to undertake, but difficult to accomplish. Don Quixote is a Fool▪ and we think ourselves Wise; yet the Fool's gone away sound and laughing in his Sleeve, and we return disgraced and shamed, and well banged to boot. The difference is, replied the Student, that an obstinate Fool will always be so; but a Fool for his pleasure can discursive himself when he pleases: Nay then replied Tom grig, I who was such a Fool for my pleasure to serve you as your Squire, that I may discursive myself from my folly, will een return home to my Thatching Trade again— You have your Christian Liberty replied the Student, but if ever I return home till I ha' made the Fools Bones rattle in his Skin, I'll gi' ye my Mother for a Maid; and this I resolve, not out of a design to recover his Wits, but out of pure revenge; for the pain of my Bones has made me forget all manner of Charity; were I now whole, and could meet him, I should drub him without Compassion. This was the discourse of the Knight and his Squire, till they came to the next Village, where they met with a Horse Doctor, to whose care Carrasco committed his Ecclesiastical carcase, at what time his Squire Tom grig, quitted his Service, and made hast home again, with his bundle of bad tidings, and the loss of a Weeks work.   

CHAP. XVI.  
What befell Don Quixote with a sober Gentleman of Mancha.  
AS we said before Don Quixote road merrily along with all the Comfort imaginable in his Soul, as one that had all the World in a String; and thought himself the most accomplished and fortunate Knight errand that ever the Sun beholded, presaging nothing now but a Continuation of future Success, from a Victory so Glorious, and so easily purchased. He breathed nothing but Adventures, and those the most dreadful that human Force could undertake. He defied all Enchantments, and all the Necromancers the Devil could muster together to his prejudice. He had forgot, and pardoned the Stones that had dashed out three of his Teeth at a time— the Ingratitude of the galley-slaves, and the showers of Bastinado's, which the Carriers had rained upon his Ribs.  
There was but one thing that remained to consummate his Felicity; and that was to dissolve the Enchantment of his adored Dulcinea, which done, he thought himself the happiest Man upon God's Earth.  
In the midst of these vain Imaginations, Sancho accosting him, Sir, said he, I cannot but laugh at my Neighbour Tom Grigge's Policy, in thinking to fright us with his hugeous Nose; I wish I had been but as Wise as St. Dunstan, to ha' caught him by't with a Pair a Tongues: but who can think of present Expedients, when a Man's scared almost out of his Wits?— Why, and art thou still so silly to believe that the Knight of the Looking-glasses was the Student Carrasco, and his Squire Tom grig. I know not what to think on't, replied Sancho, but this I'm sure of, that no other Tom grig could ha'  told me those Token's of my Wife and Children, nor ha' given me that description of my own Pigstie, as he did: besides, that when his great Nose was off he had Tom Grigge's Face to a Wrinkle, and the very tone of his Voice; and how the Devil could I be deceived that know him so well, and see him every day, when I'm at home? Come on then, Sancho, let's argue the Point a little, quo Don Quixote; prithee what reason canst thou give me that the Student Carrasco should come equipped like a Knight-Errant, with Arms offensive, and defensive to fight against me? Am I his Enemy, or did I ever give him any occasion to be mine? does he look upon me as his Rival, or does he make Profession of Chivalry, that might incline him to envy the famed which I have purchased by my Sword? But Sir, replied Sancho, what can you or any Man in the World say to the Resemblance between Carrasco and the Knight of the Looking-glasses, and the Likeness between Tom grig my Neighbour, and the Squire? If it were enchantment, as you say it is, had they no other Shapes to assume? Puh— there's the Cream o' the Juggle, quo Don Quixote, and the cunning Malice of my persecutors, the Necromancers, who foreseing that I should get the Victory, disguised their subornd Hero under the Likeness of my friend Carrasco, to serve as a Mill-damm, to stop the Current of my just Fury, and prevent my ripping up the Guts of him that had so treacherously assailed my Life. But friend Sancho, can there be greater proofs of the malice and power of these Necromancers, then what we ha' so lately tried in the Transmogrification of my Goddess Dulcinea? Hast not thou  told me thyself that thou hast seen her in her natural Shape, dazzling thy Eyes with all the Charms of human and Celestial perfection, when I the Object of their hatred, was shew'd her under the disguise of a deformed Country Puzzle; blear-eyed, Blubber-lipt, Hopper-ars'd, and breathing only burnt Feathers and Assa-fetida. What greater proof of their malice and their power? and what other Artifice could they have more cunningly invented, to lessen and eclipse the Glory of such an Important Victory, as if the famous Knight that fell by the strength of my Arm, had been no more when he came to be conquered, then a pitiful Servitor of a college— whereas had he vanquished me, thou shouldst have seen him appearing in another form: But it is my Comfort, that in spite of all their Charms my Courage rendered me Victorious. Well quo Sancho, the Truth of this Mystery will one day come to light: for he was no way satisfied with his Master's Arguments; however he durst not contradict him for fear of discovering the Cheat which himself had put upon him.  
While they were thus discoursing together, they were overtak'n by a Gentleman upon a curious Dapple Grey mere: He was Habited after the Country Fashion, in a Gray Coat, with Gold Buttons, with a short Hanger by his Side, and a Velvet Monteero upon his Head; he had a Pair of Summer Boots upon his Legs, with Spurs richly inlay'd. As he road by, the Gentleman gave 'em very civilly the Time of the Day, and setting Spurs to his mere, began to put on a good round Gallop; at what time Don Quixote calling after him, with your good leave, Sir, quo he, if y' are not in hast we should be glad of the favour of your Company, so far as you travail this Road. Sir, quo the Gentleman, I had not rid so fast away, but that I feared my mere would provoke your Stone-horse to be unruly. Oh Sir, answered Sancho, there's no fear of that i' the World, our Rosinante's th' only Horse in Nature for Chastity and Sobriety. He's not a Horse addicted to Licentious Inclinations, and if he happened to fly out once in his life, I am sure he had a severe correction for it, besides what it dearly cost my Master and I. And therefore, Sir, never be afraid, your mere's as safe as if she were in a Nunnery: They might live ten years together, your mere and our Horse, before he would so much as ask her the Question, if she did not Court him first. With that, upon Sancho's word, the Gentleman stopped his mere and road softly, ever and anon casting his Eye with admiration and wonder, upon Don Quixote's exorbitant Figure, who then road without his Helmet, which his Squire carried fastened to the Pummel of his Pack-saddle.  
But if the Gentleman surveyed Don Quixote, the Knight had his Eyes no less wishly fixed upon the Gentleman, who seemed to be a Person of Quality, by his Aspect and Deportment. He was about fifty years of Age, his Hair somewhat turned, with a look no less Modest then cheerful; evident signs of a virtuous disposition: nor was he a Man apt to make the worst construction of what he saw; however he could not choose but think Don Quixote to be a Man of a strange Kidney; nor could he call to mind that he had ever seen a Man so shaped and garbated before. He gazed to see such a slim, wire-drawn, long-backt Gangrel; he admired his meager thin Jaws, his Aspect, and with what state he bestrid a poor Jade as lank as a Posthorse; which were all Novelties that his Eyes had not been accustomed to.  
Nor was Don Quixote unsensible of the Gentlemans admiration; and therefore reading in his Eyes the desire he had to be farther satisfied; out of his wonted courtesy willing to prevent the Gentleman's Interrogations, Sir, said he, I do not wonder to find you surprised at the sight of a Person so different in his Garb and Air from all other Men; but when you shall understand me to be a Knight-Errant, of the Order of those that seek their Fortunes, and hunt after Adventures, your Admiration then will cease. I left my native Soil, mortgaged and Sold my Land, and renounced the pleasures of this Life, to throw myself into the Arms of Fortune. I have endeavoured to restore again the neglected and forgotten Profession of Knight-Errantry; which having begun to do, some while since I have accomplished some part of my design, in succouring Widows, protecting young Damsels, defending the Rights of married Women and Orphans, the proper Office and Duty of Knight-Errants; and I have at length by my Religious and Valiant achievements, after infinite toils and Hardships, brought it to that pass, that my Renown is spread almost over all the four Quarters of the World. The Story of my Life is already in Print, of which there has been fifteen Editions, and about threescore thousand Books sold. The Stationers that bought the Copy were all happy Men; for 'tis thought there will be thirty Millions more sold, if they don't fall out among themselves. In short Sir, not to keep ye longer in suspense, my name is Don Quixote de la Mancha, otherwise the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance: and tho it be not a thing so commendable for a Man to praise himself, yet living far from Neighbours, I am forced to do it sometimes; when I want a good friend to spare me the trouble. Wonder not then most worthy Sir, to see this Shield, this Lance, this Squire, and this Horse; nor at the paleness of my Face, nor my exhausted Body, knowing from this time forward who I am, and the Profession which I maintain.  
Here Don Quixote stopped, to whom the Gentleman after he had pondered a while, you had a piercing insight into my Thoughts, Sir Knight, said he, and rightly guest the eager appetite of my Curiosity; but you are so far from having abated my wonder, that I am rather more surprised then ever I was. For is it possible that there should be at this time any Knights-Errant i' the World, and that there should be a true History of a Living Knight-Errant in Print? In good truth Sir, I should have hardly been induced to believe there could be any of these Protectors of Widows, and Defenders of Virgins and Orphans, did not my Eyes afford me an assured Testimony of it in yourself. High Heaven be praised a thousand times for this same Real History of your Far-fam'd exploits, which bury in Oblivion all those idle Romances of pretended Knights-Errant, that have filled all Europe with their Fables, and distracted the Brains of all that red' em. Mr. Gentleman, Mr. Gentleman, replied Don Quixote, we must not so over-credulously believe the Stories of Knight-Errants to be Fables. Why, quo the Gentleman, is there any Man living that believes the contrary? Yes Sir, quo Don Quixote, myself for one. But let that pass; I hope as we ride along to convince ye of that common Error into which you are plunged, as being carried away with that same Torrent of Incredulity that overflows the World. These last words of Don Quixote, and his manner of expression, created in the Gentleman a strong suspicion that he had met with a sort of Madman, so that he observed him still more wistly, to see whether he could find any other symptoms of Frenzy, that might confirm him in his Sentiments. At what time Don Quixote altering the Subject of his Discourse, desired the Gentleman to tell him who he was, since he had been so free to let him understand his Profession and manner of Living. Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, answered t' other, I am a Gentleman born in a Village hard by, whither we intend, God willing, to go and Sup together this Night. I have a reasonable Competency. I spend my time contentedly with my Wife and Children, making little or no noise i' the World: My usual Recreations are Hunting and Fishing; not that I keep either Hawks or Hounds, but only a Setting-Dog to catch a Partridge or two now and then, and a Spaniel to perch a Pheasant for Variety. I have also a Competent Library, both of History and Divinity: and I can endure to red a Play sometimes, if the style and Contrivance be neat and voided of Ribaldry; but as for Books of Knight-Errantry I never suffer 'em to enter within my Study Doors. My Neighbours and I keep a friendly Correspondence, and we often Eat and Drink at one anothers Houses. My own Table is served with cleanly diet, not superfluous, as being one that hates Excess and Debauchery. I have made it a Law to myself to live soberly; to relieve the Poor, to Backbite no body, nor pry into the Actions of other Men; as I am in Commission of the Peace, I reconcile those that are at variance, and serve my God according to the Government established in the Church.  
Sancho listened to this Relation of the Gentlemans with an attentive Ear, and believing that a Person that lead such a Life could not choose but be a Saint, and work Miracles, he threw himself from his Grizzle, and catching hold of the Gentlemans Stirrup, with Tears in his Eyes, fell a Kissing the Gentlemans Foot, as if it had been some relic of St. Benedict, the Virgin Mary's second Husband.  
Friend, quo the Gentleman, all in wonder, what's thy meaning thus to be so complimental? Oh, Sir, quo Sancho, let me alone I beseech ye, let me Kiss this Foot of yours; for I have always honoured the Saints from my Childhood, but in all my Life I never saw a Saint a Horse-back before I saw your Worship. Truly honest Brother, quo the Gentleman, I am no Saint: but if either of us two may be said to be Saints, it should be thyself, by thy humility.  
Sancho said no more, but having thus pleased his humour, return'd to cover his Pack-saddle, not without tickling his Masters's Spleen; who notwithstanding all his phlegm, could not forbear laughing out-right at the Simplicity of his Squire. But his mirth being soon over, he went on with his discourse, and asked the Gentleman how many Children he had? adding withal, how he had ever observed that the Ancient Philosophers placed their chief happiness as well in the Advantages of Nature, as those of Fortune; in number of Children and Friends. I have but one only Son, replied the Gentleman, and perhaps if I had not him, I should not think myself the less unhappy. Not that he is lewdly inclined, but only because he is not so good as I could wish him. He is a Lad of about Eighteen years of Age, and has been six years at the University to perfect himself in his Greek and Latin; of both which he is a competent Master. But when I pressed him to improve himself in the profound Mysteries of true Learning, I found him so addicted to Poetry, that he despises all the other Sciences; so that I cannot get him so much as to look upon a Law Book, and but very little to mind Divinity; to either of which I would have had him applied his Studies, to fit him for the Service of his Prince: especially living in an Age wherein Wise and Learned Men are so highly esteemed by His Majesty. He spends whole days in his Criticisms, whether Homer said well or ill, in repeating Ton'd Apomeibomenos so often?— whether such an Eprigram in marshal ought not to be expunged for its Obscoenity— whether Virgil had he lived, could ha' bettered his Eneads— He is a great admirer of Horace, Juvenal and Persius— but as for the Modern Poets, he allows very few to be worth a Straw; among the rest, he has a particular Peek against Du Bartas, and Paradise lost, which he says has neither rhyme nor Reason. Nevertheless he cannot forbear playing the fooll with Love Verses and acrostics, which are the idlest Trash in Nature.  
Sir, replied D. Quixote, Children are the Flesh and Blood of their Parents; and whether good or bad, they ought to love' em. Particularly they ought to have a care of laying sound Foundations of virtue in their Infancy; not to let 'em run about the Streets, and lye swearing and game in every paud Alley i' the City; but to inspire 'em with Christian Principles, as soon as they are able to speak, as being the growing Props from which they expect the Support and Comfort of their old Age. Nevertheless, I would not have Parents put a force upon the Inclinations of their Children, by constraining their Studies more to one Science then another, but to let 'em follow their own Genius's, especially when they have no occasion to study for Bread. For tho Poetry be a study not so profitable as delightful, yet is not to be despised, nor is it a shane for a Gentleman to be a Poet. Tho I must confess, the name of Poet be now adays contemptible among the Illiterate; I say Illiterate, tho ne're so wealthy: for Riches render no Man wise nor learned of themselves. But I must tell ye Sir, Poetry is like the youngest Daughter in a Family, whom all the elder Sisters tend upon. She is the Ornament caressed by all her other Sister-Sciences; and adds to their Grace and Beauty when ever she appears among' em. However Men must have a care how they prostitute her Excellency in Libels and Obscoenity. She's Curtisan'd upon the Stage by Licentious Pens, and profaned by Popular Adulation, to please the Vulgar, that are utterly ignorant of her real worth and Beauty. But she's a Virgin not to be roughly handled, and exposed in every Market-place and corner of the Street, nor to be set to view, unless in lofty Tragedies, Heroic Poems, and Comedies truly useful and Facetious. She's not to be meddl'd withal by Jesters, and Pitiful Rhimers, to please the ignorant Rabble. Nor do I here mean by the Vulgar, the Common Rabble only; for who ever is ignorant, be he Prince or Potentate, he is to be listed in the number of the Vulgar. But who ever shall esteem of Poetry according to those Characters that I have given her, his Name shall be famous in all well-governed Common-wealths.  
And whereas you say your Son neglects all Modern poesy, in my Opinion he does not do so well. For neither did Homer writ in Latin, because he was a graecian; neither did Virgil writ in Greek, because he was a Latin: and indeed all your Ancient Poets wrote in their Mother Language, without seeking to conceal their lofty Notions in unknown Tongues. And I could wish that Custom were still observed in all Languages; there being no reason that a German Poet should be undervalu'd, because he writes in his own Dialect, or a French, or an English Poet, because they writ in Theirs. But your Son, as I suppose, mislikes not Modern poesy, but your Modern Poets, that understand no other Language or Sciences, that may adorn, awaken, and assist their natural Impulse. Altho' in this there may be an error. For it is the common saying, That a Poet is so born. That is, that a Poet is born a Poet from his Mothers Womb, and with those natural Inclinations that Heaven has infused into him, without the helps of Study or Art, composes those Lines, which verify that saying, Est Deus in Nobis, &c.  
However a natural Poet that helps himself by Art, shall be much bettered by Study; for that tho Art do not surpass Nature, yet it adds to its perfection. And therefore I say, Sir, let your Son follow his own Inclinations; for that being endued with a good Genius, as he is, and understanding as he does both the Greek and Latin, that enclose within themselves all Arts and Sciences, he will easily ascend to the pinnacle of Learning, which is no less an Ornament to a Person of his Quality, then it is to those that are obliged to profess it. Only Sir, take a care that he make choice of good Subjects, that he writ nothing scurrilous; for 'tis the Debauchery of our Poets, that renders their Lines as debauched as their Lives and Conversations; a Poet that lives virtuously will be so in his Verses. Let him not while he decrys 'vice, bespatter the Reputation of any Person. Let him in his praises of virtue give such descriptions of her, that he may be thought to be conversant with her; and then Poetry will be so far from being a dishonour to him, that he will become at the same time the Glory of his Family, esteemed by his Prince, and in reputation among all Men.  
Here Don Quixote concluding his Discourse, the Gentleman was strook with so much Admiration, that he began to think the worse of himself, for the bad Opinion he had conceived of the Knight; so that he was going about to renew his Discourse, when Don Quixote lifting up his Eyes, beholded a wagon upon the Road full of Flags and Streamers, bearing the Kings Arms, and believing it to be some new Adventure, called out to Sancho, who was then at a distance, to bring him his Helmet.   

CHAP. XVII.  
Wherein is set forth the greatest Mark of Courage that ever Don Quixote shew'd in his Life, and the happy Conclusion of the Adventure of the lions.  
SAncho was neither for Sermoms nor homilies, and therefore while his Master was preaching, he observing that certain Shepherds were keeping their Flocks hard by, went to see what Provision they had got, and he had just made a purchase of some Cheescurds, when his Master called out so loud for his Helmet; at what time not knowing what to do with his Merchandise, yet loathe to lose it since he had paid for it, he clapped it into his Masters Helmet, which he carried at the Bow of his Pack-saddle, and so came trotting up to his Master to know his Pleasure. Sancho, quo he, give me my Helmet, for if I understand Adventures, I descry one yonder, that is not to be undertaken unless a Man be well armed. The Gentleman hearing what Don Quixote said, looked round about him, and seeing nothing but a wagon stuck about with Flags and Streamers, conjectured it to be a wagon of Money going to the Kings Treasury, and  told Don Quixote his Opinion of the matter. To whom the Knight, who would not so easily be convinced, but looked upon all things to be Adventures, Mr. Gentleman quo he, forearmed forewarned, a Man loses nothing by standing upon his Guard; and I am assured by woeful experience, that I have Enemies both visible and invsible, that continually lye in wait to surprise me; and at the same time snatching the Helmet out of Sancho's Hands, before he could have leisure to empty it, he clapped it upon his bare Crown; at what time the Curds being squeezed between his Head and the Iron, the Whey came streaming down his Face, and overflowed his Beard and Chin at such a rate, that the poor affrighted Champion in great disorder cried out, What's the matter with me? Sancho, either there's a Well in my skull, or else my Brains are melted, for I'me all in a Sweat from top to to. Well, if I do sweat, I'm sure 'tis not for fear, tho 'tis an ill omen of a shower of Blood do ensue— Give me a Cloath to wipe me for this same Sweat almost blinds me. Thereupon Sancho gave him the best Clout he had, not daring to speak a word, but giving a thousand thanks to Heaven that his Master examined the Business no farther. However Don Quixote having wiped his Face and his Beard, and taking off his Helmet to dry his Hair, and see what it was that felt so could upon his Head, when he spied the white Marmalade, and found by the smell what it was; by the Life of Madam Dulcinea, quo he, ye damned traitor of a Guttle-gut, had ye no where to put your Curds and Cream but i' my Helmet? To whom Sancho very cunningly, and without the least alteration in his Countenance. If they be Curds, Sir give 'em me— I'll eat 'em rather then they shall offend ye, or else let the Devil eat 'em himself that put 'em there; for you cannot believe that I should be such a Beast to foul your Capp-a-maintenance. As sure as you live Sir, I have my Inchanter's too that bear me a Spleen, and fain would a' provoked ye at this time to ha' fallen fowl upon my Bones. But I serve a good Master, that understands their malice full well; and knows that if the Curds and Cream had fallen to my lot, I should rather ha' put 'em i' my Belly then in his Helmet—  
All this the Gentleman heard with no less attention then Admiration; more especially seeing how solemnly Don Quixote prepared himself; for after he had wiped his Face and his Beard, he clean'd his Helmet, tried whether his Sword were loose enough in his scabbard, fixed himself in his Stirrups, and then shaking his Lance, now quo he, come what will come, I fear not Satan himself, tho guarded with a whole Regiment of Devils.  
By this time the wagon drew near, with one single Person in it, who sate at the farther end, and the wagoner riding by, upon a sorry Scrub. Immediately Don Quixote posted himself before the wagon, and with a surly summons, Whither a way my Masters, quo he, what wagon is this, what's your Loading, and what's the meaning of these Streamers? Sir replied the wagoner, the wagon is mine, and there are in it two lions in two Cages, which the governor of Oran has sent to the King our Master, and these Streamers are to let you understand to whom they belong. Are they great lions? quo Don Quixote; very large lions, replied the wagoners companion; so large that I believe, larger have not been seen i' this Country. I am their Keeper added the fellow. I have seen several lions, but never any like to these in all my Life. In this first Cage is a lion, and in the other a Lyoness; and they are both cruel Hungry, for they have not been fed to day; and therefore pray Sir be pleased to ride out of the way and let us go on. Thereupon the wagoner gave his Horses the word, and began to drive on; at what time Don Quixote smiling, lions against me, against me lions, quo he! I'll make the Governor that sent these lions to know I am not afraid of a lion— Come down friend, you i' the wagon; and if you be the Keeper of the Lyon's, open their Cages, and let 'em come forth;— The World shall be convinced in this same very Field, that I am still Don Quixote de la Mancha, maugre the malice of those enchanters that have sent these lions to scare me. Well quo the Gentleman to himself, there needs now no more to satisfy any Rational Man, what this Knight is— the Curds I find have softened his skull, and mellow'd his Brains— At the same time Sancho approaching the Gentleman, and ready to besmear himself for fear— For Heaven's sake, Sir, said he, don't let my Master fight with these lions— Upon my life Sir, we shall be all torn a' pieces— Why, quo the Gentleman, dost think thy Master's such a Mad-man to encounter these lions? He's no Mad man, replied Sancho, but he's a Person will fight with the Devil. Go, go, quo the Gentleman, I'll undertake for him, and so riding up to Don Quixote, who was raging to have the Cages opened; Sir Knight, quo he, Knights-Errant ought to undertake Adventures that are possible, and where there is a probability of Conquest, and not engage against all likely hood of success; for Rashness is but inconsiderate and savage fierceness, rather Madness then real Fortitude. Besides, these lions are not sent against you, but as a Present to the King himself, and therefore you do ill to stop these People upon the Road, who are to answer for their forth-coming. Mr. Gentleman, quo Don Quixote, very briskly, meddle wi' your Partridges and your Setting-Dogs at home, and leave every Man to his own Profession; I am now about my own Calling, and I am to judge whether these lions are sent against me, or no; and so turning himself to the Keeper of the lions, perpetual Ragamuffin, quo he, By the Body of St. George, either open the Cages, or I'll nail thee with this Lance to the Wheel of thy wagon. For the love of God, Sir, cried the wagoner, seeing Don Quixote so resolute, let me take out my Horses, and get far enough out of the way before ye open the Cages; for if they should once set upon the poor Beasts, I must live upon the Alm's of the Parish all the rest of my Life; for as I hope to be saved Sir, I ha' no other subsistence but my wagon and my Horses. Scoundrel of little Faith, replied Don Quixote, alight and take out thy Horses, and run where thou wilt, but thou shall find by and by, how little need thou hadst of being so wary. In short the wagoner took out his Horses, and began to make hast out of Harms way: and then it was that the Keeper of the lions cried out to the Company, and desired 'em to bear witness, that it was against his will, and by constraint that he opened the lions Cages, and protested against the Knight, that he should be answerable as well for all the mischief the lions did, as for the Loss, which he sustained by the miscarriage of the Kings Present. He also advised 'em all to get out of the way before the Cages were opened; for that as for himself, he knew the lions would do him no harm.  
Nevertheless the Gentleman made a second attempt to divert Don Quixote from his extravagant design, putting him in mind how he tempted God in exposing himself to such an apparent danger. To all which Don Quixote answered him carelessly, that he knew what he did. Consider however what you do, replied the Gentleman, for assuredly you are under a very great mistake. I beseech ye Sir, replied Don Quixote, if you think there is so much danger, put Spurs to your Dapple, and make hast out of the way.  
Sancho seeing the Gentleman could not prevail, would needs try a second time what he could do, and so coming up to his Master with Tears in his Eyes, besought him to desist from such a perilous enterprise, to which the Adventures of the Wind-mills and the Fulling-mills, were but Holy Thursday skirmishes among the Boys; have a care Sir, quo he, there be no enchantment in this case— Alack and well-a-day, Dear Master, I looked into the Cages, and through the Cages, and by the Claws that I saw, the lion must be bigger then an Elephant, with the Castle and all upon his Back— What a thing is Fear! replied Don Quixote, 'twill make these lions by and by as big as Mountains— go, go, poor Sancho, save one, save one— thou losest time— if I fall in the Attempt, thou knowst our agreement— repair to Dulcinea— I say no more.  
To these he added some other Expression's, which cut off all hopes of any accommodation between the lions and him. So that the Gentleman perceiving he did but wash a blackamoor white, and finding himself not in a Capacity to with-hold a Man by force, that he saw so well armed and more furiously resolved, he set Spurs to his mere, Sancho kicked his Grizzle with both Legs, and the wagoner lashed on his Horses, every one striving to get out of the way as fast as they could, while Don Quixote lay cursing and swearing at the Keeper to open the Cages. Poor Sancho at the same time bewayl'd his Masters Death, as one that already fancied he saw him fast in the lions Paws, and the greedy Beast banqueting upon his Witless Brains: he cursed his ill fortune, and the Hour that engaged him in the Service of such a Mad-man: and bemoaning the loss of his Time and his Islands, bad adieu to all the Pomp and Vanity of the World: but for all that he punch'd on his Grizzle, as one that had no mind as yet to be entombed in the Paunch of a lion, tho he were the King of Beasts.  
Now when the Keeper saw that the Company were got far enough out of danger, once more he besought D. Quixote, that he might not be constrained to let forth these Terrible Animals upon him, using all the eloquence he had to persuade him not to expose himself to unnecessary Ruin. But all the answer he had was only a disdainful smile and a command to dispatch.  
Now while the Keeper took time to open the first Cage, as one that would fain ha' been better employed, Don Quixote began to debate with himself whether to fight a foot or a Horse-back; and upon mature deliberation, considering that Rosinante might be frighted and miscarry, at the unwonted sight of such dreadful Creatures, he leaped from his Saddle, shouldered his Target, and with his Sword in his hand, and an undaunted Courage he fixed himself just before the Door of the Cage, yet at such a distance that the lion might have room enough to take his Career, recommending himself to God at the same time, but invoking more hearty the assistance of his Mistress Dulcinea.  
And here it was, that the Author of this History could not forbear bursting forth into a Passion, and in an ecstasy of wonder, make the following Exclamation. Oh! most intrepid Champion, Brave and courageous Don Quixote, the bright Honour of Mancha, the Grand Exemplar of Knight-Errantry! what words and epithets shall I now coin to express thy Death-defying Courage! What Language shall I borrow from the High-flown Melpomene, to convince succeeding Ages of the Truth of such a more then Human enterprise! Where shall I find out Praises and eulogies, that will not be too mean for thy insuperable Valour? Thou all alone, a foot, with nothing but a Sword, and that none of your tried Bilbo's, nor trenchant Fox-blades neither, but a poor sorry Ammunition Weapon, God wot, and a Shield not able to withstand the Shot of an Elder Gun, defy'st and darest the Savage force of two vast lions, more monstrous and more furious then ever roared within the Lybian Deserts. Then let thy own renowned Exploits build up the Monument of thy famed, for Posterity to gaze at: Let thy own Valour tell the wondering World what I want words to utter; which makes me break off thus abruptly.—  
And now it was, that the Keeper of the lions perceiving Don Quixote ready in his Gladiator's Posture, and fearing the Champions farther Indignation, set the Door of the first Cage wide open, where( I tremble to tell ye) lay a huge, monstrous, grum, spanishruff'd lion, to which the Nemean Beast that Hercules killed, was a mere Kitten. The fowl Monster seeing the Door of his Prison open, the first thing he did was to roll and tumble up and down, and wallow in his Straw; i' the next place he stretched out his massy Legs, and put forth his Claws of a prodigious length; after that he gaped and yawn'd and shew'd his hideous Fangs, and when he had purged his Head with a dreadful Sneeze or two, with a foot and a half of broad Tongue, he licked and washed his Face and Eyes. After this pleasant praeludium, he thrust his Head quiter out of the Cage, and with his Eyes resembling two live coals of Fire, looked round about him from his Chamber Window, to see what Weather it was, enough to have dismai'd all the seven Champion's leagued to his Destruction. All which Don Quixote heedfully observed, and stood firm in expectation of his Adversary, impatient to be doing, and assured of Victory. But the generous lion, far more prudent then the vain-glorious Hero, and perhaps contemning his bravadoes, after he had taken a little fresh Air, retired into his Cage, turned his tail to the vapouring Knight, and laid himself fair and softly down again. Which, when Don Quixote beholded, he commanded the Keeper to provoke him with his Poking-stick, and to force him out whether he would or no. Not I upon my Life quo the Keeper, for all the Shoes i' your Shop, for if I raise his Passion, I'me sure to be his first Course. Besides, Sir, you have all the reason i' the world to be satisfied: you have put your Valour upon the Tenter-hooks: I defy all the Men i' the World to do so much as you ha' done; you gave your Enemy a fair Challenge; you waited for him; he failed: what could you do more, unless you intend to post him for a Coward? Body a' truth, Sir, what would ye have? he's vanquished, and you are the Victor.  
Shut the Cage honest friend, quo Don Quixote, and give me a Certificate in due form: That is, How thou didst open the Cage for the lion to come forth, that I waited for his coming, that I gave him his own time, and that instead of meeting me, he only rose to stretch his Legs, and laid himself down again. I ha' done all that could be required from me, and I am obliged to do no more. I say once more I ha' done my duty, and a fart for all the Necromancers i' the World— I ha' done my duty, and God bless Knight-Errantry— and therefore lock up thy lions again, while I go and hollow to these dastardly Sneak-gooses, and fetch 'em back again, to the end they may hear the Truth from thy own Mouth.  
Thereupon the Keeper locked up his lions without being twice bid, and Don Quixote fastening his handkerchief at the end of his Lance, hung out his white Flag, which he kept waving in the Air, as a signal for the Fugitives to return. At what time Sancho, spying the flourished Muckinder— I'll be hanged quo he, if my Master have not killed the Kings lions, and now no ground will hold him— Stop Gentlemen, stop— my Master has done his business, he hollow's so cheerfully— With that the wagoner stopped, and the Gentleman, who lead the Van i' the flight took up his mere, and all perceiving Don Quixote flourishing his Ensign in the Posture of a Victor, they turned their Horses, and free from all their fears road back to congratulate the conqueror.  
So soon as they were within easy hearing— Come on honest friend, quo Don Quixote, put thy Horses into the wagon again, and pursue thy Journey; and Sancho, do thou give him two Pieces for his trouble in staying for my sake. Most willingly, quo Sancho, drawing his Purse— But I pray Sir, quo he, what are become of the lions? are they alive or dead? Then the Keeper of the lions observing his Cue, gave a true and perfect relation of the whole Action, with all the Advantage that might be on the Champion's side, extoling his Valour, and attributing the cowardice of the lion, to the inward fear which he had of the Champion's Prowess, as knowing himself to ha' been a lost lion, had he ventured the Encounter.  
Now Sancho, quo Don Quixote, what dost think on't? is not my Valour Inchantment-proof? Your Necromancers perhaps may rob me of some part of the Victory? but they can never lessen my Courage.  
In short the wagoner being well satisfied for his stay, put in his Horses and driven on with his lions, assuring Don Quixote, that he would spread abroad the famed of his achievements where er'e he came; and that he would give the King himself an account of what he had so nobly performed, so soon as he came to Court. If His Majesty should chance to ask ye, replied Don Quixote, who the Person was, and what was his Name, you shall tell him 'twas the Knight of the lions; for hence forward I intend to be called the Knight of the lions, whereas before I called myself the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, according to the Ancient Custom of Knight-Errants in former times, who altered their Titles as they pleased themselves.  
Thus the wagoner driven on, and the Victorious Knight, the Gentleman and Sancho pursued their Journey with great silence. For the Gentleman was so employed in making his Observations upon Don Quixote, that he had not time to speak a word, not knowing what Opinion to have of a Person in whom he found at the same time so much sense and so much Extravagance. For his Words were proper and well delivered, his Actions foolish, hare-brained and unadvised. But Don Quixote perceiving him in such a Brown-study, and conjecturing readily the reason of his Meditations; Sir, said he, I make no question, but you take me for a hare-brained Fellow, or rather for a Madman that has lost his Wits, for by my Actions, 'tis impossible to think otherwise: but give me leave to tell ye, I am no such Fool as you take me for— You think it a fine sight to see a goodly Knight with his pampered stead richly caparisoned, in the view of his Prince attacking a Wild Bull i' the Market-place, and happy that rational Creature of a Knight, that first has the good luck to dig out with his Lance the Bowels of that same poor irrational Beast, that never did him injury. You think it a goodly show to see a Courtly Champion prancing about a Tilt-yard in sight of his Mistress, and all to run at a senseless Ring, or break a Lance with an Adversary that will do him no wrong. You think such Knights as those that can show their Activity at a tournament, or caper highest before the lady's at a Ball, to be the Ornaments of a Princes Court, while all they do, is nothing but for Sport and Recreation; but gi' me leave to tell ye, a Knight-Errant is much superior to any of these, perpetually in motion through Deserts, Solitudes, over Hills and Dales, o'er Mountains and valleys, and continually expossing himself to danger and hardship. I say, Sir, that Knight-Errant, who succours a Widow oppressed in a Country Village, by far surmounts in virtue, a Smell-smock Knight that does nothing but Banquet and Coach about the Ladies i' the City. All Knights have their particular Employments. Let the Courtier wait upon his Mistresses, fill his princes Court with his Costly Liveries; let him allow poor Gentlemen a free access to his Table; let him be Liberal and Magnificent, give Sumptuous Entertainments; in all these things he complies with his Profession. But the Duty of a Knight-Errant is to traverse the World, to look danger i' the Face where e're he meet's it, to undertake all sorts of Adventures, and to attempt Impossibility itself. He despises Hunger and Thirst, the Rigor of the Weather, the Inconveniences of Climates and Seasons, he laughs at lions and Hobgoblins, it being the duty of his Profession upon all occasions to be ready to meet, to dare, to encounter, and overcome to the utmost of his Power; and not to suffer the least disturbance of the Peace, and Tranquillity of human Kind. And therefore since it has pleased my Destiny to rank me in the number of these Knight-Errants, it behoves me to perform my Duty, and to behave myself becoming my Profession. Which was the Reason, Sir, I durst not but attack these lions, tho I knew it to be a piece of Rashness justly to be condemned; for I had rather the World should accuse me of Rashness then of cowardice: and this is my Comfort, let 'em say what they will of me, there's nere a He that wears a Head can say I'me a flincher from Death itself, tho perhaps they may call me a Mad-man. In good truth, Sir, quo the Gentleman, all that you do, and all that you speak fill's me full of Admiration, as being measured out by the Line of Reason; and I am persuaded, that if all the Laws of Chivalry-Errant were absolutely lost, they might be found again in your Breast, which seems to be the sole chapel, wherein the Records, Charters and Evidences of that Order seem to be laid up. And so, Sir, let us put on, for the day begins to waste, that we may get home in good time to my House; where I shall be glad to reap the benefit of that time, which you shall be pleased to afford me, in taking my poor Habitation for your own. You honour me with your obliging offers replied Don Quixote, and so putting on, they arrived within two hours at the Gentlemans House.    

 Enchanted Head 
The Adventure of the Enchanted Head. page.. 570.   
 Don Quixote conquered 
Don Quixot conquered by the Knight of the White Moon page.. 581.   

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE HISTORY of the most Ingenious Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. BOOK II.  
CHAP. XVIII.  
What befell Don Quixote at the Knight of the Green Cassocks House, with other extravagant Passages.  
DON Quixote being come to the Gentleman's House, which he found to be very large and well Built, with the Ancient Arms of the Family over the Portal, and several Jars i' the Court, like those that were made at Toboso, the sight of which awakened in his mind the Remembrance of his enchanted Dulcinea, he began to fetch a deep Sigh; and never minding where he was, nor what Company stood next him, burst forth into a sudden Passion, crying out, 
When shall these Eyes of mine behold the Hour,  
When she released from Vile Inchanter's Power,—  But he was interrupted in his ecstasy, by the arrival of the Gentleman's Son leading his Mother in his Hand, who came to welcome her Husband Home; tho not a little surprised, to see what an extravagant Mortal her Husband had brought along with him. Don Quixote no sooner beholded her, but he threw himself from Rosinante's Back, and with his accustomed Gravity saluted the Lady. Wife, said the Gentleman, this is Don Quixote de la Mancha, the most Prudent and Valiant Knight-Errant i' the World, and therefore give him a Welcome according to his Merit. Thereupon Madam Christina( for so was the Lady called) received him with a more then ordinary Civility; to which when the Knight had made his due Returns, he saluted the Son, between whom and the Knight there passed several most learned and unusual compliments; which put the young Student into a high conceit of his Parts. Afterwards Don Quixote being conducted into a fair Hall, Sancho helped him off with his armor; which being done, the Knight appeared in a pair of close Breeches, and a waistcoat of Shamoy Leather, all besmeared with the filth of his rusty armor; a plain Quaker-like Band, unstarch'd, about his Neck: upon his Legs he wore a pair of Leather Spatterlashes over his stockings, which Heaven knows whether they were Yarn or Worsted; and upon his Feet a pair of waxed Shoes that had been often at the cobblers: His Sword hung by his side in a Belt made of a Sea-wolfs Skin; for 'tis th' Opinion of many that he had been troubled with a gonorrhoea for several years. But the main of all his Bravery consisted in a long leaguer Drap de berry Cloak, that covered all the Rest.  
The first thing he did was to wash his Face and his Head, in five or six Pailfulls of Water, for as to the number of the Pailfulls there is some dispute; nor can you imagine what a Tincture the Whey still gave to the Water; thanks to that guttling Rascal his Squire, for buying the Curds that so besmeared the inside of his Masters Helmet, and besides that, had so bematted his Hair, that they were forced to make use of a Main-comb before they could part it.  
Now while Don Quixote was thus putting himself into Kelter, the Gentleman's Son having leisure enough, Sir, said he, to his Father, Who is this Person that you have picked up upon the Road? My Mother and myself have been commenting this hour upon his Aspect, his Dress, his Name, but most of all upon the Title of Knight-Errant, which you give him, and were we both to be presently martyred, we cannot tell what to think of him. Son, quo Don Diego,( for that was the Gentleman's Name) thou hast puzzled me with a Question, I know not what answer to give thee. For he is a Man that speaks good sense, and yet commits the greatest follies i' the World; tho by what I ha' both seen and heard, I believe his Whimsies exceed his Discretion. But do thou discourse him thyself, and then tell me thy own Opinion.  
With that, Mr. Laurence( for that was also the Son's Name) went out to look for Don Quixote, whom he met returning out of the Yard into the Hall, smug'd up as spruce as an Onion, and as lively as a Norfolk Tumbler; where after the usual formalities were at an end, Sir, quo Don Quixote, I am glad to hear that you are the worthy Son of so worthy a Father; he has  told me of the Excellency of your parts, but more especially that you are a great Poet. A Poet perhaps I may be, replied Lorenzo; but to be a good Poet, I never yet pretended. The truth is, I am a great Admirer of Poetry, and love to red good Authors; but that's all— my Father may say what he pleases. I like ye( Sir) the better, quo Don Quixote, for your Modesty, for a Poet should not be arrogant, nor have a high Opinion of himself. But pray, Sir, tell me, what Verses are those which your Father tells me you are at this very time so puzzled about? For I understand something, and if it be any thing of an exposition that you want, perhaps I may assist ye. But if it be a Lampoon, I have nothing to say to 't, for I hate that sort of Poetry mortally. Hitherto all's well, quo Lorenzo to himself, lets go on— You seem to me, Sir, replied Lorenzo, to have studied at the University; pray( Sir) to which of the Sciences did you apply yourself most seriously? To that of Knight-Errantry, reply d Don Quixote, which is ten thousand times better then all your Poetry. To tell ye truth, Sir, quo Lorenzo, I do not understand that Science at all, nor indeed did I ever hear talk of it before. 'tis a Science, quo Don Quixote, that encloses in itself all the other Sciences i' the World. He that would profess it must be a Lawyer, and understand the Laws of Distributive and Commutative Justice: He ought to be a Divine to give a Reason of his Faith: It behoves him to be a Physician to understand the nature of Simples; for Surgeons do not hang out their Anatomy-signs in deserts and Mountains: He ought to be a Master in Astrology, to understand the Motions and Influences of the Stars; how else shall he know what a Clock 'tis in a dark night upon Westbury Plain, or in what part of the World he is, and the difference of Climates? If he understands not the Mathematics, how shall he know what belongs to Fortifications, and many other things which are absolutely requisite for his Profession? In a word he must be adorned with all the Divine and Moral virtues. To descend to trifles, he ought to know how to mend a Saddle; show a Horse; patch his Breeches; he ought to serve God and his Mistress inviolably; to be chased in his thoughts, faithful in his promises; he ought to be Liberal, Valiant, indefatigably Laborious, patient in Adversity, charitable to the Poor, and a maintainer of Truth, tho it cost him his Life to defend it. These, Sir, are the Perfections that compose a Knight-Errant, and now be you a Judge, whether there be any Science that is to be compared with Knight-Errantry. If it be so, replied Lorenzo, I say this Science goes beyond 'em all. How d' ye mean, Sir, if it be so? quo Don Quixote. I mean, Sir, quo Mr. Laurence, that I do not believe there ever were, at least that now a days, there are i' the World any Knights so divinely accomplished as you speak of. Why, look ye now, quo Don Quixote, this is just as the generality of People talk; and 'tis an Opinion to which they are so wedded, that unless Heaven do work some particular Miracle a' purpose to convince 'em, that both formerly there were, and now there are Knight-Errants, a Man may as well baste Flints with Butter, as persuade 'em out of their ungodly misbelief. I shall not trouble myself at present, Sir, to convince ye of an error that is grown so Common. All that I can do, is only to beg that favour of Heaven to enlighten our understandings, by letting us see the necessity of Knight-Errants in former Ages; and how advantageous they would be, if it were for nothing else but to scour the Reads of Great Britain, where a Man cannot ride five mile out of Town, without being robbed: how many men i' that Country might a good busy Knight-Errant save from the Gallows? But now it is, that for the Punishment of our sins, the Taverns and Coffee Houses increase, where Men guzzle and idle away their time, and that Effeminacy and Wantonness triumph over Industry and Sobriety. Indifferent well hitherto, quo Lorenzo to himself, there's no great hurt done yet; and yet so much, quo he to himself again, that I should be a very dunce indeed to take thee for other then a Witty Fool.  
Here they were interrupted by being called to Supper; at what time, D. Diego taking his Son aside, asked him what he thought of the Knight? I find, Sir, replied Lorenzo, that 'tis not in the power of ten colleges of Physicians to cure his Distemper. He is a Mad-man past recovery, but yet a pleasant Mad-man, and one that has excellent Lucid Intervals.  
Soon after, to Supper they went, fed hearty, and Don Quixote was highly pleased with his Entertainment; but he admired nothing so much as the extraordinary silence which he observed throughout the whole House, which made him compare it in his own Thoughts to a Monastery of Carthusians.  
After Cheese and Fruit comes nothing. So that at length the Cloth being taken away, Grace said, and Hands washed, Don Quixote began very earnestly to desire Lorenzo to show him the Verses, that had occasioned their Discourse before Dinner. To which Lorenzo replied, that he was none of Horace's Musitioners, that being desired to Sing, were as coy of their Voices, as a Whore of her first favours to a Cully; but undesir'd, were as free of their Tunes as a Thrush in a Summer Morning. First therefore, quo he to the Knight, I show ye my Theme, 'tis a kind of a Riddle 'tis true; but as we whet our Knives upon hard Groundsels, in like manner we University youngsters, make use of Problems and Knotty Enigma's to sharpen our Wits. Hunph— quo Don Quixote, will these Laborious vanitys be never left off, upon which when a young Man has spent a world of Fancy and fine Words, they are still but the waste of Time and signify not a Rush— A friend of mine I remember, and a great scholar once  told me, he would rather put his Son to beat Hemp in Bridewell, wherein there was some Benefit to the public, then to this sort of unprofitable Brain-thrashing. Whims and Gimcracks are but the strainings and rackings of the Fancy to no purpose, while one crucifies his Brains to writ an Elegy upon a Butter-flie drowned in a Ladies Eye; where if there be not some strains above Ela, 'tis not worth a straw; as for example, the silly Butter-flie must be commended for its prudence in choosing it's Coffin— and then the Insect must be made to speak too, and aclowledge the Honour done it by Phillis, to weep at its death; she for whose sake twenty Lovers, Men of reason, die in a morning not so much as sighed for. Fair inhuman, cries another, I cannot Live without seeing thee, nor see thee without Dying. And was not he well employed, that upon a Present of Gloves to his Mistress, after long toiling of his Invention, having taken away the G. found Love remaining? Or that other Acute Wit who unfolded this profound Mystery; 
He that Loves Glass without a G,  
Take away L. and that is He.  But much more cunning was he that snipped off Hop from Archbish— because the Archbishop sent him no Drink to his Fish. Of the same sort are your silly Emblems and Devices, that cost Men a great deal of Brain-labour to nothing of valuable Benefit. For example, you would give a Lady to understand that Fire spoils her Complexion, and therefore you would have her hold a Screen in her hand to preserve her Beauty. To this purpose, you introduce Mars who comes to visit Venus in the Winter-time. Well— but Venus, willing to have a Testimony of her Conversation in the Room, she must have one of the Graces standing by her. Then comes Vulcan in an Angry posture threatening to strike the Lady, which signifies the Fire that endammages her Complexion: at what time Cupid interposing with his Wings displayed between Vulcan and Venus, does the Office of a Screen. What a world of Poetry would this Invention take up in explanation, and yet when all's done, fit for nothing but to be thrown its self into Vulcans Fire. I could show ye several new French Enigma's, studied a' purpose to puzzle and dizzy the Brains of young Gentlemen, as ridiculous as some of their Fashions, but— Ay, but Sir, we poor Country scholars are not so Critical, as you that converse with all the Court Wits, and Language-refiners of the Age— Pardon me, Sir, quo Don Quixote, I do not say but that a Person of your extraordinary parts and breeding, may be right in the choice both of your Theme and the Comment upon it; and therefore I am ready to lend ye all the Attention imaginable, not doubting but that your pains will answer my Expectation. With that Lorenzo produced his Theme and his Comment, telling Don Quixote withall, that the Gentleman that sent him the Theme was as proud of his conceit, as if he had found the Philosophers ston.  

The THEME.  
WAS is, WAS was, WAS will be, WAS was not;  
IS is; IS is not WAS; IS goes to Pot,  
One flies, One stays; Both fly, Both stay; The toil  
Will be, this Paradox to Reconcile.   

The GLOSS.  
Nere talk of Reconciliation, Friend,  
You may as well, with equal labour lost,  
Unite the Turk and Independ-  
Ent; For Inconstancy rules all the World;  
While Men, in Fortunes Blanket tost,  
From one extreme are to another hurled.  
A Man to day, a Mouse to morrow;  
To day a Lender, next day forced to borrow.  
Some purchase, others sell;  
Where such before, now other razes dwell.  
Fortune a' top of all the Hill,  
Seems a' one side to crane up Men in hast;  
But tumble's 'em, a' t'other, down as fast.  
Thus WAS and IS,  
Through Times Abyss,  
In daily motion range, without control,  
As through the Deep the Restless Billows role.   

II.  
He WAS a Man, whose word or single Bond,  
Upon th' Exchange would fetch Ten thousand Pound:  
He WAS a Man, that had his princes Ear,  
Whom all Men therefore did respect or fear:  
He WAS a Captain, Coll'nel, one that rolled,  
In heaps of All-or'ecoming Gold.  
He WAS a Lovely, Modish, Proper Squire,  
That set all Lady's breasts on fire;  
And with a Veni, vidi, vici,  
He stormed and won all Hearts, tho nere so Icie.  
He WAS so eager at the Sport,  
That He put in, at every Port;  
Nor Lewd, nor Honest scaped his heat, if Any  
could in the Town be got for Love or Money:  
He WAS a Spark made all the Tavern's roar,  
Whom Scriveners Capt, and Vintners did adore:  
He WAS a Lively bachelor, free to range,  
Where e're he minded to look out for change:  
All This WAS once, and now if WAS were still;  
WAS was, WAS is, and WAS could nere be ill.  
But what says IS?   

III.  
The Merchant IS undone, not worth a Groat;  
retired within White-Fryer's or the Mint:  
At Court the Favorite's out of Date,  
Degraded and dismissed in Print.  
The Scarlet Officer now see's his Folly,  
And poor in Pocket, rich in Face,  
Makes private Ale-debauches in Ram Alley  
For fear of City-Serjeants Mace.  
Monsieur Adonis, now grown Old and feeble,  
Emulsions of another sort desires  
To cool his burning Bones, and gouty Fires.  
And He that flew at every Wench  
His Amo'rous Heat to quench,  
IS now enchanted with a vir'ulent Clap,  
And Money-less, wants cure for his Mishap:  
The Spark that made the Tavern's roar,  
The Tavern's cry, IS now grown poor;  
And well they may; for having spent  
The Purchase of his Father's toil,  
Vintner and Scrivener now divide the spoil.  
Nay, the nooz'd Batch'lour's at length come to 't;  
married, Henpeck't, and Cuckol'd too, to boot.  
Thus WAS was once, now 't IS, and IS  
Will be; for from such Hell's as These  
Vestigia nulla retrorsum.   

IV.  
Now bring it to the Female Sex,  
More ugly most, then made in Wax.  
If rude deformity fit on her Brow,  
Whether small Pox or Nature made her so;  
Or if before fifteen she lost  
The jewel Women so much boast;  
When none before could have reproached her  
Till such a One debauched her.  
Here WAS will still be IS: for once a Whore  
And always so▪ You find it by Jane Shore.  
Then for the foul, they'l never mend,  
Tho for a need they sometimes may befriend.  
When sbe's a Miss,  
To dally with and Kiss,  
And her Adorer thinks it much  
Her Glistering shoes the ground should touch:  
Then IS is IS. When laid aside,  
And forced to pawn her pride,  
She falls to Chamber-practice for her Bread,  
Then WAS prevails in IS's stead.  
But Oh! when Twenty comes to be Threescore;  
In IS she ends, and WAS will be no more.  
Thus WAS and IS  
Through Times Abyss  
In daily Motion range without control;  
As through the Deep the Restless Billows role.   
Lorenzo having thus made an end of reading his theme and his Comment, Don Quixote started briskly up upon his Legs, and squeezing Lorenzo by the Hand; Most generous youth, quo He, transported with admiration, Before George you are the best Poet that ever I met with, and deserve to be crowned, not with Lavender Cotton in Cyprus, nor with Neapolitan Roses at Gaietta, as a scurvy Poet said, whom heaven forgive; but with Leaves of gilded Laurel, and that by all the Free Grammar Schools in Europe. And may those Judges that deny this honour to your Merit, nere find a Bookseller to Print their Poems; may Phoebus tear out their Gut's to string his Harp, and may neither Melpomene nor Polyhymnie, nor any of the Nine ever give ear to 'em, let 'em bawl nere so loud i' their Prologues. At the same time Don Quixote besought Lorenzo, to give him a taste of his more lofty Contemplations, not doubting but that a Genius so accomplished, soard above the ordinary flight of Riddle me, Riddle me. And now to see the force of Adulation! that subdues both High and Low, Rich and Poor, Young and Old, Learned and Unlearned; for Lorenzo was so tickled, and so puffed up with Don Quixote's Flattery, that the Knight might have had his Heart out of his Body, had it been a Copy of Verses: So charming a thing is applause, tho from the Lips of Mad-men and Fools more foppish then themselves. So have we seen an Aspiring Poet, repeating whole Scenes of his high-flown Tragedies in an Ale-house, to next oars and Scullers, merely to have himself admired by those that understood him not. Lorenzo therefore not able to refuse Don Quixote any thing, to sweeten his Mouth, presented him with this following Macaroon, upon Pyramus and Thisbe.  

I.  
THE fair Virago thunder's down the Wall,  
That made a Breach to Pyramus's Breast;  
Wide as the far-fam'd Breadth of Priam's Hall,  
Where He Dardanian Youth was wont to Feast.  
Streight through the Breach the Son of Venus posted,  
To tell how Heroess for Love of Hero roasted.   

II.  
Broad was the Breach, and yet the Breach was narrow,  
Broad as Vespasian's Wall, and yet so streight  
As hardly to give entrance to a Sparrow;  
Or had I said a Fly, it had been right.  
For I Love's wonders sing, then wonder not,  
To hear such wonders by the Wondrous Cupid wrought.   

III.  
At this same broad, streight, spacious, Leetle hole,  
Through speaking Tube, the God of Love bespoke  
With a Loud Whisper, the Brave Hero's Soul;  
And drowsy Love, did sleeping Rage awake:  
The Hero rowz'd, twixt Love and Wrath provoked,  
And in his Anger wished the Challenge-bearer choked.   

IV.  
Mean while the Valiant dansel, doubly hot;  
With Love and Fury to her Ruin speeds:  
Her Rage remembers what Her Love forgot,  
And down drops Hero where the dansel bleeds.  
Ye Gods! the Story's done— and now what more?  
What more? no more, but only that the Story's o'er.   

The ELEGY.  
Here lies a Loving Pair,  
killed in despair,  
Yet unaware;  
How ere they fought with Chevie-Chace good Will,  
And fore-thought Malice for to Kill.  
One Sword, one Grave, one Garagantuan strain,  
Kills, 〈◇〉 Covers, 〈◇〉 and Restores  
'em 〈◇〉 Both 〈◇〉 to Life again.   
No sooner had Lorenzo made an end, but with his Hands uplifted to the Skies; blessed be the whole Catalogue of Hesiods Gods, quo Don Quixote, that among the whole crowd of Men of Rhapsody, have now brought me to the Quintessence of Rhapture itself.  
And now had our noble both Champion and Poet, been highly caressed and entertained at Don Diego's House, for four days together. At the end of which, calling to mind the old Proverb, Guests and Fish of three days old grow stale, he thought it high time to take his leave and shift his Pasture. To which end he summoned up all his Courtship, return'd a Thousand Thanks to Don Diego, ten thousand to his Lady, and five thousand to his Son; vowing withal, that nothing should have separated him from such good Entertainment and such good Company, but the Regret which he had to lye so long idle. He besought 'em therefore to pardon him, if he hearkened to the Duty of his Profession that called him to Action; beside that he had dreamed the night before of strange Adventures, that implored his Presence and Assistance. Don Diego and his Son Lorenzo applauded his Resolution; and so embracing each other they took their Leaves.   

CHAP. XIX.  
Of the Adventure of the Amorous Shepherd, and several other things.  
TRue it is that Sancho had no mind to change his Quarters; he liked good victuals, good Drink, and a good Bed in a Hospitable Gentlemans House, much better then to lie without Sheets, and to feed with the Beasts of the Field upon Grass and Herbs, in Deserts and Forrests; which made him very loth to remove. However to make the change of his Condition as comfortable as he could, he made such fair weather with the Gentlemans Butler, that he crammed his Wallet as long as he could thrust in a bit, resolving not to want as long as that would hold; for he had learnt of the Water-mans Mother, to lay up against a rainy day, wherever opportunity offered itself.  
And now Don Quixote full of soaring thoughts, and Sancho well Vittled, were jogging on fair and softly, and were got about four or five Miles from the Gentlemans House, when they overtook four travellers upon the Road, neither well nor badly Mounted. Two of the Men looked like Schollers, the other two like Husband-men. One of the foremost carried a Port-mantle behind him; the other had nothing of luggage but only a Couple of Foils and a pair of Pumps. As for the Husbandmen they had their Wallets full of Provisions, and seemed to have been at Market. But both Schollers and Farmers fell into the same Admiration as all others did, that ever beholded him, and were impatient to know who this same Iron Gentleman should be, that appeared in such a Figure and Posture so different from all other Mortal Men. Don Quixote saluted 'em, and perceiving that their Road lay the same way, he offered 'em his Company; however he desired 'em not to ride too hard for him, in regard his Horse was not much addicted to fly; and to oblige 'em the more, he discovered to 'em who he was, his Employment and Profession; that he was a Knight-Errant, one that traversed the World in search of Adventures, that he was called in his own Country Don Quixote de la Mancha, but that lately he had given himself the Title of the Knight of the lions. All this was Heathen Greek to the countrymen, but not to the Schollers, who presently perceived that the Knight had a plaguy hole in the fore part of his skull. Nevertheless they looked upon him with no less respect then Wonderment, and perhaps there might be something of fear i' the Case; for as he was Elderly, so was there, I must tell ye, both awe and terror in his Countenance. However it were, one of the Schollers, observing his distance; Sir Knight, said he, if your business be only to seek Adventures, I suppose you are never out of your way; and therefore if you will be pleased to go along with us, we will carry ye to a Wedding, one of the most Sumptuous and Magnificent that have been in these parts for many Years. Is there any Princess to be married here about, quo Don Quixote? No Princess, replied the scholar, but a Farmers Daughter, a most delicate buxom Girl as ever you saw, to a young Farmer, the Richest in all the country. The Preparations are extraordinary and altogether unusual, the Wedding being to be kept in a Meadow nere the Village where the Bride Lives, who by reason of her Beauty is called all over the country Maudlin the Fair, and he Martin the Brave. He is about two and twenty years of Age, and she draws toward eighteen. In a word they are well met, only some Fools that have all the Pedigrees i' the World i' their Heads, and will be prating, say, that Maudlin comes of a better Family then Martin: But that's nothing, wealth will hid small faults. This same Martin's as free as a Prince, and is resolved to spare for no cost. He will cover all the Meadow with one Arbour of Boughs to keep out the tell tale Sun: there shall be all the fiddlers and Minstrels i' the country: and all manner of Pastimes and Recreations, as dancing, Jumping, Hotcockles, moulding of Cockle bread, Stool ball and Cudgel Playing; there shall be all the Milk-maids, far and nere jogging their Breeches, with their Pails dressed up with Garlands and Silver Tankards. There shall be Hall and his Fellows to dance upon the Ropes, Lancaster and his Gang for juggling Tricks; and the German with his Cards. There will be all the Jack-puddings and Merry-Andrews to be got for Love or Money; and lastly there will be your Bear-Garden Exercises of all sorts, wherein you may come in for a share. But that which will surprise ye most, will be the appearance of the poor Disconsolate Nicka-Demus, whom they call Basil. Who the Devil's that Basil? quo Don Quixote. Why Sir, this Basil, quo the Student, is a rich Farmer too, that lives next Door to Maudlin the Fair. They two loved one another from Chicken's: But Maudlin's Father not believing him to be rich enough for his Daughter, when he was grown up, and that his Daughter began to be ripe, denied the young Lad his wonted access to his House, and to deprive Basil of all his hopes, huddl'd up a Match between Maudlin and Martin, who indeed is the more wealthy of the two; but in all other things no more to compare with Honest Basil, then a Sowgelder with a Lord of a Mannour. For he is by much the handsomer of the Two, and as active as a Norfolk Tumbler: For he will pitch a Bar the length of Cheapside; will kick ye a Camping-ball over salisbury Spire; he shall out play Lomax at Nine-Pins; he will run like a Greyhound in a Paddock Course, leap like a Cat, sing like a Lark, fiddle like a Barber, and for a Prize-Player there's no Body dares take him up.  
Had he no other Excellency then only that, replied Don Quixote, he's a Husband not only for Maudlin the Fair, but for Queen Guenever her self, were she now alive, in despite of Sir Lancelot or any other that durst oppose him. My Wife for that, cried Sancho, who till then had not opened his Lips, she's for every Body to mary according to their degree, according to the Proverb, Like Blood, like Good, like Age make the Happiest Marriage; and another of the same Nature, Every Sow to her own through; I say my friend Basil( for methinks I begin already to love him) shall mary Madam Maudlin, and so God give 'em joy: but the Devil take them that spoil a good Match between those that love one another.  
If all that fell in love one with another should mary, quo Don Quixote, what would become of the Authority of Parents? If young Girls might have their own wills in the choice of Husbands, we should have rare Breeds i'faith; while one married her Fathers Footman, another his butler, a third would run away with the Thrasher i' the Barn, for the sake of something she discovered through the Tatters of his Breeches: and a fourth that had studied Physiognomy, would bequeath her self to the next she met i' the Street for the love of his Roman Nose. For when the more terrestrial Part of Love overrules our Reason, we choose like blind Folks or People in the dark. Yet I must tell thee Sancho, there is not any concern of our own that requires us to muster up all our Wits together, so much as that of Marriage. For a Woman is no such sort of ware that a Man may be rid of when he pleases; sick or well she sticks to a Man; be she better be she worse, 'tis all one: Wedlock's a Gordian Knot, which only the Fatal Sisters can clip asunder with their soldiers. I could preach a longer Sermon upon Marriage, Sancho, added Don Quixote, but that I am so eager to know what the Gentleman has more to inform us in reference to the Story of this unfortunate Basil.  
All that I have to say, replied the Student, is this, that when Basil understood that Maudlin was to be married to Martin, he fell into a deep Melancholy, which might indeed be rather called a dozing frenzy; you might as well ha' pulled out one of his Teeth, as a word out of his Mouth; ask him a Question and he stars i' your face like a Man hared out of his sleep; he has never been seen so much as to smile since; he hardly eats enough to keep the Orifice of his Stomach open, drinks less; never goes to bed, but fetches short naps now and then i' the Fields upon the Grass: he sighs like the Hinge of a Door for want of oiling; sometimes he lifts his Eyes to the Heavens, then fixes 'em upon the Ground; and in either Posture stands as if he were in an ecstasy, like a mere Statue. In short he is reduced to that Condition, that we that are his Neighbours, believe, he will immediately expire so soon as he hears that Maudlin's married. High heaven forbid, quo Sancho; come, come, God that gives the Wound, will sand the Cure: who knows what will happen, I'me sure no body here. There are several hours between this and to morrow— The House that has been many years a Building may fall in a Moment. How many times have I seen it Rain and Shine at the same Instant? Many a Man goes sound to Bed, and is found dead the next Morning. Who is he, I pray, that can boast, he ever driven one nail into Fortune's Wheel? Let me see the Man and I'll give him a White Black-bird for his pains. As for a Woman's I and No, I would not undertake to put the point of a Needle between' em. But let me see the Man that will undertake to bauke Martin, and procure the fair Maualin's Affection for Basil, and I'll give him a Sack full of Benedictions: For Love as I have heard say, see's through Spectacles that make Copper look like Gold, and Cherry-stones like Pearls.  
In the Name of ill luck, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, whither art thou a running on with a pox to thee?— That cursed Clack of thine, when 'tis once got a Threading a Proverbs and Old Wives Sayings, not the Pope himself could hold it, tho' he had it under the Penalty of present Excommunication: I would fain know, Beast as thou art, what thou knowst of Fortune or any thing else, that thou shouldst thus go about to put a spoken in her Wheel? Nay, Sir, if ye don't understand me, replied Sancho, no wonder my Sentences are despised. But what's that to the Purpose! I understand 'em myself, and I'me sure, I ha' spoken nothing but what might become the Recorder of a City: But you love always to troll my Words and my Actions— troll ye Rascal! quo Don Quixote, control thou woud'st say, confounded Corrupter of human Speech, the Pestilence rot thy Tongue out for it.  
Death o' the Devil, quo Sancho, what makes ye so angry, Sir? You know that I was never bread up at Court, nor at the University, to understand when I murder a hard Word. Heaven's bless us would, ye have a Farmer of Westmerland speak like an Inn's a Court Gentleman? and yet you shall hear some of them too, that cannot forget the Twang of the Country where they were born. 'tis very true, quo the bachelor( for it seems of the two scholars, the one was a bachelor, the other a Student) and more then that, your meaner sort of People in Cities where they speak the most refinedly i' the whole Nation, never talk so politely, as the Gentry and Men of Breeding, that are always improving the Language. For my part, quo the Student, I ha' been bread a scholar, and know how to express myself in proper Terms. Indeed, quo the bachelor, you might ha' been a scholar and a Master of Art by this; but you minded the Fencing-School more then your Book. Hark ye, Hark ye, Mr. bachelor, quo the Student, y're the most mistaken Man i' the world, to think it a frivolous thing for a Man to learn to Fence. 'tis no fancy of mine, quo the bachelor, but a real truth, and easily proved; and tho' it were not so, yet I will undertake to make you confess it presently. You ha' got two Foils there; come but off your Horse, and try all your Fencing-School Tricks and Lessons, observe your Circles and Angles, yet for all that, if I don't with one device that Nature has taught me, show ye the Stars at noon day, I'll be bound to eat the Hilts. I defy that Man alive, that can force me to turn my back; on the other side I know not that Man living, but I'll undertake to make him give ground.  
As for turning your back, replied the Student, I ha' nothing to say to't: but it may be your bad fortune nere to stir your Foot from the place where you first set it, if you meet with a Man of skill. I'll try that, quo the bachelor; and with that leaping from his Horse, he snatched away one of the Student's Foils, and put himself into a Posture.  
Hold there, quo Don Quixote, I am Master of this School; there shall be nothing but fair play here— and with that presently alighting from Rosinante's Back, with his lance in his Hand, he posted himself in the midst between the two Antagonists, till both were ready. And then it was that the Student advanced briskly up to the bachelor, and the bachelor with fire in his Eyes ran furiously to meet the Student; while the two Farmers and Sancho kept their Saddles at a distance to behold the Combat.  
Infinite were the stoccado's, foines, thrusts, down right cleavers, and Back-blows which the bachelor offered at the Student; he laid on like a lion, and followed his strokes, as he had been a Bear-Garden Butcher. But the Student never quitting his ground, so well put by his Thrusts, and warded off his Backsword play, that he made him ever and anon kiss the Button of his Foil, as it had been a relic, but not with half the Devotion. In short the Student so exactly counted the Buttons of his Cassock, that he made the Skirts of his Doublet fly about like Fish Tails, the bachelor all the while not being able so much as to touch him. The Student struck off the bachelors Hat twice, made him puff and blow, and tired him out at length in such a manner, that out of mere rage and vexation, he took the Foil as he held it by the Hilt, and flung it, as one of the Farmers afterwards made Affidavit, above three quarters of a League; which Affidavit was thereupon fil'd, that Posterity might know how much strength goes beyond Art.  
And now the bachelor stood still a while to rest himself, when Sancho approaching him, Mr. person, quo he, henceforward take a fool's advice and never challenge a Man to Fence, but to pitch the Bar, or to a Match at Foot-ball; for you are well made for those sports: But for these Fencers, let 'em alone; I have heard say, they can hit the Eye of a Needle with the very point of their Weapons. I submit, quo the bachelor, nor do I repent to find that experience has convinced me of my error. And so saying the Student and he most lovingly embraced each other, and became as great Friends as ever.  
After that they all mounted again and hastened toward Madam Maudlins Village. But tho it were dark before they could reach it, there was such an infinite number of Lights hung abroad in every part, that the whole Compass of the Village seemed to be one sky, all full of Stars: Nor were their Ears less pleased with the delightful but confused sounds of several sorts of music. The Bells rang forward and backward; the Weights toated; the Flutes and Recorders Hoop't; the Fifes and Flagelets were merrily shrill; the Fiddles struck up; Tabors and Pipes put in for a share; nor would the small Morrice-bells be drowned, but gave notice that the Dancers were no less active with their Heels, then the Musicians with their Fingers. All which were but preparations for the Solemnities of the next day, destined for the Nuptials of Martin the Brave, and the Funerals of the unfortunate Basil.  
Don Quixote would by no means enter the Village, tho earnestly invited by the Student and the Farmers, and notwithstanding all that Sancho could do to persuade him. For he still alleged, that it was contrary to the Ancient Custom as Knight-Errants, who rather choose to sleep under Heaven's canopy, in the wild Forrests, then in soft Beds, tho under Roofs of Gold. Thereupon he betook himself to a private Covert for that Night, full sore against Sancho's will, who had not yet forgot the pleasing Convenience of Don Diego's House and Entertainment.   

CHAP. XX.  
Containing very strange Accidents, as well in reference to Martin the Brave, as Basilius the Poor.  
NO sooner had the Bright Aurora dismissed bright Phoebus from her dewy Arms, with the heat of his burning rays to dry up the Pearls that hung upon his dishevelled Locks, when the Incomparable Don Quixote, the irreconcilable Enemy of sloth, got up upon his Legs, and went to call his Squire. But finding him butted in a profound sleep, and snoring as if he had snoar'd for a Wager, reflecting upon his Condition; O happy Thou, quo he, above all that live upon the Face of the Earth: Thou that neither envying nor being envied, so quietly reposest in the sweet Arms of sleep, free from the Persecutions of enchanters and enchantments. Snoar happy Man, I say a hundred times snoar on: No jealousies of mistrusted Lady distracted thy Brains; no hundred Pounds to pay, nor foresight of inevitable want harass thy pleasing Rest; Ambition nere torments thy wakeful thoughts; the Pomp and Vanity of this frail World nere crucify thy thinking Soul; nor are thy Boundless Desires turmoyl'd and tossed with the continual Hurricanes of Fury and Impatience: Thy cares are narrowly confined only to see thy Grizzle fed, while the Charge of thy Person lies wholly upon my shoulders, that am thy Master, whom Nature and Custom obliges to make Provision for thy subsistence. The Servant sleeps securely while the Master has no leisure to close his Eyes, but must labour day and night to recompense his Services. Tho the Heav'ns refuse the Earth their generating due, and more impregnating showers, what minds the Servant the Afflictions of his Master to fill his craving Stomach, as well in time of Famine as Abundance?  
To all this Sancho, sleeping as sound as a tired Beagle in a Chimney Corner, and snoring like an Ostler, answered not a word; nor would he have waked so soon, had not his Master roused him with two or three good slaps with the end of his Lance; at what time Sancho opening his Eye-lids half way, after he had gaped and yaun'd and stretched forth his Legs as he lay upon his Back; Methinks, quo he, I smell a pleasing perfume of broiled Bacon, that strangely comforts my Nostrils this Morning— now would I give all the precious Odours of a Poet's Sweet-scented Mistress for one Rasher— Steaks, Steaks, by this round Belly o' mine— a Steak upon the Coals there's nothing like it— And by my Holiness, I'll speak one word for all, this must be a Generous Wedding it begins so savourily.  
Get up then Lazy Glutton, quo Don Quixote, get up— The Fox that sleeps till noon nere Feathers his Tongue— Time calls us to the Nuptials, and I long to see the disdained Basilius. Let him be hanged, replied Sancho, if he be poor; what should a poor fellow dream of laced Petticoats for? 'tis very true, let the Moon lose one Quarter and shee'l fall from the Clouds— But y' good faith Sir, my Opinion is this, that he who is poor should stay at home in his Cot, and not gad abroad to seek for Muskmelons i' the Sea. I'll hold ye one of my Arms, and that's a fools wager, that Mr. Martin the Brave is able to spend all Basil's Estate at a Breakfast, and be nere the worse; and d' ye think that Madam Maudlin will quit her Gold fringed Petticoats, her Necklaces of Pearl, her Rich Points, her Coach and Horses, to mary a Fellow with whom she must Knit, or make Childern's Coats for a Living. What signifies his Pitching the Bar, or his Art of Foyning? His capering the complete Dancing Master quiter through, will it pay for one Pint of Wine at the Tavern? If your Activities and your Accomplishments will not pass for current coin; if they won't go to Market and pay the Butcher and Poulterer, may they be the Lord of Nolands Portion for me: tho I confess that where they light upon a Man that has Money, they do very well together. He that builds upon a strong Foundation builds a good House; and Money is the best Foundation i' the World. For Heav'ns sake, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, prithee come to a Conclusion; I' my Conscience, were't thou let alone when thy Tongue's upon the Gallop, thou wouldst hardly allow thyself Time to eat or sleep. But that your Memory fails ye, Sir, replied Sancho, you would not ha' so soon forgot our last Agreement, that I should always talk till I thought fit to leave off, provided I said nothing in prejudice of my Neighbour, nor of Madam Dulcinea; how is it then that you who pretend to so much honesty, thus break your Contract? I remmeber no such Agreement, quo Don Quixote; and tho it were so, I never yielded thou shouldst hinder business with thy twattling— and therefore saddle Rosinante and follow me: For the loud music that fills my Ears, tells me there must be something more then ordinary.  
Thereupon Sancho said no more, but saddl'd Rosinante, and having laid on his own Pack-saddle upon Grizzle, away they both road softly toward the Arbour, where the first thing that blessed the fight of overjoyed Sancho, was a whole Steer, spitted upon a whole Elm; there were twelve Turn-broaches at each end to turn it, and the Fire that Roasted it you would ha' sworn had been a Mountain of Charcoal; over which hung no less then sixteen huge Iron Pots large enough to hold a dozen Legs of Mutton at a time, with their Colly-flowres to boot, and all full of Neats Tongues and Udders, pigeons and Bacon, Westphaly Hams, Pullets, and boiled Hanches, some quiter, some half ready, others newly put in. The Capons, Green goose, and Fowl of all sorts in Season; Lobsters, Sea crabs, Jowls of Salmon, Rands of Sturgeon were without number; heaps of Whitebread like the Cannon Bullets that lye at the Tower: the Cheeses piled up made such a beautiful Fortification, that he would gladly a' been the first that should ha' ventured his Body to assail it; Spice and Sugar lay ready for use in whole Chests, near to which stood lakes of oil to supply the waste of fried Meats and Sallat's: And then for Drink, Sancho  told no less then threescore Punchins, each containing thirty Gallons a piece; there were no less then twelve little Pigs with Puddings i' their Bellies, sowed up i' the Paunch of the Steer to give it a Relish: And to dress all this Provision no less then fifty Cooks besides Tenders. So that altho the Feast were not so Courtly nor Alamode de France, yet was there so much Plenty as might ha' served to ha' fed an Army.  
Sancho beholded all this with wonder and admiration, and almost enchanted with the variety and pleasure of the Show, would often smile and lick his Lips as he road along. The first Temptation that enthralled his senses were the Pots upon the Fire, next to that he became enamoured of the Punchins and dried Tongues, but the Scent of the Fritters and Tanseys put him into such an Agony, that he could no longer forbear, but addressing himself to one of the Cooks with all the smooth and hungry Arguments he had, besought him that he might only sop a Crust that he had in one of his Kettles. Friend, quo the Cook, nothing like Hunger rules within this place to day— thanks to the noble Martin for his Bounty— And therefore alight thyself, take a Ladle where thou canst find one, fetch out a whole Fowl or two, and much good do thee— I see nere a Ladle big enough, quo Sancho:' Slife quo the Cook, I never saw such a silly Fellow i' my life; and so saying, he took a new Frying-pan, and thrusting it into one of the great Caldron's, brought up three Pullets and two goose at one heave— Here friend, quo he, make a shift with that Scum to stay thy Stomach till Dinner. God reward ye, quo Sancho; but where shall I put it?— Put it, quo the Cook— take Frying-pan and all, there's no body will grudge it thee—  
At the same time Don Quixote, whose thoughts were otherwise employed, saw twelve young Farmers Sons i' their Holiday Jackets come riding in under the Boughs, upon Barbary Mares, both themselves and their Horses all bedecked and set forth with Madam Maudlins Favours. These twelve rid about the Meadow with their Prancing Mares, crying out, Joy and long Life to the Bridegoom and Bride, the Noble Martin the Brave, no less wealthy then Madam Maudlin is beautiful, and she the fairest i' the World. Which Don Quixote hearing, ah! quo he to himself, these People never saw my Dulcinea deal Toboso; for if they had, certainly they nere would cry up Madam Maudlin thus, like a Company of Buzzards.  
Soon after at several other parts of the spacious Arbour, entered a great Number of Dancers; and among the rest four and twenty young well favoured brisk Lads, in their Half-shirts of fine white Holland, with their Handkerchifes of vary coloured Silk wound about their Heads, and crowned with laurel and Chestnut-branches, carrying every one a Sword i' their Hands. These danced a Military dance, and skirmish'd one with one another in mood and measure, that Don Quixote was mightily taken with the sport.  
Nor was he less surprised at the sight of a Company of young Virgins none under fourteen, and none above eighteen, clad in slight Green, with their Hair partly filleted up with ribbons, and partly dangling loose about their Shoulders, wearing Garlands of Jasmine, Roses, and Woodbines. These tripped it about and danced a hundred jumping Galliards, to an Instrument like our Lancashire Horn-pipe, with that dexterity and nimbleness of Foot, as if they had every one been born in Wake-time under a May-pole. An other sort there were that could shake their Heels al-a-mode. This Company consisted of two Rows, of eight Nymphs apiece; the one lead by Cupid with all his accoutrements, the other by Money clad in a rich Vestment of Gold and Silver: The Nymphs that followed Love, were poesy, Wisdom, Nobility and Courage. Those that followed Riches, were Liberality, Reward, Treasure, and Peaceable possession. Before 'em there came a Castle drawn by four Savages, clad in Green, covered over with ivy, and grim surly Vizards upon their Faces, but so to the Life, that Sancho was almost scared to look upon 'em: Over the Portal of the Castle was written the Castle of Prudence. Cupid began the dance, and after a change or two, looking up toward the Castle, he made as if he would shoot at a Lady that appeared upon the Battlements, to whom he thus addressed himself.  
I Am Priapus, Not the Poet's God,  
But a Reality that Rules,  
With a much more majestic Rod:  
Know then 'tis I,  
And not a silly Boy,  
Makes Fools run mad, and wise Men Fools;  
Both Sexes are my Slaves, by Land and Sea,  
Fish, Fowl, Beasts, Men, all my Commands obey;  
No Fence will hold Bold Mortals, for my sake  
engaged the Laws of God and Man to break.  
They call me Love, but my true Name's Desire;  
( For true Love you must know  
Was banished hence, long, long a go.)  
And Salamander-like I live in Fire;  
For heat of Youth is that which gives me Life,  
And nothing cools me but the name of Wife.  
For would you know the only way to tame me,  
But mary once, and streight Enjoyment shames me.  
What do I hear then? some will cry;  
Oh! Who at first but I?  
But satisfied, like an Autumnal Plant,  
I streight run up to Seed and die.  
Cupid having thus shot his boult, and discharged an Arrow at the Castle, retired to give place to Money, who thus bespoke the same Lady.  
LOve is an Ass to me, for all his Boasting;  
'tis I sand Restless Mortals Roasting  
For utmost India's wealthy spoils;  
I make 'em hire their Souls and Bodies forth,  
To all the heats and toils  
Of wicked War; they hunt me round  
The Worlds vast Globe,  
And when they cannot find me above ground,  
Tear up the Bowels of their Mother Earth.  
I make the Crooked streight;  
The Lame to go upright;  
And with my scouring oar  
Can Wash milk-white the sooty blackamoor.  
Fools only wed for Love,  
But all my Matches th' Old and Wise approve:  
How simply looks the Man that wanteth Me?  
But that same Happy He,  
That does my stores control,  
He's the True Body, that has Life and Soul.  
Here Money retired, when Poetry stepping into her Place thus pleaded for himself.  

LAdy, I Money love, and love it not;  
For Poet's few are Rich, but thousands Poor,  
Yet in conceit above the Stars they Soare,  
Great Princes in their Cups not worth a Groat.   

But seeing without Money there's no sport,  
I sand ye these few Lines of Prayer and Praise;  
A Nuptial Song sometimes will do no hurt,  
If the Fair hand be Liberal that Pays.   

Remember Lady, tho, how the Case stands,  
'tis on a Poet you bestow, no Sot,  
But one that Immortality commands;  
And as you give, you live, or die forgot.   
This said, Poetry gave way, and Liberality advancing from Money's side, thus delivered her self.  

SOme Men upon their Wedding days seem mad,  
And make such Tearing shows with ribbons, Feasts,  
enameled Rings and bidden Guests;  
As if the Portion Bag no bottom had.  
So like his Spouses Maiden-head, at Night,  
Nere to return, the Money takes its flight.   

II.  
But tho' I'm liberal, give me the Man  
That steals to Church, and then steals home again.  
Yet if he needs must keep a Wedding day,  
To throw off some loose Corns  
Of his great Portion, let him stay  
Till that day three years, rather half a score,  
Untill he find himself secure from Horns,  
From Female Empire, and God knows what more   

Confounded Plagues of married Life;  
Then let him banquet with his Friends to Riot,  
To show, tho' married, yet he lives at Quiet,  
Lord of his own and Her; the Term to which  
All Husbands tend, but few go through stitch.   
In this manner all the Nymphs came forth and spoken their Verses i' their Turns, of which some were bad, some indifferent, as Lurkin danced: However among the rest, Don Quixote, who had a good Memory, remembered these, as being those that pleased him best.  
After every one of the Nymphs had spoken i' their Turns, they all intermixed and danced the Hay, and every time Cupid came against the Castle, he shot an Arrow at the Lady; but when Riches faced the Fortress, She threw several Guilded Balls over the Battlements.  
After they had thus danced while, Riches took a great Purse made of a Cats Skin, that seemed to be full of Money, and threw it against the Castle with such a force, that the Boards fell down, and left the Virgin without any defence. At what time Riches hasting to the Castle with her Train, threw a Gold Chain about the Virgins Neck, as it were to take her Captive; but then Love coming with his followers to her Rescue, there happened a pleasant dispute for some time, to the Flute and Tabor, performed with great agility and exactness, till they were at length partend by the Savages, and so the Show ended, to the great satisfaction, and with the high Applause of all the Spectators.  
When all things were over, Don Quixote asked one of the Dancers, who it was that had composed the Mask? who answered, that it was the Curate of the Village, that had an Admirable Wit for such Inventions. By the Mass, quo Don Quixote, he was more a Friend to Mr. Basil, then Don Martin; and I dare be bold to say, better understands a Play then a Prayer Book: for he has made Martin pay with a vengeance for Basils Activity.  
Body a' me, quo Sancho, who heard the discourse, The Kings my Cock— I am for Don Martin. Sancho, quo Don Quixote, when wilt thou learn to dissemble; thou wilt always, do what I can, discover thyself to be a Rascal, that is, one of those that always hold of the winning side. I know not what I am, quo Sancho, but this I know that I shall never skim out of Basils Pot, what I ha' Ladell'd out of my Master Martin's cauldron; and so saying, he shew'd the Knight his Panfull of goose and Hens, and at the same time fell on with his wonted Appetite, crying out, a Fig for Basils Activities— So much as the Lands worth, so much the Mans worth, and so much as the Mans worth, so much the Lands worth. My old Grandmother was wont to say, there were but two Progenies i' the World, Have much, and Have little, and she had always the greatest kindness for the Family of the Have much's. And now Sir at this day, your Physician had rather choose the Pulse that has, then the Pulse that knows; and an Ass laden with Gold, looks better then a Horse with fine Trappings: And therefore I say again, I am clearly for my Master Martin, the very Scum of whose Pot is nothing but goose, Hens, Hares and Coneys; but as for Basil, by what I find, I question whether he were born to the worth of a Skillet. I' the Devil's name, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, when dost mean to make an end? Just now; I ha' done, quo Sancho, because I find ye begin to be in a Passion; for otherwise I had cut myself out work enough for three days together.  
Ay, quo Don Quixote, I know thou hast a restless Tongue of thy own; I wish to Heaven I may but see it fairly pulled out of thy Chaps before I die. i'faith, Sir, quo Sancho, according to the Courses we take, I may have Tongue little enough one of these days, when you shall have your satisfaction to see my Mouth full of could dirt; and then 'tis a thousand to one you may never hear me speak more till the end of the World, at least till the day of Judgement.  
Grant it should be so, replied Don Quixote, thy silence i' thy Grave will never recompense for thy past vexation, and the future plaguing of my Ears before thou diest; besides, that by the Course of Nature I should die before thee; and while thou liv'st, I am sure thou't never leave prating, neither sleeping nor drinking. In good faith, Sir, as for which of us two shall die first, quo Sancho, I know not what to say to't: There's no trusting to that Madam Barebones, I mean Death. She devours the Lamb as well as the Sheep; and as I have heard our Vicar say, all the Treasures of the Great Turk won't bribe her; but she tramples o'er the Palaces of Kings as well as the lowly Cottages of the Poor. She's a Lady that has a vast power, and not so much as one grain of Civility; neither is she at all squeamish or queasy Stomach'd; she devours all, swallows all, and fills her wide Satchel with all Ages, all Sexes, and all Conditions, whether Turks or Christians. She's no Mower that sleep's a holidays; she's always at work, and cuts down the Green as well as the Ripe Corn. She toils day and night, she swallows without chewing, and crams her ungodly Maw, as if she had a Greedy-worm in her Guts; and though you can see no Belly she has, yet such a fatal dropsy haunts her, that her Thirst is never satisfied, but she's alway swilling and guggling the Lives of Men, and it goes down with her like Mothers Milk.  
Stop there Sancho, cried Don Quixote, hold while th' art well, for certainly thou hast spoken of Death in thy Rustical Phrase, as much as some Preachers could ha' done. Hadst thou but Learning to thy Natural Parts, thou mightst turn Itinerant Minister, and appear i' the Pulpit. He preaches well that lives well, quo Sancho, I know no other Philosophy: No, no, quo Don Quixote, thou hast knowledge enough— only I wonder at one thing, since the fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom, how thou shouldst come to be so Wise, thou that art more afraid of Famine, then of all the Deities i' the World. Good my Lord Shudge, quo Sancho, do you censure your Knight-Errants, and let other Men alone with their fears and their Courage; and yet for all that I'de ha' ye to know I am as genteel a fearer of God, as any of my Neighbours; and so, Sir, here's to ye out of this Pan six go-downs upon Rep— The rest are all idle words of which we must give an account— and so saying, he made a second attack upon his Provant, with that Mettle, as began to sharpen his Master's Appetite; who doubtless would have bore him Company, had he not been prevented by that which necessity constrains us forthwith to set down i' the next Chapter.   

CHAP. XXI.  
Containing a farther Relation of Don Martins Nuptials, and several other strange Accidents.  
WHile Don Quixote and his Man Sancho were thus Parlying together, a strange Confusion of noises and voices reached their Ears, but none that were other then the signs of Joy and Acclamation. Thereupon they discovered at a distance the Bride and the Bridegroom, hasting to the Arbour, accompanied by the Curate, their Relations and Friends, besides a great number of People, both of the same and the neighbouring Villages, all i' their Holly-day Habits, with the music playing before' em.  
So soon as Sancho saw the Bride, y' good faith, quo he, this girl mun be no Country Lass— wa is me, she's not dressed like a Farmers Daughter, but like some rich Aldermans Heiress— Three rows of Pearl about her Neck, and a Glaring Thing behind, by this good Light— Look, look, Sirs, what a Gown she has on, ye cannot see what 'tis made on for Lace, but I warrant 'tis thirty pild Velvet— Bless us what a Petticoat's there! see how 'tis bedaub'd! 'twas never bought for vorty good Shillings I dare say— Hoy-da! and what are those things about her Arms?— nothing but Gold— perfect Gold as I'm a Sinner— and what's that glitters a little lower?— Diamonds— blow me down— they must be Diamonds— by the Mass she cost more the Rigging then I am worth— had they been black Beads or Scotch Pearl, I could a' matched 'em in our Town— And now yonder again, what fine Locks the Quean has got! for if they be true I never saw longer nor whiter i' my Life. What Fillets of Pearl too she has upon her Head! Cuds-niggers— if every Pearl ben't as white as a Sillabub— Heaven's how she's bedizond— she glissons from top to to like a Looking glass, and bows under the weight of her Beads and her Jewels like a Laden Datetree— I' my Conscience she would pay a Broken Bankers debts, and set him up again.  
Don Quixote, with all his Gravity, could not choose but smile to hear how Sancho set forth the Lady after his Rural manner; for next to his own Dulcinea, he thought her one of the fairest Women that ever he saw. However 'tis said, at that time she looked a little Palish, which might be perhaps for want of sleep. For Maids that are to be married next morning, never go to Bed the Night before, which is all time little enough to dress themselves in Quill for the next Nights undoing.  
In this posture all the select Company made toward a kind of a Scaffold, set up a' one side the Meadow, and covered with Boughs, where the Ceremony was to be performed, and where they might with most convenience see all the sport. But they were no sooner come to the foot of the Scaffold, but they heard behind 'em a hideous outcry, and a mournful voice crying out, Hold— Hold— a little, be not so hasty— At which words, turning about their Heads, they perceived a Person clad in a long black Jacquet, bordered with Crimson, powdered with flames of Fire; upon his head he wore a Garland of Cyprus, and in his hand he carried a good big Cudgel, headed with an Iron Spike. So soon as he drew near, they all knew him to be Basil, and every one thought there would some mischief be done, seeing him come neither welcome nor looked for. At length he arrived weary and breathless; and as he was placing himself just before the Couple that were to be married, he strook the Iron end of his Cudgel into the Ground; and then fixing his Eyes upon the Bride, turning pale and trembling at the same time, with a hoarse and wheazing voice; Ingrateful Maudlin, quo he, that hast forgot thy plighted Troth to me alone; Thou that by the Laws of God and Man art obliged to Wed no other but myself, while I am Living, Hast thou e're found me unfaithful? and all the while I stayed for Time and Diligence to better my Fortune and render me a Match more equal for thee; did ever I solicit dishonourable favours to the prejudice of thy virtue? What urges thee then, thus to falsify thy word, and go about to give my Right to another, whose Riches only make him Fortunate? But let him enjoy his Felicity, since 'tis thy pleasure; I'll not be long the Obstacle of his Happiness; these Hands of mine, at the expense of my own Life, shall give him the peaceable Possession of my Claim— Live wealthy Martin, live Ingrateful Maudlin; and let the poor unfortunate Basil die, whose Poverty has clipped the wings of his Felicity, and laid him in his Grave; and so saying, he drew forth a short Sword that was cased in the Stick, and setting the Pommel of it to the ground, fell upon the Point in such a manner, that it came out all bloody at his Back, and there lay poor Peel garlic, weltering of a sudden in his Blood. Presently Basil's Friends running to the doleful spectacle, set up their Throats and made most hideous Ohones and Lamentations over him. Don Quixote also alighting from his Horse, hastened to the bleeding carcase, and perceiving poor Basil yet to breath, made use of all his Compassion to comfort him. Upon which his Friends finding there was Life in a Muscle, would fain have drawn the Sword out of his Body, but the Curate would not permit 'em, till he had confessed him; alleging that the drawing out of the Sword would be his immediate Death. But then it was, that Basil as it were coming a little to himself, with a languishing utterance, and fetching a deep sigh; Where is the cruel Maudlin? said he, now, now at this last gasp of my Breath, would she but now vouchsafe to give me her Hand, and aclowledge her self to be my Lawful Spouse, contented would I then expire, and think myself rewarded amply for the pains and torments that I suffer. One poor syllable does it; say but Yes, and then—  
Here the Curate interrupting him,  told him he had now no leisure to think of worldly pleasures, that his time was but short, and therefore admonished him to reconcile himself to Heaven, and beg pardon for the Desperate Act he had committed. To which Basil replied, that he knew the Desperateness of his Condition; however that he was resolved to die despairing, unless Maudlin would condescend to grant him the favour which he demanded; which done, he would submit to any thing they should require from him. Upon which Don Quixote cried out with a loud voice, that Basil requested nothing but what was just and reasonable, and a thing so much the more easily to be granted, in regard it would be no less honour for Martin to mary Basils Widow, as true a Virgin as she was before, then if he had received her at her Fathers hands, since her saying an inconsiderable Yes, made no Distinction 'twixt Basil's Nuptial Bed and Grave.  
Poor Martin, who saw what was done, and heard what was said, was in a perk of Troubles, not knowing what to say or what to think. However Basil's Friends attacked him severely, and besought him to give way that his Bride might be married for a moment to their dying Friend, if it were but only to save his Soul, in danger of being eternally lost, should he die impenitent; and so forcible were their Importunities, that Martin was content, provided Maudlin could be persuaded to it; since 'twas but delaying for a minute or two the Accomplishment of his own desires. Thereupon they all made their addresses to Maudlin, some with Tears in their Eyes, others with the most obliging Arguments their Pity could invent, urging withal, that it could be no way i' the world to her prejudice, to mary a Man whom Death would Divorce the next minute from her. But whether it were want of Breeding, or scruple of Conscience, Maudlin would make no answer, but stood like an Idol, speechless and motionless, not knowing what to resolve; and how long she would ha' stood in that manner like Lots Wife, no body can tell, had not the Curate, who had the Padlock of her Conscience, come to her, and bid her determine something or other; for that Basils Soul was just ready to depart, and could not stay for her Brown study's. But then the poor Virgin trembling every joint of her, with a slow place drew near where Basil lay, with his Eyes fixed, his Breath almost failing him, and making the World believe he would die like an Infidel. At length Maudlin standing close by the dying Lover, bowed her self down, and made him a sign to give him her Hand, as not being able to speak. Then Basil opening his Eyes, and fixing 'em in a Languishing Posture upon Maudlin, Ah, Maudlin, said He, where was all thy Pity flown before? Now 'tis too late thou comest, bringing thy pity rather to make sure work, as if thou wert afraid my timorous hand had falter'd. Now I have no more strength left me, for a moment to enjoy the honour of being thine, and nothing can arrest the pains that sand me to my Grave, now, now thou comest. However since 'tis only for a moment and no longer, abuse me not a second time; speak not like one constrained, but sincerely aclowledge me thy Husband; since 'twould be now an unworthy piece of inhumanity, considering the Condition to which thou hast reduced me, to play the Counterfeit with Me, expiring Me, whom thou hast always found so faithful and so true. This He spoken with such a force upon himself, and such a languishing utterance, that there was not one that heard him, but believed each word he spoken would have been his last. And now he seemed to faint away, when Maudlin with Blushing Cheeks, yet with a seeming cheerful Countenance, and a kind of violence upon her self, taking the unfortunate Lover by the right Hand: No force, said she, can work upon my will; I give thee here the freest hand I have, to be thy Wedded Wife, and receive thine upon the same account, if by thee as freely given, and in an undisturbed condition of thy sense and judgement. I give thee mine sincerely, replied Basil, and with an Intellect as merely as ever Heaven bestowed upon me; and so I vow myself thy Wedded Husband. And I receive thee so, cried Maudlin, whither long lived, or whither forthwith hurried from my Arms into thy Grave: Now die in Peace, and I wish thee a good Passage.  
My thinks, quo Sancho, this young Man talks a little too much to be wounded to Death; but if he be so near it as you say he is, I would advice him to leave off his wooing, and to mind the health of his Soul, which by what I can find, is much more vigorous in his Tongue then in his Teeth.  
Now after Basil and Maudlin had entered into this solemn League and Covenant one with another, while yet their Hands were clasped together, in steps the Curate, willing to content the poor dying Basil to the utmost of his Power, and no less mortified with the sight of such a sad Spectacle, with Tears in his Eyes gives 'em both his Benediction, beseeching God, withal, to have Mercy upon the Soul of the new married Man. Who had no sooner received the Nuptial Blessing, but he started upon his Feet, and with an unexpected Activity drew out the Sword that had been sheathed in his Body. At this, all the spectators were amazed; and some of the simpler sort cried out a Miracle, a Miracle. No, no, quo Basil, with a voice as sound as a crier of a Court, and louder then the rest, No Miracle, but only a Trick of Agility. Whereupon the Curate more astonished then all the rest, laid both his Hands upon the Wound, and after he had felt the place, he found that the Sword had no where pierced the Cunning Basils Body, but only a Tin Pipe full of Blood ingeniously fitted to his Ribs, and prepared for his design. In a word the Curate, Monsieur Martin, and his Friends, acknowledged themselves to be fairly cheated. As for the new married Woman, she was so far from being concerned, that hearing 'em say that the Marriage was fraudulent, and easily dissolved, she openly declared, that she would abide by what she had done, and confirm it anew; which made some People think that it was a Plot laid between Basil and Her.  
Monsieur Martin and his Friends enraged to be thus chous'd of a Wife and a Wedding, were all for immediate revenge, and drawing their Swords, fell upon Basil in great fury. But Basil found as many Friends as his baffled Rival; so that in a Trice there had like to ha' been a pretty battle. But Don Quixote, seeing the Confusion that was like to happen, presently remounting Rosinante, with his Lance couched, and covered with his Shield, threw himself between the Combatants, and put a present stop to their fury, while Sancho retired to the Place where he had had his dainty Morsels, believing that would be a Sanctuary to which they would all give respect and veneration, in the height of their Malice. In the mean time Don Quixote turning sometimes to one side, sometimes to the other, Hold, Gentlemen, Hold, cried he, and harken to Reason, whose Interpreter I am. Know then there's no reason i' the World to revenge upon a Lover, the Deceits of his Love: For as in War, so in Love, Stratagem's are always allowed. Madam Maudlin belonged of right before to Basil, and Basil to Madam Maudlin; Heaven itself had so ordained it; Don Martin is Rich, and may meet with Wives enough, that will be glad of his Estate, as handsome as she; as for Basil, that has but one Sheep, tho he has no reason to complain, 'tis unjust to deprive him of his single delight: and therefore let no Man sunder those whom God has joined; for here I solemnly declare the first that shall be so bold as to attempt it, must wrest this Lance from my invincible Hand; and so saying he shook his Spear with that remarkable force and vigour, that he cast a sudden terror into all that beholded him. So that Don Martin's Choler changing at an Instant into an immediate scorn of Madam Maudlin's Contempt, he resolved to forget her; which was the Grand reason that upon the easy persuasions of the Curate, who was a Person of singular Prudence, both He and all the rest of his Party put up their Swords, more offended at Maudlins Inconstancy, then Basils Policy. Don Martin also reasoned thus discreetly with himself; that if Maudlin loved Basil when she was a Maid, 'twas most probable that her love would have still continued, and he should have only been a married cuckolded; so that instead of being Wedded to her, he had more cause to thank Heaven that he was so fairly rid of her. pacified with these Considerations, Don Martin was so far from resenting the Accident, that he was resolved the Feast should go forward, as if it had been his own Concern.  
But Basil and Maudlin, and all that were of his Party, resolved to retire to Basils Village: For discreet and virtuous mediocrity is no less admired and honoured by her followers, then the rich are applauded by their crowds of Flatterers. Basil also and his Companions invited Don Quixote along with them, as looking upon him to be a Person of Quality and Worth; who was easily persuaded to follow those whose part he had taken.  
But as for Sancho, not to lye, he followed his Master with a sorrowful heart. His Soul was in a Mist, and his disconsolate breast could admit no Consolation, to find that he must abandon the Good cheer of Don Martins Feast that lasted till night. Full of grief and melancholy therefore he Shuffl'd after Rosinante, seeing himself so unfortunately constrained to leave behind him the Flesh Pots of egypt; which however he carried away in his mind, while the scum of Don Martins Kettle, that lay yet unconcocted in his Stomach, represented to his thoughts the abundant happiness he had lost.   

CHAP. XXII.  
Of the unheard of Adventure of the Cavern of Montesinos, which Don Quixote accomplished with great success.  
THe new married Couple thought nothing too good for Don Quixote, whom they made most highly welcome, in acknowledgement of his readiness to defend their Cause, honouring his Prudence no less then his Valour, while they ascribed to him as well the Eloquence of a Cicero, as the Courage of a Guy of Warwick. Sancho also repair d all his Losses, during the three days that his Master stayed, and being plentifully recruited came to his good humour again. Basil also declared that Madam Maudlin had no hand in his Plot, but that it was a mere contrivance of his own, which he had only imparted to some of his Friends, that they might assist in case of necessity to make good his amorous Fraud. To which Don Quixote answered, that there was nothing to be called Fraud, which tended to a virtuous end; of which nature was Matrimony, where both parties had a real Affection for each other, there being but one Inconvenience that annoys it, Poverty and Necessity. For Love is altogether Gladness, Comfort, and Content, especially where the Person loving enjoys the Object of his Affection; a tranquillity that has only for its professed and open Enemys, Penury and Hunger. All which he spake, with a purpose merely to advice his Friend Mr. Basil, to quit his Youthful Sports and Exercises, which tho they won him Reputation, brought him no Money to make the Pot boil, and to attend the getting of a Livelihood by fair and honest ways, that never fail the Industrious. Then pursuing his discourse, The Man that is Poor and Honest, quo Don Quixote( if a Poor Man may be called Honest) has a Jewel in having a virtuous Wife; which he that takes from him, dishonours her, and takes away his Life. The Woman that is fair and honest, when her Husband is Poor, deserves to be crowned with Garlands of Conquest and triumph: Beauty attacks the Good will of all that behold it; the Royal Eagles and high soaring fashions stoop to her pleasing Lure: But when they find it in necessity; the Kites, Crows, and other Birds of Prey are continually fluttering about it: Which she that can withstand with an Invincible Constancy, deserves to be the Glory of her Sex.  
Observe most worthy Basil, farther added Don Quixote; It was the Opinion of a Wise Man, whose name I have forgot, that there was but one good Woman in the World, and he advised every Husband to think his own Wife was she, as being the only way to live content. For my part I am a bachelor, nor have I hitherto had any Inclination to mary; and yet methinks if my advice were asked, I could tell another how he should choose a Wife. I would advice him in the first place to consider her Reputation rather then her Fortune: For a virtuous Woman does not acquire a good Name by her being so, but by her appearing so. For the least liberty that a Woman takes in the sight of the World, does her more injury then all the looseness she can practise in secret. If a Man finds her good, 'tis an easy thing to preserve her so; but if she come bad to him at first, 'tis a difficult thing to mend her; in regard 'tis almost an impossible thing to pass from one extreme to another; I say almost impossible, for I do not hold it altogether so.  
All this while Sancho had listened with an unspeakable deal of Patience, but being no longer able to contain himself; My Master, quo he, muttering to himself, when I fall upon such discourses as these, was wont to tell me, that I should tie a Pulpit at my Back, and carry't about wi' me, to preach my Conundrum's in: but I'm sure when he begins to thread Sentences, and talk Sparables, he had more need of a good wagon load for his own share. The Devil take him for a Knight-Errant, I think he's one of the seven Wise Men; by my Soul, at first I thought he had understood nothing but Knight-Errantry; but upon my Life, I find he understands all things; there's no Water so hot, but he can put his Finger in it.  
Sancho, ●uo Don Quixote, overhearing him, what's that thou art grumbling at? I say nothing, quo Sancho, neither do I grumble at any Body; only I was saying to myself, that I wish I had heard your Worship preach this Doctrine before I married, I might ha' been now like the unyoak'd Ox, to lick myself where I pleased; or like the Ass at her ease, to wallow where I thought fit. Why, quo Don Quixote, is my Nighbour Teresa so bad? Not so very bad neither quo Sancho, nor yet so good as I would have her. Fie Sancho, replied Don Quixote, thou dost not do well to speak ill of thy Wife, who is the Mother of thy Children. There's no love lost between us replied Sancho, she speaks ill of me sometimes, especially when she thinks I ha' been a Swan hoping; and then Satan himself would not endure her maundering.  
Well, to be short, three days did our Adventurers stay with the new married Couple, where they were feasted like the Guards of the Kings Body. At the end of which Don Quixote requested the Curate to provide him a Guide that might conduct him to the Cave of Montesinos, otherwise called the Devil's Arse i'th Peak, which he had a strange desire to be Romaging, and to see with his own Eyes all the wonders that were reported of it by the Country People. Thereupon the Curate promised that one of his Kinsmen should go along with him, who was a very good Grammar scholar, and one that had a great kindness for Books of Knight-Errantry; and that he should carry him to the very Hole of the Cave: moreover that he would be very good Company for him, and would show him all the Springs of the Lake Ruydera, so famous in those parts.  
In a short time the young Man came, upon a sorry mere that was with fool, having his Saddle covered with an old Carpet, for the better grace of the Business. Thereupon Sancho saddled Rosinante, got ready his own Grizzle, filled both his own Wallets, and the Students to boot; at what time Don Quixote taking leave of the Company in most solemn Manner, they all mounted and set forward toward the wonderful Cave.  
As they road along Don Quixote asked the young scholar, what Employment he followed, and what was his Profession. To which the scholar answered, that his Profession was Humility; and that he spent his time in making Books for the Press; which were not only profitable for himself, but of great advantage and benefit to the public: Particularly that he had one Book that would come forth the next Term, a very large volume in Folio, entitled Calliopes Cabinet, illustrated with figures and Brass Cuts, wherein all Gentlemen, of all Qualities and Degrees, might be enform'd how to order themselves at Feasts, Funerals, and all heroic Meetings, and how all Degrees are to take Place, with a Dictionary of Herald-Terms. I have another almost as ready as that, quo he, called Mr. I is Legacy to his Friends, containing seven hundred fifty six Instances of Gods Providence, in and about Sea Dangers and Deliverances, with the Names of several that were Eye-witnesses to many of 'em; for the Conversion of Seamen. I have another called Ovids Metamorphoses transposed: This is a new and rare Invention, for that by means of History intermixed with Fable, I tell ye who Merlin was, give ye an account of the Pinner of Wakefield, make St. Winifreds Well agree with Salmaciss's Fountain; the Cumaean Sybil's Cave with Oukie Hole; St. Vincents Rock with the Story of Lychas: The Floating iceland in Scotland I compare with the iceland Ortygia, and tell ye that Silbury Hill was Misenus's Tomb; I omit not the Whispering place at gloucester, nor to give ye the true Original of Stonehenge; a work full of Metamorphoses and Allegories, as well for Diversion as Instruction. I have another called a Supplement to Polydore Virgil, a work that shows the great Pains and Learning of the Compiler. For example, you shall not find there who was the first Man i' the World that was troubled with a Catarrh, nor who was the first that was Syring'd for the Neapolitan disease, which I make out as clear as the Sun by the authority of five and twenty Testimonies living at the same time. Sometimes I Compose Godly Manuals of Devotion, and directions for receiving the Communion, for the peddlers to spread about the Country, besides what I present myself to such as I hear to be People devoutly given. And now I leave you to judge, Sir, whether I don't take a world of pains, and whether these Books may not be of great Benefit to the public.  
Sancho having listened all this while with great attention; So God direct your right Hand, quo he to the scholar, in all the Rest of your Transcriptions, I beseech ye Sir, for I find you know all things, can you tell me, who was the first Man i' the world that scratched his Head? for I am apt to think, 'twas our first Father Adam. Y' are i' the right on't, quo the scholar; for he being the First Man i' the World, without doubt had a Head and Hair upon it, which as it could not choose but itch sometimes, so he could not choose but scratch it. Very good, quo Sancho; but can you tell me who was the first Vaulter i' the World; In truth quo the scholar I cannot resolve ye at present, but I'll turn over my Books, and tell ye the next time we see one another, for I hope this will not be the last time. No, no, Sir, quo Sancho, I'll spare ye that labour and resolve the Question myself. The first Vaulter i' the World was Lucifer, when he was thrown out of Heaven, and jumped into Hell.  
You say very true, quo the scholar, what a Dunce was I not to think on't. Hang him, quo Don Quixote, this Answer is none of his own. Body a' me, quo Sancho, don't you believe that Sir; for if I fall a questioning and answering once, I'll undertake to hold on till this day seven-night; let me alone to put idle Questions, and answer Extravagancies, without the help of my Neighbours. Thou giv'st 'em a better Name then thou art ware of, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, for there are some People that spend a world of Time, and labour infinitely in the search of Trifles, that are not worth a button when they come to be known.  
In these and such like pleasant Discourses they spent the day, and at night they lodged in a Village, from whence the scholar  told 'em, 'twas not above six miles to the Cave, and where it would be necessary for Don Quixote to provide good store of Ropes if he intended to see the Bottom? Let that be your care Sancho, quo Don Quixote, for I'm resolved to see the Bottom, tho' it carry me to the Suburbs of Hell itself. Thereupon Sancho went and bought a hundred Fathom of new strong well twisted Hempen merchandise, and the next day by two a Clock i' the Afternon, they arrived at the Mouth of the Hole, which was very large and spacious, but so surrounded with Bushes, Nettles, Burdocks, and other Weeds, that you could hardly come at it, as if Nature had set a Guard about it, or the Devil had hide it for a Pit-fall to have caught Don Quixote himself.  
Don Quixote was no sooner arrived, but he presently alighted, as did the other two with the same swiftness; and Don Quixote was in such hast, that he immediately set the Student and Sancho to fasten the Ropes together, which while they were a doing; Sir, quo Sancho to his Master, consider what ye do, look before ye leap, and don't be so hairbraind in one of your migraines, to bury yourself alive: Don't put yourself Dingle dangle you don't know where, as they hang Bottles in a Well to keep the Wine cool. Consider what business you have to do there, and whether you have any acquaintance in Hell that may do you a kindness, should the worst come to the worst. Prithee friend bind me, and hold thy Tongue, quo Don Quixote, or bind on, and talk on; but be sure bind me fast; bind fast, and find fast— He's a Man a' parts can do two things at once— and who knows, but that this Adventure was reserved only for Me? Theseus went down into Hell— and Pious Eneas went down into Hell— and Pious Don Quixote will go down into Hell— bind me I say.— Pray, Sir, quo the Student, when y're in, look well about ye— let nothing scape your Eye, nor your Memory that's worth recording; there may be many things proper for the next Edition of my Metamorphoses. Let him alone, quo Sancho, the Game's all in his own hands, and he'l play it well I warrant ye.  
Don Quixote finding himself well bound,' Slife quo he, what ha' we forgot?— I should have had a little Bell tied to my Girdle, to give ye notice still where abouts I am;— but since there's no Remedy, welcome what falls; and so saying, he fell upon his Knees, and after a short Prayer to Heaven for success and assistance in an Adventure so perilous, at least to all outward appearance, up he got again, and then fixing his Eyes toward Toboso, with the same devotion as the Turks look toward Mecca, with a loud voice, O thou, said he, that govern'st all my Actions and most secret Thoughts, Illustrious and Matchless Dulcinea deal Toboso, if it be possible for the prayers of thy All daring Champion to approach thy Ears, by the Charms of thy Celestial Beauty I conjure thee to vouchsafe me thy Protection and thy Favour, so requisite to fortify my Courage at this time of need. I am just now going to engulf, precipitate, and cast myself headlong into this unknown Abyss, merely out of an Ambition to do something worthy thy Renown, and to let the World know, there is nothing impossible to him that adventures under the Banners of thy Beauty.  
This said he approached the Mouth of the Hole, and finding it all overgrown with Weeds, Brakes and Bushes, he drew his Sword and began to cut his way through. But strange to tell, he had not struck above four or five blows, before he had raised such an infinite number of Crows and Flittermice about his Ears, that he was not able to stand upon his Legs, such was the Impetuosity of the Winged Tempest that overwhelmed him to the Ground; so that had he not been better grounded in Christianity then to be superstitious, he had certainly taken it for a bad Omen, and desisted from his enterprise. But he rose again with an undaunted Courage, and finding that he had put all the Birds to flight, he committed himself to the mercy of the Rope and his two Friends; who serving instead of a Custom House Crane, let him down gently, having wound the Rope, Wine-Porter like, about the Body of a small three that grew close by, to have the more command of their weight. At what time Sancho, seeing him going; Heaven, quo he, prosper thee, and our Lady of Loretta, and the holy Martyr St. Thomas a Becket go along with Thee, thou mirror of Chivalry, and Cream of all Knights-Errant. There goes the Hackster of the World; Arms all of Steel, and Heart of Brass— Omnipotence preserve thee, and bring thee back again sound Wind and Limb, once more to see that Comfortable Sun by thee contemned, to court Infernal Darkness, and gratify the Maggot's of thy Brain, that sand thee upon a sleevless Errand to the Devil. To all which the scholar said Amen.  
But Don Quixote, who neither minded nor heard their Prayers, cried out aloud to give him more Rope, upon which the scholar and Sancho were so free of their Hemp, that they never left off, till they had let down full out a hundred Fathom of Cord; and then they began to consider whether to hawl up again or no. However they thought he must have some time to look about him, and so they stayed half an hour, which being expired, not able to endure any longer delay, they began to heave at the Capstall; but finding the Rope to come so easily at first, without any stress or weight at all; Well— quo Sancho, farewell Knight-Errantry— now has some damned Devil or other got my Master a Pick back, and is running away with him, Sword and Buckler and all— and with that he burst forth into a shower of Briny Tears, and fell a hawling like mad for farther satisfaction. But after they had pulled up about eight and twenty Fathom, they began to feel Ponderosity, which revived their drooping Spirits like a noggin a' Brandy.  
When they came within ten fathom of the Ropes end, quo Sancho to the scholar, hold fast, and out of the abundance of his Joy, running to the mouth of the Hole, Cud's life, Sir, said he, we thought y' had been pawned for the reckoning. To which Don Quixote answered not a word; and when they had drawn him quiter up, they found that his Eyes were quiter shut, as if he had been in a profound sleep: presently they laid him upon the ground, and unbound him, yet withal their moving and stirring him he never made any sign of waking. In which Condition they turned him, and rolled him, and tumbled him about so long, that at last he began to come to himself, rubbing his Eyes and stretching forth his Limbs, as if he had wakened at the Fortnights end: at what time staring round about him with a ghastly look; Ah my dear friends, said He, you cannot imagine the Injury you have done me, you have deprived me of one of the sweetest Lives and pleasantest Sights that ever Mortal lead, or human Eye beholded. And now it is that I am fully convinced that all the Pleasures of this Life are all but transitory Dreams. Oh unfortunate Montesinos, and thou luckless Durandart, so treacherously wounded! Unhappy Belerma, but more to be deplored Guadiana! and you the sad and mournful Daughters of Ruydera, whose swelling Waters show what Streams of Tears once trickl'd from your Charming Eyes.—  
The scholar and Sancho amazed to hear such sad expressions as these uttered by the new return'd Champion, and denoting a more then ordinary Affliction, besought him to explain himself, and to let 'em know what he had seen in that same Hell upon Earth, where he had been. Call not that Hell, replied Don Quixote, that rather seemed to be a Paradise, as if you'l have but patience, I shall soon convince ye. In the mean while gi' me something to eat, for I think I was never so hungry i' my Life. Upon that, Sancho spread the scholars old piece of Hanging, that served him doubled for a Saddle, upon the Ground, and all the Leathern Butteries having surrendered their Store, they eat altogether lovingly and hearty; for Don Quixote was not a Man that took State upon him, when he was not in high Company. Now when they had all done, and that Sancho had taken away; come Sancho, quo Don Quixote, come and sit down again— and let no Man rise, but mark attentively what I am preparing to tell ye.   

CHAP. XXIII.  
Containing a Relation of the wonderful things which the unparallelled Don Quixote saw in the Cave of Montesinos; the Strangeness and Impossibility of which makes this Chapter to be taken for Apocrypha.  
IT was now about four a Clock i' the Afternoon, and a close day, so that the Sun not able to pierce the thicker Clouds with his scalding Beams, gave Don Quixote the liberty to enjoy the cool Air, and to entertain his two Illustrious Friends with the following Relation of the unheard of Wonders which he had seen in the Cave of Montesinos.  
When y're descended, said he, about twelve or fifteen Fathoms into the Cave, you come to a large and spacious Concavity, big enough to hold a West-Country wagon with all its Oxen; into which there falls a glimmering Light, from certain narrow holes that reach to the Superfices of the Earth. When I came to this place, I took a fancy to it, and being tired with hanging so long by the Middle, and to tell ye the truth, somewhat unwilling to descend any lower, neither knowing where I went; not having any Guide, I considered better of it, and resolved to go into this same place and rest myself: when I was in, I called to you to let down no more Rope, but it seems you did not hear me; however I coyl'd up the Cable, and laying it by me, sate myself down upon it, full of Pensive Contemplation; when of a sudden, as if some Necromancer had laid his charming Rod upon my Brows, a most profound sleep seized me; out of which, being, I know not how, soon after waked again, I found myself in one of the fairest, and most delightful Meadows that ever nature beautified with all her Ornaments: Now that I might be sure I was not in a Dream, I wiped my Eyes, I blew my Nose, I  told my Money, scratched my Head, and gave myself all the assurances imaginable, that I was as certainly awake as an Angler in a Lighter.  
Presently I beholded a most Princely and Sumptuous Castle, of which the Walls and Battlements seemed to be of clear and transparent crystal. At the same time likewise two great Cedar Gates leisurely opening, there came forth a Venerable old Man, clad in a long grey Mantle, with a Tippet of green sarsenet covering his Shoulders, like the Fellow of a college. Upon his head he wore a black Bonnet somewhat like a Cardinals Cap; his Beard that was broad and white as the Driven Snow, reaching from his Chin to his Girdle: in his hands he had no other Weapons then a Rosary of Beads about the bigness of walnuts, and his Credo Beads as big as ordinary ostrich Eggs. The Port, the Gravity, the place, the aweful and serious Aspect of this Old Man struck me with Admiration; but much more was my surprise when this Reverend Spectacle accosting, and embracing me, gave me this solemn welcome; Long and with extreme impatience, said He, have we been waiting for thy coming, most Valiant Knight Don Quixote de la Mancha. We that lie enchanted in this Solitude, to the end thou mayst reveal to the World the Prodigious Wonders locked up from Human knowledge, within this Cave called Montesino's Cave, an Adventure reserved alone for thy invincible Courage, and only worthy of thy Resolution. Follow me then, thou most Illustrious Champion, and behold those Astonishing Miracles enclosed within this transparent Palace, of which I am the perpetual governor; for I am that same Montesinos from whom this Cavern takes its name.  
No sooner had the Venerable Seer informed me that his name was Montesinos, but I requested him to tell me whether it were true or no, what was so confidently reported upon Earth, that he had ripped the Heart of his great Friend Durandart, out of his Belly with a little Dagger, and had carried it as a Token from him to the fair Belerma, according to his own desire upon his death Bed. To which he answered me, that all the rest was truth, only that he did not make use of a Dagger, but of an Agat-hafted Carving Knife, polished and set as keen as a Razor.  
Then I believe, quo Sancho, I can tell where 'twas bought, either in Shoe-Lane or Popeshead-Alley; especially if it were Razor Mettle. I don't believe, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, that any of your Acquaintance sold it; for the battle of Roncesvales happened long before Shoe-Lane or Popeshead-Alley were famous for Cutlers; neither is it of any Importance to confirm or disprove the Truth of the Story. You say very true, replied the scholar, and therefore, Sir Knight, pray be pleased to go on with your Information, which affects me with a strange delight to hear it. You win my Soul, quo Don Quixote, for I'm sure no Man can be better pleased in telling it.  
And so I say, that being arrived at the crystal Castle, Montesinos lead me into a low Room of State, all of alabaster and very cool. There was in it also a Marble Tomb, a Piece of most incomparable Workmanship; upon which lay a Knight extended all at length; not of Marble or Brass, as in other Monuments, but Flesh and Bones. He covered the Region of his Heart with his Right Hand, which seemed to me to be very hairy and sinewy; an unquestionable sign of the great strength of the Deceased Knight. Now while I was viewing this sepulchre with equal Curiosity and Astonishment, behold here, said Montesinos, my Friend Durandart, the flower and Mirror of all the Amorous and Valiant Knights of his Time. Merlin, that famous welsh Necromancer, who as they say was the Son of the Devil; tho I believe if he were his Son, he knew more then his Father; I say, that Merlin keeps him here enchanted, as he does Me and a great number of others both Men and Women: But how or wherefore he has enchanted us no body knows: Perhaps he may be called to a severe account ere long; and I believe the time is near at hand. But that which most astonishes me is this, that I am as sure as ever I eat my victuals, that Durandart breathed his last Gasp in my Arms, and that so soon as he was dead I ript his Heart with my own hands out of his Body; by the same token, that to speak modestly it weighed above two Pound Averdupois weight: and what opinion ought we to have then of the Courage of my Friend, since the Natural Philosophers tell us, that a great Heart is the mark of a great Courage? Now this Knight being dead as I have  told ye, how comes it to pass, that he sighs and weeps, and makes those heavy complaints as every day he does, just as he used to do when he was alive?  
No sooner were these words out of Montesinos's Mouth, but the unfortunate Durandart cried out, Ah my dear Cousin Montesinos! well you know, that the last request I made you with my fainting Breath, was to ripp my Heart out of my Body, so soon as I was dead, and carry it to the Fair Belerma. To whom Montesinos, falling upon his Knees with Tears in his Eyes, Sir Durandart, said he, the Dearest of my Kindred, believe me now upon the word of a Kinsman, if I did not fulfil all your desires; the very fatal day of your Decease, I took your Heart out of your Body as cleverly as an Anatomist, dried up the Blood with a Damask-Napkin, then wrapped it up in a Lawn handkerchief, bordered about with a Needlework Lace, washed my Hands in the Tears that fell from my Eyes, and after I had paid my last Duties to your deceased Body, away I tripped from Roncesvalles for France, by the same token that the next Town I came to lodge at, I rubbed your Heart with three or four Handfuls of the best Salt, for fear it should smell and offend the Nostrils of the fair Belerma, whom the Necromancer Merlin has kept enchanted in this place for many years, as well as you and I, together with Guadiana your Squire. Madam Ruydera, her seven Daughters, and too Cousins were here two; with several others of your Acquaintance: and tho it be now above five hundred years since we were first clapped up in this jail, we are all still alive, unless it be Madam Ruydera and her seven Daughters; whose Tears so melted cruel Merlins Heart, that he metamorphosed the Daughters into so many Fountains, and the Mother into a River. Guadiana your Squire, who continually bewailed your Misfortune, he changed into another River, that bears his own name, yet still so sensible of your disasters, that sometimes it hides itself under Ground, desirous as it were to conceal its sorrows from the World; nor will it suffer any wholesome and well tasted Fish within its Streams, as loth to feed the Cruelty of Human kind. All this dear Cousin I have several times  told ye before, and because you never made me any answer, I thought you gave no credit to my words, which greiv'd me to the Soul. But now I have other News to tell ye, which if it do not revive your Spirits, can be no prejudice to your Quiet; and that is, that you have here before ye the famous Knight, concerning whom the Cruel Merlin has foretold so many Miracles, I mean the courageous Don Quixote de la Mancha, who has not only restored neglected Knight-Errantry to the World, but advanced it to its ancient Lustre, and by whom we may expect to be released from our enchantment, since great Performances are still reserved for the most Illustrious Champions. Then Durandart with a faint and languishing utterance, Oh Cousin! but should it be otherwise— should it be otherwise, Cousin— there's no remedy but patience and shuffling the Cards again— and so saying, he turned him a one side and fell asleep again.  
By and by I heard most bitter Howlings and Lamentations, accompanied with most doleful sobs and sighs; at what time turning about my head I saw through the crystal Wall, a Procession, in two Companies, of Beautiful Ladies all clad in Mourning, with White sarsenet Hoods upon their heads. In the rear of the rest followed a most Ravishing Lady, that by her Gate and Gravity seemed to be superior to the others, in a black Crape Manteau, with a long white Veil that reached down from her Head to her Heels; she had a black Peak upon her forehead, and her Head was dressed up with plain white Moselin, covered with a large Love Hood. Moreover she had a full black Eye-brow; a Nose somewhat flat, and a wide Mouth; a little Blubber Lip'd, but her Harrow-Teeth were extremely white, though very thin and snaggy withal. She held in her Hand a very fine Diaper Napkin, wherein you might perceive an embalmed Heart, that looked as if it had been dried in a Bakers Oven. Montesinos  told me, that all those Ladies were Maids of Honour to Durandart and Belerma, all Merlins Prisoners, and that she that carried the Heart was Belerma her self, who four times a week walked that Procession with her Damsels, singing all the way the Lamentation of a bad Market, or rather howling out a hundred Ohone Ohones over the Heart of the unfortunate Champion. To this he added, that if Belerma was not so fair as was reported, it was to be attributed to her sufferings under Enchantment that had sunk her Eyes, and tarnish'd her Complexion; for that when she was in her Prime, the Fair Dulcinea, so famed in the World, was a mere Dowdy to her. Hold a blow there, good Mr. Montesinos, quo I, Comparisons are odious, Mrs. Belerma might have had her Advantages of Beauty, but I beseech ye wipe your Mouth when you talk of Madam Dulcinea; the Matchless Dulcinea gives way to nere a Piskitchin Belerma i' the World. I beg your Pardon, Sir Knight, quo Montesinos, I confess I talked at Rovers, to compare Mrs. Belerma with Madam Dulcinea, especially considering how famed has spread her Beauty. Had I known you had been her Knight, I would a bit off my Tongue, and swallowed it, before I would ha' compared her with any thing, but Heaven itself. This submission of Montesinos pacifi'd me, and kept my boiling wrath from Running over.  
nouns— quo Sancho, I wonder ye did not lay th' old Rascal sprawling upon his Back and kick out his Guts; certainly you were very tame i' th' other World— how could you leave him one hair upon his Chin! No, Sancho, no, we are obliged to respect our Elders, tho they be no Knights; especially such as are under the Oppression of Enchantment. However as I would not seem to be rude, so neither would I take any thing which I look't upon as an affront.  
But I beseech ye, Sir, quo the scholar, how could it be, that in so short a time you should see and hear so many strange things? Why how long, quo Don Quixote, have I been below i' the Cave? About five quarters of an hour, replied Sancho. Five quarters of an hour! quo Don Quixote, how can that be? when I have seen the Sun rise and set three times. Troth, quo Sancho, my Master may be i' the Right on't— for seeing that whatever befalls him is done by Enchantment, the time which we took for an hour may well be three days, with every one their Nights belonging to' em. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote. I hope, Sir, quo the scholar, you have been highly feasted i' your crystal Palace; pray, Sir, what good cheer had ye? Not one Morsel, replied Don Quixote, nor indeed had I any desire to eat or drink all the while. Why? quo the scholar, do the Enchanted never eat? They neither eat nor drink, replied Don Quixote, nor do they ever untruss their Breeches or draw against the Wall, tho some are of opinion that their Nails and their Beards do grow. But do they never sleep neither? quo Sancho. No more then Hares, replied Don Quixote; at least in all the three days time that I was there, I saw not one that had so much as an Inclination to wink. Company makes Cuckolds, quo Sancho, you were with those that were Enchanted, who neither eat nor drank; no wonder then, you neither did eat nor drink so long as you were in their Company. They that are at Rome must do as they do at Rome. Yet for all that, Sir, would ye have me speak my mind; why then I beg your pardon, Sir; for God take me, I was going to say, the Devil fetch me, if I believe one Tittle of all your long Story. What's your Reason, quo the scholar; is your Master Don Quixote so addicted to lying? Or suppose he were, he could never have invented so many stories in so short a time. 'tis not, quo Sancho, that I believe my Master Lies;— What is 't then that thou believ'st, quo Don Quixote? I believe, Sir, replied Sancho, that this same Merlin, or those Necromancers that Enchanted all that Rabble of People you talk of, have crammed into your Pate by Enchantment, all that you have  told us, and all that you have yet to tell us, and this I dare be bold to take my Corpral Oath of. This is no such improbability but that it might be so, quo Don Quixote; however 'tis not so: For what I saw, I saw with my own Eyes, and what I heard, I heard with my own Ears. But what will thy Infidelship say to hear me tell thee, that among four thousand other far more amazing wonders, which Montesinos shew'd me, and which I shall impart at times as we ride together, He gave me a sight of three Country Girls, that leaped and frisk'd about the Meadow like two young Goats, of which I knew one to be Dulcinea, and the other two to be her Companions, that thou and I kneeled to, not far from Toboso. I asked Montesinos if he knew' em? He  told me, no; but that they were some Enchanted Princesses, that Merlins Officers had lately brought to jail without a Habeas Corpus. For that the Devils Counter was full, there being a great number of other Ladies o' the Womens side, Enchanted under several disguizes; some that had lain there for many years; others but lately brought in; and that among the rest he knew Queen Guinever, and Madam Quintaniona, who was a kind of Betty Buly to Sir Lancelot, when he return'd into Britain.  
Sancho was ready to burst his sides when he heard his Master talk at that Rate; for he knew the Enchantment of Dulcinea to be a damned lie, as being the Enchanter himself; and thence concluding his Master had lost his Wits, Sir, said he, in an ill hour, did you descend into the other World; and by the Devils appointment did you meet with Montesinos;— the Devil's Butler, I take him to be, for he has made ye free of his Masters Cellar— You went hence i' your Wits, with all your Sences, about ye— talking Sentences at every turn, and giving good Counsel to all that would take it; but now— Mercy defend me, you talk as if y' had left your Brains in Satans Buttery. I know thee Sancho, replied Don Quixote, and therefore I give little heed to what thou sayst. Nor I by my Faith, quo Sancho, to what you say— You may kick me, or kill me, if you please, for what I have said, I'm sure 'tis true— But, Sir, before your Passion rises, pray tell me, what did Madam Dulcinea say to ye, and what did you say to her? I knew her again, quo Don Quixote, by the read waistcoat she had on when thou shewd'st her me, and I spake to her; but now when I made my Addresses to her, instead of making me an answer, she turned her tail, and flew away with that swiftness, that an Arrow out of a Bow would not have overtaken her. I would fain have followed her, but Montesinos  told me 'twas in vain— and then diverting me with other discourse, he  told me farther, that in a short time he would put me in a way to dissolve the Necromancer Merlin's Enchantment, and set both Durandart, Belerma, and all the rest of the Prisoners at Liberty. But that which grieved me most of all was this, that while Montesinos and I were thus talking together, one of the unfortunate Dulcinea's Associates came o' the left side of me, with Tears in her Eyes, and with a faint and sorrowful voice whispering me i' the Ear; My Lady Dulcinea, quo she, commends her most kindly to your Highness, desiring to know how you do; and because she is in great want, beseeches your Worship to lend her three Shillings, or what you can spare upon this new Flannel Petticoat, which she intends to redeem in a very short time. I must confess this Message strangely surprised me, and therefore turning about to Montesinos, is it possible Mr. Montesinos, quo I, that Enchanted Persons of Quality should want in this place? Why truly, replied Montesinos, we jailers do not buy our Prisons for nothing— and as for Necessity it creeps into all Places, and assails all Qualities, and Conditions, not pardoning those that are Enchanted— the Lodging and Cellar must be paid, or else they are turned into the Hole— and therefore if Madam Dulcinea want three Shillings, the Pawn's a good Pawn, and I'de advice ye to sand it her— I take no Pawns, said I, neither can I sand her three Shillings, for I ha' but eighteen Pence i' my Pocket, which was the Money I had of thee, Sancho, to give to the Poor that I might meet i' the other World; and this eighteen Pence I gave the Maid with these expressions— Maid, said I, tell thy Mistress that I am hearty sorry for her distresses, and wish I were another old Audley to relieve her— let her know that I have no Comfort in my Life, nor any repose of mind or Body, while I am deprived of her Company and Conversation; and therefore desire her to vouchsafe that favour to her Weather-beaten Captive, to let him Kiss her fair Hands, and enjoy the Consolation of her Beautiful Society but for an hour or two— Tell her withal, that when she little dreams on't, she shall hear how I have made an Oath, like the marquis of Mantua, never to eat upon a tablecloth, nor to sleep between a pair of Sheets, till I have got her Execution Money paid, and delivered her from her Enchantment. All this and more you owe my Mistress, quo the dansel, and then having got the eighteen Pence, instead of making me a curtsy, she fetched a Caper i' the Air above fifteen yards high, and I never saw her again.  
Heavens bless me, quo Sancho, that Enchanters and Enchantments should be able thus to intoxicate and bewitch the best Wit in Mancha. O Master, dear Master, for the Love of God, recover your lost Wits, and never dote upon these follies that craze your understanding in this wicked manner.  
Thy Affection poor Sancho, quo Don Quixote, makes thee talk at this rate, and for want of experience in the World thou believ'st those things impossible that seem difficult to be accomplished. But as I have said, the time will come when I shall tell thee such stories of what I have seen i' this Cave, that thou shalt no longer question the Truth of what I have already related.   

CHAP. XXIV.  
Where you will find a hundred Fiddle Faddles and Impertinences, as ridiculous as necessary for the understanding this true History.  
THe Translator of Cid Hamet Benengeli tells us, that when he came to the Chapter of the Cave of Montesinos, he found written in the Margin, with the Authors own hand the following words.  
I can hardly believe that all those things that are related in the foregoing Chapter so punctually befell the Great Don Quixote, as he has described 'em in his Relation. For there is some possibility in all the rest of the Adventures which hitherto have been recorded; but in this of the Cave of Montesinos, there is not the least probability, no coherence with Reason, but a flim flam as impossible as extraordinary. Not that I believe Don Quixote, the Noblest and Sincerest Knight of his time would tell a lie; rather I am confident he would first have been shot to death. On the other side he has related this Adventure with so many Circumstances, that I dare not for my Life be so unkind to his Memory as not to believe him, especially when I consider that he had not time enough to invent so great a Cluster of Fables. However I thought fit to insert it among the rest, without undertaking to affirm or contradict, leaving it to the Reader to pass what censure upon it he pleases; only let him take this advertisement by the way, that for a certain, when Don Quixote was upon his death Bed, he disowned this Adventure, and said, he only invented it to the end he might with more exactness imitate the Stories which he had red in his Legends of Knight-Errantry. To proceed then,  
The scholar all this while was strangely astonished at the Liberty which Sancho took, but much more at his Masters patience. All that he could imagine was only this, that the joy and satisfaction which had possessed Don Quixote, for having seen his Mistress, tho enchanted as she was, had mollified and sweeten'd his Vinegar Temper, since otherwise Sancho spoken those words that justly merited his being ground to Powder. For my part, Sir Knight, said he, I cannot but look upon my time extremely well spent in this Journey, upon four considerations. First, for that it has brought me to the honour of your Acquaintance, which I most infinitely esteem. In the next place for the Information it has given me of the manifold wonders concealed before within the Cave of Montesinos, with the Metamorphoses of Guadiana, and the Daughters of Ruydera, which will be of great use to me in the next Edition of my Ovid with cuts. I have also thereby learnt the Antiquity of Card-playing, which I find to have been a Pastime in use even in the Reign of the Emperour Charle le Main: by the words of Durandart, We must have patience and shuffle the Cards again; which must have been a Vulgar Proverb in his Life time, since he could not learn it after he was enchanted: and it comes pat also for my Supplement to Polydore Virgil, who as I remember, says nothing of the Antiquity of Cards, which it is of so great importance to know; and for which I am o'erjoyed to have the Authentic Testimony of so grave and ancient an Author as Durandart. And lastly, now I know for certain the true source of the River Guadiana, how it came to be a River, and whence it first derived its name; all which secrets have hitherto been concealed from human Learning.  
And truly, Sir, quo Don Quixote, I am no less glad to have contributed to the clearing of your understanding in these points of such weighty moment. But pray, Sir, to whom will you dedicate these Works of yours, if you happen to obtain a Licence, which I very much doubt; for in truth to tell ye, such impertinent Learning as this, is no more then justly secluded from the Press.  
Are there not great Lords and Persons of Quality enough i' the Kingdom? replied the scholar. Not so many as you think for, replied Don Quixote; for the greatest part are quiter tired out with Dedications; and for the rest, they're of a humour not to be troubled with impertinent Morning Visits. But let us call another Cause, and consider where to lodge this Night.  
Sir, quo the scholar, not far from this place there stands a Hermitage, the Retirement of a devout Person, who as they say was formerly a soldier; He is looked upon as a good Christian, and so charitable that he has built a little House by his Hermitage, for the entertainment of such as have lost their way, or come to visit his Solitudes. But has this devout hermit any good victuals? quo Sancho. There are few but have, quo Don Quixote, for they live not now adays like those of Thebais, that covered their Nakedness with Palm-Leaves, and fed upon Roots. I do not deny but these may be as good Christians as the other, only their Penances are not so austere as in former Ages. In a word, they are both good; and tho they were not, yet we ought to judge favourably of their retiring from the World. For the Hypocrite that makes it his business to appear Holy, is always less culpable, then the sinner that boasts of his Crimes.  
While they were thus discoursing, they looked back and saw coming toward 'em, a Man that was a-foot himself, yet travelled a very great place, driving before him a Horse laden with launces and Halberds; which made 'em take up and ride gently. But so soon as the Man had overtaken 'em, Hold, honest Friend, quo Don Quixote, there's no necessity of making such hast by what I find by thy Horse. Sir, quo the Fellow, I can't stay; for these Weapons that you see, must be made use of to morrow— If you desire to know more concerning this matter, I shall lodge to night at the loan Inn upon the Road, about six miles beyond the Hermitage, whether if it be your fortune to follow me, I shall tell ye wonders; and so Godbuy to ye all Gentlemen— and so saying, he gave his Horse such a lick o' the Buttocks with his Whip, that away trotted the Horse and the Fellow after, with that swiftness, that Don Quixote had no leisure to ask any more questions. However Don Quixote had such an itching ear after Novelties, especially if they had but the least Twang of an Adventure, that he resolved to lye at the Inn, and not to stop at the Hermitage. But notwithstanding Don Quixot's resolutions, Sancho was determined to call and see how the hermit was provided. To which purpose he whipped on his Grizzle, and rid before, and being come up to the Hermitage, So ho, House, quo he, who's within here? But such was Sancho's ill luck, that the hermit was gone abroad, and there was no body at home, but another Old Man, the Hermite's Companion, whom Sancho asked whether he had any strong liquour within? To which the Old Man made answer, that he could not come at the strong liquour, but if he would have any small Water, he should have his Belly full. Sancho replied, that he could have had Water enough upon the Road; and then fetching a deep sigh, farewell Don Diego's good victuals, and the Rich Martins Wedding, quo he, there's nothing but could Comfort in Hermitages.  
Having sped so ill at the Hermitage, they road on toward the Inn, and upon the Road they overtook a young Lad, that walked carelessly along, shouldering his Sword with a little bundle tied to the Scabbard. He had on an old Velvet Jerkin, very bare and thin; the tail of his Shirt hung out at the Knees of his Breeches, which had been once of a good sort of Silk, and upon his Feet he wore the remains of a pair of Spanish-leather Shoes. He was about eighteen years of Age, a lively brisk Lad, well complexioned and handsome; and as they came near him, they heard him singing the conclusion of an old Ballad.  
And so farewell, my Jinny, farewell,  
For I to the Wars must go;  
Yet had I but Money in my Poke,  
I would not leave thee so.  
Spark i' the Paper Garments, quo Don Quixote, which way bound? Me thinks you are but thinly clad, Sir youth, to let your Shirt take so much Air. Necessity, Sir, replied the Youth, constrains it, and the hot weather excuses it; and I am going for a soldier. I admit the Heat, quo Don Quixote, but why Necessity. Sir, quo the young Lad, I have i' my bundle a pair of Breeches answerable to my Jerkin, but I am loathe to wear 'em out upon the Road, because they will do me more credit when I come to a good Town. Now I hear of some new raised Foot Companies that lye about fifteen miles off, with whom I intend to list myself; and then I intend to throw off my Rags; for I had rather have the King for my Master, then starve under e're a beggarly Courtier of 'em all. Prithee, quo Don Quixote, what makes thee complain so much of the Courtiers?  
Perphaps, quo the Youth, had I served any Eminent Nobleman, or Person of Quality, I might have had as little reason as another; for their lackeys many time come to be Captains or Lieutenants at least; but it has been always my ill Fortune to wait upon Upstarts and younger Brothers, whose Allowance was so short, that the greatest part of it always went to buy me Shoes and stockings: no wonder then there was so little hopes of Preferment among them. Truly Friend, quo Don Quixote, you served very bad Masters indeed, that in all the while you could never get yourself a whole Livery. Why truly, Sir, answered the Youth, I never served but two poor-spirited Masters, who when they had dispatched their business at Court, went home again into the Country; and then, as in monasteries, where if a Man goes out before he professes, they take his fresh Habit from him, and return him his old clothes; my Masters stripped me of my Liveries, which they only made for a little Ostentation in the City, and sent me a grazing with my old Rags. A poor piece of Miching Baseness indeed, quo Don Quixote: and therefore I must needs commend thee for leaving the Court, especially considering the Bravery of thy design; for there is nothing more noble nor more beneficial in this World, then to serve God in the first place, and the King in the next, especially in the Profession of Arms; for tho a Man do not thereby heap up Wealth, yet he gains more honour by Military employment, then by Learning. 'tis true indeed, more Families have been advanced by the Gown, then by the Sword; yet whatever be the reason of it, the soldier has always this advantage above the scholar, that he shines forth in the World with a more pompous and brighter splendour. And therefore young Man, mind and remember what I now tell ye, and which may be much for your profit and consolation hereafter; be sure to be ready prepared for all Events that can happen, the worst of which is death; and if it be a good and an honest Death, it is the greatest happiness in the World. Julius Caesar being asked what death he would make choice of? To die suddenly, said he, wherein he said well, tho a Pagan, and one that had no knowledge of the true God. For what imports it whether I be killed with a Cannon Bullet, or blown up in a Mine; 'tis all but dying: and a soldier stretched forth dead upon the Field of battle, looks far more honourable then alive and safe in flight. 'tis the business and the glory of a soldier to obey his superiors, and those that command him; and I must tell thee young Man, 'tis better for a soldier to smell of Gunpowder, then ambergris or Essence of Oranges; and if Age overtake thee in this honourable Employment of fighting for thy King and Country, tho covered with Scars, tho lame and maimed, it never can surprise thee without honour, that will guard thee from the contempt of Poverty; nay from Poverty itself, while thy Princes generous Providence takes care of thy support. I have nothing more to say to thee at present, honest fellow soldier, quo Don Quixote, only get thee up behind me, and I'll carry thee to the Inn, where thou shalt Sup with me to night, and then God be with thee, and sand thee well to do.  
The young Lad civilly excused himself from riding behind the Knight, but willingly accepted of his Invitation to Supper. But that which bread admiration in Sancho, was to hear his Master talk so like a rabbi. nouns, quo he, muttering to himself, how is it possible that a Man that talks as this Man does, nothing but Sentences and Pithy sayings, a Man that is able to be a Privy councillor to a marquis, should be so besotted as to believe those impossibilities, which he tells us he has seen in Montesinos's Cave, and affirm 'em for Gospel. Body a Me, never was any single Mortal so possessed, at the same time by Fool and Wise-man thus by turns, i' this World—  
And now the Sun was just ready to set when they arrived at the Inn; at what time, that which mainly overjoyed Sancho was, that his Master took the Inn for what it really was, not a Castle but an Inn, contrary to his usual Custom.  
Don Quixote was no sooner entered the Yard, but he enquired of the Innkeeper for the Man with the Swords and the Halberds; who answering, that he was in the Stable, they all alighted, and Don Quixote gave his Horse to Sancho.   

CHAP. XXV.  
Containing the Braying Adventure; with the Adventure of the Puppet-Player, and the Fortune-telling Ape.  
DON Quixote was more in hast, then the fellow that left his Drink behind him, to understand what those wonders were, which the Man with the Swords had promised to tell him; and therefore he would answer to none of those questions; What will ye please to drink? or What will ye have to Supper? nay, he would not be shew'd a Room, till he had caused the Carrier to be sent for, and had challenged him with his Promise. To whom, no such hast to hang true Folks, quo the Carrier— My Miracles are not to be  told standing— give me but leave to look after my Beast, and when I ha' served my Beast, then I'll serve your Worship. If that be all, quo Don Quixote, I'll go and help thee myself; and so saying, away he went with the Carrier into the Stable, and while the one rubbed down and Litter'd his Beast, the other sifted the Oats, and clean'd the Manger. Which was a piece of humility, in the Champion, so gaining upon the Carrier, that leaving the Stable, he went into the Yard, and seating himself upon the Horse-block, while Don Quixote, Sancho, the scholar, the page., and the Innkeeper lent him their most attentive Ears, thus delivered himself.  
About five or six miles, quo he, from this Place there stands a very large Town under the Government of two bailiffs, and their Assistants: Now it happened that a little while since, the Head bailiff, as some say through the negligence, as others say through the Treachery of his Maid Servant, lost his milk Ass, and notwithstanding all the diligent search he made after her, could never find her again. About fifteen days after, as the head bailiff was walking about the Market-place, one of the Serjeants of the same Town coming to him: An't like your Worship, quo he, what will you give me, and I will tell ye where your milk Ass is. A shoulder a Mutton and a Capon quo the bailiff— provided I have her again. Why, replied the sergeant, I saw her this Morning upon the Mountain without either Pack-saddle or Halter, so lean that it grieved my heart to see her. I would have arrested her at your Worships svit, and brought her home again, but she is grown so lawless, so wild and so skittish, that withal the Craft I could use, I could not get near her, and at length she flung up her Heels, and flew into the covert of the Mountain. If your Worship pleases we'l go both together, and see if we can find her; perhaps the Beast may be more obedient to her Master then to me. You say very well Neighbour, quo the bailiff, I accept your kind offer and thank you for it. With these Circumstances, and after this manner all that know the story, relate it word for word.  
In order to this Agreement, the Head bailiff and the sergeant, went early the next Morning afoot, to examine the Mountain, more especially that part where the Ass had been seen the day before. But after they had gone many a weary step, looked all about as if they had been searching for Birds Nests, quiter tired, and hungry as Foxes, not so much as the Hair of an Ass was to be found; which very much afflicted the bailiff. Thereupon the sergeant, beholding the Bayliff's mournful Countenance, now I think on't, quo he, I ha' thought upon a most certain way to find out this Ass of yours, if she be above ground; nay tho she should be hide fifteen yards under the Earth; for I myself can Bray to a Miracle, and if your Worship could but Bray never so little, the business were done. Never so little! replied the bailiff; I speak it without boasting, I defy all Mankind, nay the very Asses themselves to Bray more to the life then I can. So much the better, replied the sergeant; then do you go a one side the Mountain, and I'll go a' tother; and do you Bray a' your side, and I'll Bray a' mine; for then if the Ass be i' the Mountain, the Devil himself must be too strong for the Ass, if she don't come to her kind, the first that she hears Bray, whether you or me. Upon my word, quo the bailiff, a notable invention, and which none but a Man-hunter could ever have hit upon.  
At the same time they partend, and when they thought themselves at a sufficient distance one from the other, they both fell a Braying so exactly, that one deluding the t'other, they both made toward each others noise, believing the Ass had been found, and so met again. Bodikins, quo the bailiff, I'de ha' laid my Life I had heard my Ass Bray. 'twas your Worships mistake, quo the sergeant, for 'twas I that you heard Bray, Well! quo the bailiff, now Neighbour, must I aclowledge that there is no difference between an Ass and thee, I mean i' the matter of Braying; for upon my life I never heard the like. These Praises, replied the sergeant, better belong to your Worship, then your unworthy Officer; for without flattery, your Worship is able to teach all the young Asses i' the Country to Bray: You have a strong Voice, excellent Lungs, and hold out your note exactly; you have the true Ronk huyinck, Ronk huyinck, and the Twirling of your Lips to a hairs breadth. In a word I yield your Worship the Bays, and will never more pretend to Bray i' your Company. Kings truce, quo the bailiff; lore your Commendations, Neighbour, for they are more then I deserve: However I shall have a better Opinion of my Braying then ever I had, as having received your more judicious Approbation.  
In good faith, Sir, quo the sergeant, there are many good Qualities lost in the World, for want of knowing how to make use of' em. You say very true, Neighbour, quo the bailiff, for I should never have discovered this Talent of mine, had it not been for this occasion, and I wish it may prove successful.  
After these compliments past between 'em, they divided themselves a second time, and went Braying one a' one side the Hill, and th' other a' t'other, more vigorously and courageously then before; but being still deluded by their own Braying, they as often ran to the noise, and met one another as before, believing still 't had been the lost Ass; till at length they agreed to Bray twice one after another, to the end they might be sure 'twas they, and not the Ass; and thus Braying twice together at a time, they fetched a compass round about the Mountain, but all in vain, for the Ass made not the least Huyinck of an answer. And indeed how was it possible the poor Beast should answer 'em, which afterwards when they had almost Ronk'd their Hearts out, they found in the thickest part of the Mountain half eaten by the Wolves. At what time, quo the bailiff, I wonder indeed the Ass took so little notice of his Kindred; which I'me sure she would ha' done, or else she had been no Ass. But let her go Neighbour, I ha' lost my Ass, and found a good Quality; and it is my farther satisfaction and a sufficient recompense for my loss, that I have heard thee Bray so deliciously as I ha' done.  
The Glass is in a good hand, an't like your Worship, quo the sergeant, and if the Abbot sings well, I'me sure the little Monk comes not behind him. With that returning home, as hoarse as Sowgelders horns, and as tired as Dogs after a Fox chase, they  told all their Friends and Acquaintance what had befallen 'em in search of the Ass; the sergeant extoling the bailiff, and the bailiff applauding the sergeant for his excellency in Braying, and both with an equal Generosity yielding the Palm to the other.  
Such a Story as this you may be sure was spread abroad over all the Country, and the Devil who never sleeps, but watches all occasions to sow discord and dissension among Men, laid hold of the Opportunity; and so managed his business, that when any of the Neighbouring Villages met any of our Town, they would still fall a Braying at 'em in derision of our bailiff.  
At length the story was got among the Boys, and then all the Inhabitants of Hell had as good ha' known it; for presently it flew like lightning from Village to Village; so that our Townsmen are as well known all over the Country, as the beggar knows his Dish. But this is not all, for the jest is now gone so far, that when the Jeerers and the Flowted meet, they fall to Daggers-drawing, fearing neither the King nor his Laws, and never part without broken Pates and bloody Noses. And now to morrow or next day at farthest, there is a Party of our Town, that are going to be revenged upon a Village about two Leagues off, who are looked upon as their most inveterate Persecutors; and that's the reason they sent me to buy these Instruments of mischief. And these are the wonders I promised to tell ye; which if they ben't wonders, may produce wonders for ought I know.  
At the same time that the Country Fellow concluded his Story, there came into the Inn-yard a kind of a Merry-Andrew, in Doublet, Breeches, and stockings of Shamoy Leather, who calling to the Innkeeper, asked him for a Room. Withal, Sir, said he, here's the Ape that tells Fortunes, and the Story of the Captive Melisandra's being set at Liberty.  
' Slife, quo the Innkeeper, who's here, Mr. Peter! we shall be merry to night I find— welcome Mr. Peter— but where's the Monkey and the Show?— Not far behind, quo Peter, only I came a little before, to know whither y' had any room or no. I'de refuse the Duke of Alva to make room for Mr. Peter, quo the Host; only bring the Monkey and the Show; for here are People enough to pay well for the Sight. Very good, quo Mr. Peter; and I'll moderate my Price for the sake of the good Company— provided they may bear my charges, I'll look for no more— and so saying, he went out again to fetch his Cart.  
I had forgot to tell ye, that this Mr. Peter wore a long piece of green Taffaty over his left Eye, that covered half his Face; by which you may guess he was troubled with a Disease more then ordinary; besides that the Bridge of his Nose was fallen.  
In the mean time Don Quixote asked the Innkeeper who this Mr. Peter was, and the meaning of his Fortune-telling Monkey, and his Show. This Mr. Peter, replied the Innkeeper, is the best for Puppet-Plays i' the Country; and he shows ye the Show of Melisandra, made to the Life in Puppets, by Don Gaffero himself. He has also a wonderful Monkey, the like of which was never heard of. If you ask him any question, he listens attentively, then leaps upon his Masters Shoulder, and whispers in his Ear the Answer to the Question demanded, and Mr. Peter explains it to the Party. He is much better at telling a Man or Woman what has befallen, then what shall befall 'em; and tho he does not always hit right, yet is he seldom deceived; which makes many People believe the Devil's in him. You give twelve Pence a piece for every Question, to which the Monkey answers, or rather his Master, after the Ape has whispered in his Ear. So that Mr. Peter is looked upon to be very well to pass; for he is a notable merry Fellow, and a good Companion, talks six Mens shares, and drinks twelve Mens; and all this he gets by his Tongue, his Monkey, and his Show.  
By this Mr. Peter arrived with his Cart, and the Ape appeared, a lusty Rogue without a Tail, and his Bum as bare as a felt, but very pert and pleasant to look upon.  
So soon as Don Quixote perceived him, out of his impatience to try all manner of Adventures; Worshipful Son of Cornelius Agrippa, quo He, what Fish do we catch? what ha' you to say concerning my good or bad Fortune?— Here's my twelve Pence as round as a Jugglers Box— and so saying he ordered Sancho to give the Money to Mr. Peter, who at the same time returning the Monkeys Answer; Sir, said he, this knowing Creature, speaks nothing of what is to come; but of what is past he can tell ye something, and concerning the present time he knows as much. The Devil twist his Guts for a Baboon as he is, quo Sancho— I'll not give him a Farthing to tell me whats past— for who knows that better then myself?— Zookers, that's the greatest folly i' the World, to pay for what a Man knows already— But since he's so good at the present Time, let him tell me what my Wife Teresa's now a doing, and here's my Twelve-Pence withal my heart.  
Mr. Peter  told him, he took no Money beforehand; and at the same time giving two claps with his right Hand upon his left Shoulder, up skip'd the Ape, and laying his Mouth to his Masters Ear, grated his Teeth together while a Man might tell Five, and then down he leaped again. Immediately upon this, Mr. Peter throwing himself upon his Knees before Don Quixote, and embracing his Thigh; This Thigh, quo He, do I embrace with more joy, then I would embrace the Pillars of Hercules. Long live the Restorer of forgotten Knight-Errantry, Long live the renowned Knight, the famous Don Quixote de la Mancha; the Support of the Weak, the Stay of them that are ready to Fall, the Raiser of the Disconsolate, and the Succour of the Miserable.  
At these words Don Quixote stood amazed, Sancho trembled, and the scholar blessed himself, the lackey wondered, the Country Fellow gaped, the Innkeeper stared, astonished all at Mr. Peters Rapture; who then addressing himself to Sancho, And thou Sancho Pancha, said he, the most faithful Squire to the most Valiant Knight that ever was, thank thy kind Stars that have bestowed upon thee so good a Wife, and so industrious a housewife, for she's at this time darning her old stockings, by the same token that she has standing by her, upon her left Hand a ston Jug with a broken mouth, containing two Pints of Old Malaga, to relieve her fainting Spirits, every other stitch, with a Dram of the Bottle. By the pleasure of Generation, quo Sancho, I durst ha' sworn as much; for Teresa's a Woman of extraordinary Parts, and were it not but that she's a little Jealous, I would not change her for the Gyantess Betty-Makarela, who as my Master says, was one of the most diligent Women of her Time. I dare say she'll never kill her self with fasting, tho her Heirs were ready to starve for want of her jointure.  
Well— quo Don Quixote, He that reads much and travels much, sees much and knows much: but who the Devil would ever believe that Monkeys could prophesy; not I by my faith, had I not seen it with my own Eyes. And then proceeding, said he, 'tis very true as this same little Animal has said, I am that very Specifical, Numerical Don Quixote de la Mancha, in whose Praises the Monkey has so obligingly enlarged himself, I confess, something beyond my deserts. But let me be what I will, I give thanks to heaven for having bestowed upon me strength and Courage, and a Compassionate Inclination to serve all Mankind.  
Had I but a Shilling in all the World, I would give it Mr. Monkey, to tell me what luck I shall have i' my Travels. Sir, quo Mr. Peter, I have  told ye already my Monkey knows nothing of what is to come; if he did, he should serve you gratis for once; for there is nothing that I would not do for the sake of the worthy Sir Don Quixote, whose Friendship I esteem above all the Money i' the World; and that he may see the Reality of my Heart, I will freely set up my Show for the Pastime of the Company, without expecting a Farthing for my Pains. Which the Innkeeper hearing, like one ready to leap out of his Skin for joy, called for t'other dozen of Rabbet's, and ordered Mr. Peter a convenient Room, wherein to embattel his Puppets.  
Which while Mr. Peter was a doing, Don Quixote, who could not beat it into his Brains, that a Monkey could prophesy and give answers, retired with Sancho into a By-corner of the Stable, where finding themselves in private; Hark ye me, Sancho, said he, I have been often rolling and trowling i' my mind the wonderful and extraordinary Gifts of this same Monkey, and I cannot for the Blood of me apprehended how it should be, unless his Master has made a secret Contract, or an express Stipulation with the Devil. I'll hold a Wager, quo Sancho, that neither of 'em said their Prayers before they went to this Collation; neither can I think that any Collation of the Devils could be otherwise then nastily dressed.— Now pray Sir, what advantage could it be to Mr. Peter to eat the Devils dirty Puddings? Thou dost not understand me Sancho; my meaning is, that the Devil and He have entered into an Agreement and Covenant together, that the Devil shall endow the Monkey with the gift of Figure-casting, to enrich the Puppet-player his Master; and that after such a time the Puppet-player in recompense of the Devils kindness shall surrender him his Soul, which is all that mortal Enemy of human Kind aims at. And that which confirms me the more in this Opinion is, that the Monkey knows nothing but of the past and present time, which is as much as the Devil himself knows, for alas he understands nothing of what is to come, but only Conjectures at it; and where one of his Conjectures hit, a thousand miss, there being only God alone who sees all things as if they were present before his Eyes. Which being beyond all contradiction, 'tis as clear as the Sun, that the Monkey speaks only through the Devils Organ-Pipe. And I wonder the Inquisition Court has hitherto taken no Cognizance of this same Mr. Peter, and that they have not summoned him in to declare and make out by what power this Monkey takes upon him to tell Fortunes. For when ye have said all that ye can, I cannot think that either he or his Master are Prophets, or that they know how to erect a Scheme any more then as your lilies, your Saffolds, and the rest of your More-fields and Spittle-fields Conjurers, Women and cobblers do, who by their Confounded lies and ignorance, debase and bring to contempt Judicial Astrology, which is a wonderful and infallible Science.  
I remember, one day, a Person of Quality put the question to one of these Quacks, whether a little Bitch that she had should Puppy; and of what colour, and how many Puppies the Bitch should have. To whom the Figure-Flinger, after he had erected his invidiam in great formality, answered, that the Bitch should have three Puppies, one green, one read, and another Motley, provided she were lim'd of a monday or Saturday, between the hours of Eleven and Twelve a Clock at Noon or Night. But it happened that the Bitch miscarried at three days end, and so the Conjurer lost the Reputation of his Prediction. However, Sir, quo Sancho, I would have ye ask the Monkey, whether what you have related concerning the Cave of Montesinos, be true or no; for, for my part, saving that respect which I owe ye as my Master, I cannot think 'em other then idle Whims and Visions that you saw i' your sleep. That cannot be, replied Don Quixote, however for thy farther satisfaction I'll ask the Monkey; tho I confess it goes a little against my Conscience.  
While they two were thus in deep Consultation, Mr. Peter, who had been looking for Don Quixote, came and  told him, that all things were ready, and that only his Presence was wanting.  
To whom Don Quixote answered, that he had a question to put to his Monkey first; whether certain Accidents that had befallen him in a certain Cave, called the Cave of Montesinos, were lies or Realities; for that he could not tell what to think on't himself. Presently Mr. Peter fetched his Monkey, and placing him just before Don Quixote and Sancho; Look ye Mr. Monkey, said he, This famous Knight desires ye to tell him, whether certain strange Accidents that befell him in a Cave, called the Cave of Montesinos, were true or false? Presently the Monkey upon the usual signal leaping upon his Masters Shoulder, after he had laid his Lips a while to his Masters Ear, whipped down again; at what time, quo his Interpreter to Don Quixote, the Monkey says, that what you saw in the Cave, is partly probable, partly very much to be questioned. This is all that he can answer to this Demand at present; but that if you desire to know any thing farther, he will next friday give ye full satisfaction to as many Questions as you please to ask; for his Spirit has left him, and will not return till next Fish day.  
Law ye there now, quo Sancho, did I not tell ye that all your Stories of Montesinos's Cave were all a Company of inventions and lies, and that it was only for your sake if I believed above half of' em. That's as time shall try, Sancho, replied Don Quixote; there's nothing so concealed in this World, but time at length will bring it to light, tho it were buried in the Entrails of the Earth.— But no more of this at present,— let's now go and see Mr. Peters Show: I am persuaded we shall see something that is new and worth our sight. Something! quo Mr. Peter, yes— a hundred thousand things— I tell ye my Lord Don Quixote, this is none o' your common Rarie-Shows, that are cried about the Streets, but one of the most exquisite Motions that ever Europe beholded; Believe our works not our words: Come along, Sir, then, for we have a great many Speeches to make, and the day wastes.  
Thereupon Don Quixote and Sancho followed Mr. Peter into the Chamber where the Show stood, with a great number of small Wax-Candles glimmering round about. At the same time Mr. Peter put himself behind the Motion, under the covert of a Curtain, as being the Person that was to move the Puppets, and to make 'em speak. Before, stood a Boy, Servant to Mr. Peter, who was to interpret what the Puppets said, and with a little Wand in his Hand to point directly to every Figure as they came in and out, to tell who they were, and explain the Mystery of the whole Motion. And then it was that all the Company having taken their Seats( tho Don Quixote, Sancho, and the scholar were preferred to the best places) the Interpreter began a Story that will never be red or known, but by those that shall red and hear the next Chapter.   

CHAP. XXVI.  
Continuing the Pleasant Adventure of the Puppet-player, with other pleasant Passages.  
COnticuere omnes; The Trojans and Tyrians were all silent; that is, all the Spectators hung their Ears upon the Interpreters Mouth; at what time the Scene opening, they heard in the first place a loud Flourish of Trumpets and heavens, accompanied with several Peals of Cannon: which Prelude being over, the young Interpreter, lifting up his Voice, Gentlemen, quo he, behold a True History, taken out of the Chronicles of France; How Don Gafferos delivered Melisandra his Wife, detained a Captive by the Moores in the City of Saragosa. And first you shall see how the great Don Gafferos sits playing at Draughts all day i' the Widows Coffee House, never regarding what becomes of the Virtuous Melisandra, according to the words of the Ballad.—  
And all the while Gafferos, He  
Lay smoking of his Mamsey Nose,  
And playing all day long at Draughts  
For all the Money in his Hose.  
So little for his Princely Wife,  
Fair Melisandra, was his Grief.  
That same Potentate that peeps out there with a Crown upon his Head, and a sceptre in his Hand, is the famous Emperour charlemagne, the reputed Father of the Fair Melisandra; who all enraged to see the Sloth and Negligence of his Son in Law, comes out to rate him; and mark how Majestically he Berogues and Rascals him, as if he intended to break his Pate with his sceptre; and some Authors there are that tell ye, how he gave him five or six Remembrances well laid on, after he had  told him his own, and what a Pewter-button'd Rakeshame he was, to let his Wife lye all that time in Prison. Now mark again how the Emperour turns his Tail upon him; how he goes away maundering; and how Don Gafferos enraged at the affront offered him by the Emperour, dings the Tables one way, and whirls the Table-men another way, and calls for his Arms to be brought him immediately. Thereupon you see him begging his Cousin Rowland to lend him his trusty Sword Durindana( for you must know his own was at Pawn) which he refuses to do, but offers to go along with him and be his Second. Which puts Don Gafferos into such a Pelting chafe, that he scorns both his Cousin Rowland and his Company, and falls a swearing like a Tinker, that he'll deliver his own Wife himself, without being beholding to any of his Kindred— ay that he will— by Pharo's Host( hark how he bellows now) tho she were fifty Leagues beyond the Antipodes. And now he's going to put on his armor, and to prepare himself for his Journey.  
And now Gentlemen, cast your Eyes upon that Tower. That's one of the Towers of the Castle of Saragosa, and the Lady which you see in the Balcony there, in Morish Habit, is the Peerless Melisandra; who coming out forty times a day into the Balcony, casts many a heavy look toward France, thinking upon Paris, and her Maggot pated Spouse, the only Consolation of her Imprisonment. But now, Gentlemen, mind, I beseech ye mind it, here is an Accident altogether new, and perhaps never heard of before. Don't ye see the Moore yonder, that comes creeping and stealing along with his finger in his Mouth, behind Melisandra? By and by he gives her a pat o' the Shoulder, and as she turns her Head to see what" s the matter, hark what a smack he gives her full i' the Mouth. Then see how she Spits and Fogh's it, and wipes her Lips with her white Holland-smock sleeves; see how she laments and tears her Golden Tresses for very madness, as if they were guilty of the Moores Theft. Now observe yonder grave serious Moore, above i' the open Gallery; That's Marsilius the King of Saragosa, who having seen the steadiness of the Moore, tho his near Kinsman and favourite, causes him to be be apprehended and publicly whipped through the Streets of the City. There, look ye, the Guards are coming forth to put the Sentence in Execution; for among the Moores the Kings word's a Law without any formality of trials.  
Here Don Quixote interrupting him, Young Man, Young Man, quo he, pray go on wi' your Story in a direct Line, and let me ha' none a' these Digressions and ramblings out of the Road— For I must tell ye, there ought to be Legal Proofs of the matter of Fact, before a Man be condemned. Boy, quo the Master, from behind the Show, do as the Gentleman commands ye; forbear your Flourishes; keep to your Plain-song; and let me hear no more o' your figured Counter-point; least you run into Discords.  
I shall, Sir, quo the Boy, making a Reverend Scrape, and so going on; He that you see there a Horse-back, in a short Sleeveless Coat of Russet Manchester Bays, is Don Gafferos himself, to whom Melisandra( now sufficiently revenged upon the Moore for his Arrogancy) talks from the top of the Tower, taking him for some Stranger that travelled that way, and holds him in a long Discourse, which you may red in the Ballad, where you have these Lines, 
Friend, if for France you go, inquire  
For my Gafferos, stout and strong,  
And tell him he's a whoring Cur  
To let me lie in jail so long—  The Rest I omit, Prolixity being displeasing to most men. 'tis sufficient that Don Gafferos at length made himself known to her; and then you may readily guess how glad she was to see him, tho 'twere only by Moon-light, and how sorry she was she had sent him such an unkind Message; but she excused it by saying she did it only i' the way of Familiarity. And to make him amends, she straddles over the Balcony to leap into his Arms( for he was able to hold her had she been as heavy again) and so to have got behind him. But oh the wretched Fate of Lovers; for there you see her stopped by one of the Spikes of the Balcony, that catches hold of her Petticoat; and there you see her dangling i' the Air, in a most unhappy and frightful Condition. And now what shall she do! or who shall afford her Succour in this distress? There's but one way i' the World— but a desperate  Don Quixote and puppets 
Don Quixot's Encounter with the puppits. page.. 417.   Don Quixote and the Enchanted Bark 
Don Quixots Adventure of the Enchanted Bark. page. 427.  Disease must have a desperate Cure. Don Gafferos therefore rides up to her, and taking her by both her Heels, never minding the Richness of her Petticoat, gives her a tugg, and the delicate Garment a rash; and so fetching her down by Head and Shoulders, sets her astride upon the Crupper of his Horse, bidding her sit fast, and clap her Arms about his Shoulders for fear of falling, by reason she was not accustomed to that way of riding. Hark how the Horse neighees, and by his Prancing, shows how proud he is of the Noble burden of his Valiant Master and Beautiful Mistress. See how they leave the City, and Gallop merrily away, taking the Road for Paris. Peace be with ye, most Peerless Couple of Faithful Lovers; may ye arrive safe and sound within the Confines of your beloved Country, without meeting any Traverses or Obstacles of Way-ward Fortune. And after a prosperous Journey may you be long the Joy of your Friends and Relations in Peace and Prosperity; and may your Years equal the Years of Nestor.  
Soft and fair, Boy, quo Mr. Peter, soar not so high, least you break your Neck i' the fall— To which the Boy made no answer, but pursuing his Story— Now, quo he, there were a sort of busy-bodies, who discovering Melisandra's Flight, gave immediate notice of it to King Marsilius, who presently put the whole City into an Uproar; and now you may see the whole City tottering, and ready to sink into the Earth with the weight of the Bells that Ring backward in all their Mosquees.  
There y're out again, quo Don Quixote; and your Master is absurdly mistaken in Bells: The Moors have no Bells, but only make a noise with their Drums and their heavens, and sometimes they have their Shaums, that are like our Haut-boys; but to bring in Bells into Saragosa! your Master was an ignorant Coxcomb for his pains. Never let such trifles disturb your Patience, I beseech ye Sir Knight, quo Mr. Peter. Don't we find Comedies Acted every day that talk of Great Guns in Alexander the Great's time, and Giants in Edward the Thirds Time; with a hundred Extravagancies altogether as absurd, yet Acted with the applause and admiration of most of the Spectators? Go on, Boy, go on; let there be as many Impertinencies as Motes i' the Sun, so I get Money. You say very true indeed, Mr. Peter, replied Don Quixote; Why should you observe Rules more then others?  
And now Gentlemen, quo the Boy, going on with his Lurrey; what a Hurry of Glittering Knights is yonder? How they pour out of the City in pursuit of the two Lovers? How the Trumpets sound? What a rattling and rumbling i' th' Air the Drums and heavens make? For my part I am afraid of nothing so much, as that they should overtake 'em, and then we should see 'em dragged along in most cruel manner tied to the Tails of their Horses.—  
Don Quixote as it were awakened by those words, seeing such a Cluster of Moors, and hearing such a din and Hurry of People, thought it now high Time to succour the flying Lovers; and to that purpose starting up briskly upon his Feet, he cried out in a most violent fury; For whom do they take me here? shall it ever be said that while I lived, and before my Face too, such an Outrage should be done to so Famous and so Amorous a Knight as Don Gafferos? Then in a foaming Rage— Hold Insolent Scoundrels— hold, quo he— forbear your villainous pursuit— He that stirs an Inch farther, moves to his destruction. And so saying, up he leaps upon the Table, and lays at the poor Innocent Puppets, with that outrageous fury, that Heads and Arms flew about without Compassion. Among the rest of the vigorous blows, there was one back stroke cleft the Air with so swift a Motion, that if the Puppet-Player himself had not been more nimble then a tailor, it had partend his Neck from his Shoulders, more exactly then any Dutch Heads-man could have sliver'd it off. Heavens bless me, Sir Knight, what d' ye mean to do? cried Mr. Peter, These are no Moors I'll assure ye Sir: Does not your Worship see they are only Puppets made of pasteboard, and that you are going about to ruin a Poor Man? But Mr. Peter's cries could nothing avail, for the Valiant Don Quixote laid about him as long as he thought he saw any Enemies. So that in less time then a Man might say a Miserere, he had cut the Motion all to pieces, King Marsilius being dangerously wounded, and charlemagne having his Head cleft, like Jupiter's when he brought forth Minerva. For you must know that Don Quixote spared neither Moors nor Christians. The whole Company was no less in disorder; the Monkey betook himself to his Heels, and got to the Top of the House; the Guide and the lackey were in a stinking Condition; nay Sancho himself trembled, as one that had never seen his Master in such a terrible Fury before. But now the Enemy being Defeated, and the Field of battle cleared by such a general Destruction, the Generous Don Quixote scorned to take Advantage of his Victory, or to enrich himself by the Pillage, but having wiped the Sweat from off his Face, with a more sedate and pacified Countenance; now would I fain, quo he, that all they had been here present, that will not believe the benefit and necessity of Knight-Errantry. For do but consider, had it not been my good Fortune to have been here, what might have befallen Don Gafferos and the fair Melisandra, who could have hindered these Dogs, but that they would have pursued, apprehended, and abused' em? Long live Knight-Errantry in despite of Envy, and maugre the Incredulity of those that have not the Courage to enter into her Orders; Let her live for ever glorious; and let him that says the contrary dare to show his Face.  
Oh let her live, cried Mr. Peter in a doleful tone, and let death be my miserable Portion, who may now say with King Rodorigo, Yesterday I was King of Spain, but now not Master of a Foot of Land. Within this Quarter of this hour I had one of the fairest Courts in the World; I commanded Kings and Emperors; and now behold me a Poor Nicodemus, a naked, sad, disconsolate Beggar; and all through the rash and inconsiderate fury of an Ungrateful Knight, that calls himself the Bulwark of Orphans and Widows, the Support and comfort of the Afflicted. He is full of Charity for others, but it seems he reserved all his Malice to spend it upon me and mine. But since it was the Will of Fate, that the Knight of the Sad Figure should employ his Valour to dubb so many of my Puppets, to wear his Title, I submit.  
Poor Sancho, was so touched with Mr. Peter's Lamentations, that no less grieved then the Puppet-Player; Weep not, Mr. Peter, quo he, you pierce my very heart; but confided in me; for I assure ye my Master is as Pious, as he is Valiant, and when he comes to understand he has done ye the least Injury, he will make ye double Amends. Provided, quo Mr. Peter, that the Lord Don Quixote will but pay me part of what my Puppets which he has disfigured cost me, I shall soon be satisfied, and he'll discharge a good Conscience; for he cannot well think to be saved who wrongs his Neighbour, and restores not the Goods of which he has deprived him. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote, but I know not any damage I have done ye. No damage! answered Mr. Peter; behold these miserable Innocents that lye strowed upon the Floor; who d' ye think has sliced and carbonado'd 'em thus, but that Invincible Arm of yours, which no human force can resist? and who d' ye think these wretched Ruins belong to but to Me? who think ye Feeds and clothes me but They? Absolutely am I now convinced, replied Don Quixote, of what I have so often said, that these Enchanters who continually persecute Me, change and alter all things at their pleasure, on purpose to abuse me. For I profess ingeniously, Gentlemen, who hear me, that every thing I saw appeared to Me as real and undoubted, as it was in the Time of charlemagne. I took Melisandra for Melisandra, Don Gafferos for Don Gafferos, and Marsilius for Marsilius, the Moores for Moores, in perfect Flesh and Bones. Which being so, I could not refrain my fury; and therefore, that I might accomplish the Duty of my Profession, which obliges me to Succour the Oppressed, I did what I did: if the Effects proved not answerable to my Design, the fault lay not in me, but in those cursed Necromancers, that pursue me to extremity. Nevertheless, tho I am not guilty of their wickedness, I will condemn myself to repair the damage; reck'n your Loss therefore, Mr. Peter, and I shall pay it down upon the Nail. At which words Mr. Peter bowing himself with his Head almost to the Ground, I mistrusted no less, quo he, from the inimitable Piety of the most Valiant Don Quixote de la Mancha, the most assured Refuge and certain Support of miserable Vagabonds. Here's my Master, the Innkeeper, and the most upright Sancho, let them, if your Worship pleases, be the Moderators in this Unfortunate Cause. Content, replied Don Quixote, withal my Heart. Immediately Mr. Peter taking up King Marsilius, and showing him without a Head; you see Gentlemen, said he, 'tis impossible to restore the King of Saragosa to his Royal Dignity, and therefore, with submission to my honourable Judges, for the Coronation of his Successor, and the Funeral expenses of the murdered Prince, less cannot be allowed me then Two Shillings and six Pence. Content, quo Don Quixote, go on to the next. For this same downright slit from Head to Foot, continued Mr. Peter, taking up charlemagne from the Ground, I think three Shillings is little enough. 'tis but reasonable, quo Sancho. Very Conscionable, quo the Innkeeper; he was a great Emperour, measure the Wound, and you'l find it six Sixpences all a row in length. Give him two Shillings ten Pence Half-penny, quo Don Quixote; we'll near stand upon a Half-penny in such a case as this. But pray dispatch Mr. Peter, for 'tis Supper time, and I begin to feel certain Suspicions of Hunger. For this Figure here, that has lost one Eye, and the Nose cut off, which was indeed the fair Melisandra her self, I think it but reasonable to demand fifteen Pence.' Slife, quo Don Quixote, I had thought Melisandra and her Husband had been upon the Confines of France before now, considering that the Horse they road upon seemed rather to fly then Gallop. Find another Chapman, good Mr. Peter; you must not think to sell me Cats for Hares; by making me believe a Melisandra without a Nose to be the real Melisandra, who if the Devil ben't i' the Horse, is now at her Fathers Court between a pair of Holland Sheets with her Husband.  
Thereupon Mr. Peter finding Don Quixote begin to grow touchie, and fearing he should show him a Trick, after he had seemed to view the Puppet more narrowly; I was mistaken, quo he, this is not Melisandra, now I see, but one of her waiting Gentlewomen dressed up in her clothes, for whom I demand no more then four Pence ha'penny.  
After Mr. Peter had thus examined who were slain, and who were wounded, and set his price upon every one, the Arbitrators moderated the business to the content of both Parties, allotting Don Quixote to pay a Mark for the whole, which Sancho paid down upon the Nail. Mr. Peter demanded also three Pence more toward paying for assistance to help him catch his Monkey. Give it him, Sancho, quo Don Quixote; and I would give ten times as much, to be assured, that Don Gafferos and Melisandra were safe in France with their Friends. No body can tell that better then my Monkey, cried Mr. Peter. But 'tis such a mad Thief, that the Devil can't take him, unless hunger or his kindness for me cause him to return; but I'me sure of him to morrow Morning, and then he shall give your Worship full satisfaction.  
The Hubbub thus appeased, they all Suppt together at Don Quixote's Charges, who was as liberal as a Young Heir at a Fish-Street Tavern.  
The next Morning the Carrier departed with his launces and his Halberds by break of Day; the Guide and the lackey went and took their leaves, the one to return home, the other in order to continue his Journey. Don Quixote gave the lackey several wholesome Admonitions touching the Profession of a soldier, which he was going to undertake, and then putting a Rose Noble into his Hand, embraced him and bid him farewell. As for Mr. Peter, he was too well acquainted with Don Quixote's humour, and therefore resolving to have no more to do with him, after he had got his Monkey again, and picked up the Ruins of his Motion, he packed up his Auls, and away scudded he before Sun-rise to mend his Show and seek his Fortune. And as for Don Quixote, he generously paid the Innkeeper, and taking Horse by eight a Clock i' the Morning, left him as much astonished at his Extravagancies, as wondering at his Liberality. And so let him jog on a while, that we may have leisure to recount some other Passages, necessary for the better understanding of this History.   

CHAP. XXVII.  
Wherein is discovered who Mr. Peter was, together with the ill success which Don Quixote had in the Adventure of Braying, which did not fall out according to his Wishes.  
THey who have red the first part of this History, may remember a certain Rake-hell, whom Don Quixote set at liberty, together with several other Newgate Birds. This same Tory was he that robbed Sancho of his Grizzle in the Black Mountain.  
This same Black Tom, fearing the Warrants that were out against him, to punish him for the Rogueries he had committed, of which the number is so great, that they are extant in Print in a Book much like that of the English Rogue, put a black plaster upon his Eye, and in that disguise resolved to wander up and down the Country and show Puppet-plays; wherein, as also in the Art of High Pass and be gone, he was an accomplished Master. The Monkey he bought in his Travels of certain mariners that came from the cost of barbary; and taught him to leap upon his Shoulder upon a certain sign given, and to make as if he whispered in his Ear. This done, before he entered into any Place where he intended to take up his Quarters, he carefully informed himself in the next Village what particular Accidents had happened in that place, and to what Persons, and Barrell'd 'em up safely in his Memory. Then the first thing he did, was to show his Puppet-play, that represented some times one History, sometimes another, which were generally well known, and taking among the Vulgar. After that, he commended the wonderful Qualities of his Ape, telling the People that he knew all things that were past and present, but never what was to come; and for every Answer to every Question he took a Shilling, and many times less, as he felt the Pulses of his Customers. And sometimes when he came to the Houses of People, of whom he had already had some information, he would without being asked, make his accustomed sign to his Monkey, and then as if the Monkey had  told him, relate the passage with all' its Circumstances; by which means he had got a mighty Credit among the Vulgar sort; or if he were not fully informed, then by the Dexterity of his Wit, he return'd such Ambiguous Answers, which suited with the Question like a Garment that will fit several Persons, laughing all the while at all the World, and filling his Purse: So that in such a disguise 'twas easy for Mr. Peter to cully Don Quixote and Sancho, whom he knew as soon as he entered the Inn, tho unknown to them.  
Now let us overtake the famous Knight of the Mancha; who having left the Inn, resolved before he went to Saragosa to visit the pleasant Banks of the River Heber, and the Places adjoining, especially finding he had time enough, and being never out of his way.  
For two days together he travelled without meeting any Adventure worthy Observation; till the third day, mounting up a little Hill, he heard a great noise of Drums and Trumpets, and shooting off of Muskets, which he thought at first had been some muster of the County Train Bands, and made him spur up Rosinante to the Top of the Hill, where he saw i' the Vale on the other side about two hundred Men armed with different Weapons, Pitchforks, partisans, Crossbows, Pikes, and some Muskets. Thereupon he road down the Hill so near the Multitude, that he could distinguish their Colours, and their mottoes; and among the rest he discovered one Ensign of black Taffaty, upon which was Painted an Ass to the Life, stretching out his Neck, holding up his Snout, widening his Nostrils, and thrusting out his Tongue, just in the Posture of an Ass that is Braying; with this Motto round about.  
'twas not for nothing, if well weighed,  
That both the wise Const-ables brayed.  
This Motto gave Don Quixote to understand that they were the Inhabitants of the Braying Village; and therefore said he to Sancho, showing him what was written in the Colours; the Carrier that  told us the Story of the Men that brayed was absolutely mistaken; for they were not bailiffs of a Corporation that brayed, but certain Constables or Princes of the Night, as is apparent by the Motto in the Colours. Sir, said Sancho, I have nothing to do with Bradshaws windmill, neither is it any way material to the Truth of the Story, whether they were bailiffs or Constables,( tho Constables do make a fearful noise sometimes) nay for ought I know they might be two of your Country Just-Asses of the Peace, put into Commission more for their Money then their Wit: but let 'em be what they will, what's that to you or me? The Mayor of Altringham and the Mayor of Over, one was a Thatcher the other a Dauber— but what's this to you or me, or the History?— pray go on, Sir, if y' have any thing more to say.  
At length Don Quixote understood that they were a Company of hairbraind Men of Gotam, mustered together to fight the People of another Village, who indeed jeered 'em with their Braying too unmercifully, and like ill Neighbours. Thereupon Don Quixote road in among 'em, notwithstanding all Sancho's prudent Admonitions, who had no kindness for such sort of Adventures; at what time the armed Rabble hemn'd him in, believing him to be one of their Party. But Don Quixote lifting up his Vizor, and with a lofty Countenance desiring the Throng to make way, road up to the Standard, where the chief Masters of Misrule gathered about him, no less astonished then others had been before at his strange Physiognomy and Equipage. Don Quixote therefore perceiving how they stared and gaped upon him, resolved to take the Advantage of their silence, and willing to enlighten their Understandings,  
Gentlemen, said he, I desire ye with all the love and kindness that may be, not to interrupt me in my discourse, unless you find it displeasing to your Ears; for then upon the holding up of a Finger I shall stop, tho it be i' the midst of my Career. Thereupon one that seemed to command the Rest bid him speak freely, and as long as he pleased. Then Don Quixote beginning a second time.  
Gentlemen, said he, I am a Knight-Errant, Arms are my Exercise, and my Profession is to succour those that are under Oppression and have need of my Assistance. It is but within these few days that I understood the mischance that had befallen ye, and how that ye had taken Arms to revenge yourselves upon a Company of Coggshall Jeerers, that insulted over your Misfortune. I must confess I have been ever since considering, and pondering, and meditating upon your Case; and I find by the strict Laws of Duels, that you injure yourselves, in believing yourselves affronted; for that one particular Person cannot affront a whole Corporation and Society of Men, unless it be by accusing 'em of a general Rebellion or Insurrection, for want of knowing the Ringleaders. Of which we have a notable Example in the Case of Don Diego de Lara, who accused all the Inhabitants of Zamora for Traytors, not knowing that Vellido Dolfos had killed the King his Master; and so accusing all, the Revenge and the Defence belonged to all in General. I must confess, Don Diego strained a Note above Ela; for it was unreasonable to accuse the Dead, or the Waters, or the Corn that was reaped, or those that were unborn, as you may red in the Accusation; but when a Man's welsh Blood is up, there is no kerb that can hold it in. Wise Men and well governed republics never take Arms, nor hazard their Lives and Estates, but upon five occasions; In the first place to defend their Religion; Secondly in defence of their Lives and Fortunes, which the Laws both of God and Man allow: Thirdly, to maintain the Honour and Dignity of our Families; Fourthly, for the Service of our Prince in his just Wars: Fifthly, which indeed may be referred to the second, in defence of our Country— Under these five, as Capital Heads, may be comprehended all the other occasions of taking Arms in a just cause. But to run Hurry Hurry, to revenge and slaughter for Trifles, and the little Extravagancies of wanton Waggery and Pastime, is not only a breach of the Law, but directly contrary to the purity of Christian Morality, which commands us to forgive our Enemies, and to Love our Neighbours as ourselves. A severe Injunction I must confess to those that partake more of the Flesh then of the Spirit, yet a command to which it behoves all Men to submit, that would be Imitators of the Grand Exemplar of Love and Peace. And now Gentlemen having said thus much, I hope I need say no more to persuade ye to lay down your Tumultuous Arms, that only serve to disturb the public tranquillity, and render ye obnoxious to your Princes just Indignation.  
Here Don Quixote paws'd a while, as it were to take breath; at what time Sancho believing he had done, the Devil take me, quo he, if this Master a' mine be not a Doctor of Divinity; or if he be not so indeed, he's as like one as four Pence to a Groat; and then encouraged by the continued attention of the Armed Auditory— Gentlemen, quo he, My Lord Don Quixote, once called the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, but now the Knight of the lions, is a Person of great knowledge and discretion, and one that can speak Latin as fluently as an Usher of a School; and in all the Counsels and Admonitions that he gives he speaks like a soldier, bluntly but to the purpose. He has all the Laws and Statutes of Military Discipline and Knight-Errantry at his Fingers ends, so that you may depend upon his Advice; and in so doing if ever ye tread awry, then will I give ye leave to brand me for an Infidel. And I must tell ye, 'tis not without good Reason that he seems so much offended at your quarreling so idly about a silly Business of Braying. For I remember when I was a little Scaperloiterer, and used to play truant, I took great delight in Braying; and by often practise, without offence to your Worships, and without vanity be it spoken, it was so natural to me, that all the Asses i' the Village would fall a Braying when they heard me Bray. And yet for all that, I was no less the Son of Parents, who were Both well descended. I must confess that for this excellent Quality of mine, I was envied by above four of the best Young Men i' the Parish, but I valued 'em not a Button; well knowing that every Man was to make the best of those parts which Heaven and his own Industry had bestowed upon him. Now, Gentlemen, to let you see that I am no liar, but one that always tells truth, do but hear me, and then your own Ears shall be Judges; for this Art of mine is like swimming, once acquired 'tis never forgot. And so saying, the sincere Squire, clapping both the Paums of his Hands to his Nose, fell a Braying with such a strong and vigorous breath, that he made all the Neighbouring Woods and valleys ring again. But as he was going to recover his Wind, and Bray a second time, one of those that stood next him, believing he had done it in mockery, gave him such a thump with a wooden Leaver upon the Reins of his Back, that he felled poor Sancho from his Ass, and laid him sprawling upon the Ground. Don Quixote seeing his unfortunate Squire so uncivilly used, ran with his Lance couched against the remorceless assailant; but finding him rescued by such a number of Pitchforks and other desperate Weapons, and feeling it already began to rain mortal showers of Stones about his Ears, besides a great number of Muskets ready to give Fire, he withdrew himself out of the Throng as fast as Rosinante could Gallop, hearty recommending himself to God and his dear Mistress, believing himself already shot through with a thousand Bullets: but the Rabble being satisfied with his Flight, never offered to sand any of their Leaden Messengers after him. As for Sancho, he was acquitted, upon payment of the blow he had received; so that they laid him athwart his Ass, hardly recovered from the swimming of his Head that accompanied the bruise of his Back, and suffered him to follow his Master; which his Grizzle according to Custom did of her own accord, as not being able to quit the Society of Rosinante, tho but for a moment. Don Quixote on the other side having tried Rosinantes Heels, and perceiving himself out of Gun-shot, faced about; and seeing Sancho and his Ass pacing fair and softly towards him, without any troublesome Train attending 'em, stayed to receive and condole his Friend and Associate.  
As for the Men of War they stayed till night, and then return'd home to their Wives, triumphing over their dastardly Enemies that durst not show their Faces. And I believe, that had they understood the Custom of the Greeks and Oliverians, they would have erected some Trophy in the Place of expectation, as a Monument of their Valour, and have set apart a day of Thanksgiving for their Great Victory.   

CHAP. XXVIII.  
Containing several Remarkable Passages written by Benengeli, which he that reads the next Chapter with Attention may know.  
WHen a Valiant Man flies, you may be sure he has discovered some Ambuscade; for it becomes a prudent Person to reserve himself for a better Occasion. This Truth is verified in Don Quixote, who never considering the danger wherein he had left the distressed Sancho, choose rather to run away, then expose himself to the fury of an enraged Multitude; and to secure himself at a distance out of harms way. Sancho, as I said before, followed his Master stretched out upon his Grizzle, and having recovered his Sences, just as he had overtaken him, fell down at Rosinante's Feet. Presently Don Quixote alighted to search his Wounds, but finding his Skin whole, in a Pelting chafe, Friend, quo he, who the Devil taught you to Bray with a Pox to ye? I had thought you had known better things, then to be talking of Halters, in the House of a Man whose Parents were hanged.' Slife! what other payment could such a Musitioner as you expect for his music? Go and thank God, Sirrha, that instead of dry blows, they did not slice thee into fat Collops.  
I have not a word to say for myself, replied Sancho, my Kidneys speak sufficiently for me; pray, Sir, help me up, and let's get out of this place; if ever I Bray again i' this World, I'll gi' ye my Mother for a Maid. Only I cannot forbear to observe the Wisdom and Prudence of you Knight-Errants in running away to save one, and leave their Squires to be thrashed like Wallnut Trees in the midst of their Enemies. No, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, I did not run away, but only retire; for thou must know Sancho, that Valour which is not supported by Prudence is mere Rashness, and the Actions of a Rash Man are attributed rather to his good Fortune, then to his Courage: I must confess I did retire, but not fly; and in so doing I did but imitate the most Valiant Captains, who not to hazard their Honour indiscreetly, have reserved themselves for more favourable occasions. Histories are full of Accidents of the same Nature, but as it is to no purpose, so neither am I in a humour at present to urge Presidents.  
By this time Don Quixote having settled Sancho upon his Ass, and being mounted himself, they marched fair and softly along to a Wood about a quarter of a Mile off: Yet as softly as they road, Sancho could not forbear fetching most profound sighs, and making heavy Lamentations, bemoaning his Ribs after a most doleful manner; of which when Don Quixote demanded the Reason, poor Sancho sadly answered, that from his Nock-bone to the very Nape of his Neck, his pain was such as almost bereft him of his Speech. Doubtless, quo Don Quixote, the cause of thy extraordinary Pain, is by reason the Leaver being long and broad, was well aimed and laid on at the full breadth, as a broad Blister spread upon the Skin, Scarifies more then one of a lesser Compass. By the Lord Harry, Sir, quo Sancho, you ha' revealed to me a very great Mystery: And now i' the Devil's name; was the Cause of my Pain so hard to be divined, that you must discover it in such Eloquent Terms? O yes; I ha' found it out, for you say I have a pain in my Ankle-bone which I know not of, and that's a point of Divination indeed; but to tell me the cause of my Pain where the Leaver hit me, every Fool could ha' done that. In good soothe, Sir, Mr. Master of ours, now I discover Land; I find you are like all the rest of the World, that lay to heart no Bodies harms but their own; and what I must expect by keeping you Company— e'en as ye left me now to the Mercy of these bloody Rib roasters, and t'other day to be tost in a Blanket upon an Errand to the Moon; so do I expect to be left a hundred times more i' these Lurches; and as it is like to cost me one Rib at present, the next 'bout ware both my Eyes. Death o' the Devil, I ha' been always a Fool hitherto, and so shall continue as long as I live— My best course had been never to have undertook these Rambles, and now my best course will be to return home to my Wife and Children, and look after my House with that little Wit that God has given me, instead of running your Wild-goose chases any longer, and the most part of my time too, without either eating or drinking. A comfortable Refreshment indeed, after a Man has wearied himself off his Legs, to cry— are ye sleepy, Brother Squire? Take six Foot of Earth; and if that won't serve, take six Foot more.— The Devil burn that same first Son of a Butcher that invented this Knight-Errantry; or at least the first Fool, that had so little Wit as to turn Squire to such a Parcel of Mad men— Pardon me, Sir, I mean the Knights-Errant of former times, not the Honourable Gentlemen of this present Age, for whom I have a particular respect, because your Worship is one of the number, and because I perceive ye to have more Wit and sense then any of the rest; and that indeed you understand a point more then the Devil himself.  
I'll hold a good Wager, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, while thou hast the liberty to prate thus without interruption, that thou feelest no more pain then a Tortoise in his Shell.— Well— Sancho, talk on— talk till thy Lungs ache— talk like a Quaker in a Meeting-House, whatever comes into thy Brain— I'll patiently bear with the trouble of all thy Impertinencies; and if thou hast such a desire to return home to thy Wife and Children, God forbid that I should hinder thee— Thou keep'st my Cash— Count how many days 'tis since we made our last Sally, cast up thy Wages by the Month, and pay thyself— When I served Tom Carrasco the Students Father, quo Sancho, whom your Worship knows very well, I earned a Mark a Month: I know not what to demand of you; but this I know, that a Squire to a Knight-Errant undergoes more hardship then e're a Plough-Boy i' the World: for we that go to Plough and Cart, whatever we endure all the day, are sure of our Fat Bacon and Pudding at night, and to snoar in a Bed: But since I served you, I'll take my Corporal Oath I never had my Belly full, nor a good nights Rest, unless it were at Don Diegoes House, when I scumm'd Don Martins cauldron, and drank and slept at Mr. Basils. Mercy upon me, all the rest of my time I never slept but upon the Green Earth, under the Canopy of Heaven, exposed to all the Inconveniencies of Wind and Weather, living providentially upon Scraps of hard Cheese, and moldy Crusts, and drinking the Water of the Deserts.  
I agree to all you say, quo Don Quixote; then how much more dost thou demand above what Tom Carrasco paid thee? why truly, quo Sancho, if I may be my own Caterer, two Shillings a Month more then Tom Carrasco gave me I think will be but very reasonable for Wages; and then in lieu of the iceland which you promised me, I think that in point of Conscience you cannot give me less then twelve Shillings a Month more, which makes twenty seven Shillings and four Pence in all.  
Very good, quo Don Quixote— Let's see then, 'tis now twenty five days since we left our Village, reck'n what is thy due for Wages, and for the rest take your own demands and pay thyself.  
But stay, Sir, replied Sancho— we are out in our account, for as to your promise of the iceland, we are to reck'n from the very day that you first made the promise to this very Minute. Very good, quo Don Quixote— and how long is it, I pray, since I first made you that promise? According to the best of my Remembrance, quo Sancho, I think it is from this very Hour about twenty years, more or less. Hoyday, quo Don Quixote, bursting forth into a loud laughter, what ayls the Fellow?— we have hardly been abroad in all two Months; and now thou wouldst make me believe 'tis twenty Years ago since I obliged myself to give thee an iceland— I find thou hast a mind to turn Cheat i' thy Old Age, and to Couzen me of all my Money— in good time— Take it with all my heart, and much good may it do thee— for rather then be plagued with such a confounded Squire as thou art, I would part with my Shirt.— But prithee tell me, Treacherous transgressor of all the Laws of Knight-Errantry— where didst thou see or red that ever any Squire stood haggling with his Master, or brangling as thou hast done about more or less? Dive Cut-Purse, dive miserable Wretch, into the spacious Sea of History, and show me any such example, and I'll give thee leave to Brand me i' the Forehead, with four Mammon's in Capital Letters over my Nose. Go too then, the business is concluded, take thy own Course, and get thee home with a murrain, for I am resolved thou shalt not stay a Minute longer i' my Service. O the many Loavs of mine ill bestowed! Friendship ingratefully recompensed! Promises ill placed! vile heartless Wretch, that partak'st more of Beast then Human kind!— Thou art leaving me, when I was just upon the very point of raising thee to the highest pinnacle of Grandeur— Thou shark'st away from me, when I had the best iceland in the Sea ready to bestow upon thee— just when I thought to have seen thee honoured and respected by all the World. Treacherous Infidel without Honour, without Ambition— well mightst thou say indeed that Honey was not for the Chaps of an Ass; and indeed thou art a very Ass; an Ass thou wilt live, and an Ass thou wilt die.  
While Don Quixote was thus loading poor Sancho with Reproaches, poor Sancho all abashed, dismayed, and confounded, beholded his Master with a wistful look, and bursting out for grief into a flood of Tears; Sir, said he, with a whining and sorrowful Voice, just as if he had been reading his Neck-Verse, my most dear and precious Master, I aclowledge I want nothing but a Tail and long Ears to be an absolute Ass; if your Worship will be pleased but to fix the one to my Backside, and the other to my Head, I shall deem 'em well set on, and serve ye all the days of my Life. Be not so angry I beseech ye, Sir, rather pitty my Youth, consider my Breeding, and if my Tongue run at random, ascribe it to my weakness and simplicity, rather then to my evil Intentions; for as the fault is, so must the Pardon be. Sancho, quo Don Quixote, what are become of all thy Proverbs; I admire thou couldst talk all this while, without so much as one musty Adagie. But all's well again, thy Repentance has prevailed, and I pardon thee, tho upon this Condition, that thou amend'st thy follies, and for the future tak'st care of being so riveted to thy own Self interest. Pluck up a good heart then, and rely upon the Faith and Integrity of my Promises, of which thou wilt soon see the full accomplishment, and don't believe 'em impossible because delay d. Thereupon Sancho recovered out of his Dumps, renewed the League with his Master, and promised to reform all his past Errors.  
Having thus finished their discourse, they betook themselves into the Wood, and lay rough at the bottom of a three; where Sancho had but a bad nights Rest, in regard the Coolness of the Air augmented his Distemper. As for Don Quixote, he diverted himself with his usual Imaginations. But neither of 'em liking their Lodging, they got up early i' the Morning, and continued their Journey toward the River Heber; where what befell 'em, we shall relate i' the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XXIX.  
Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Bark.  
AFter two days March, our Noble Adventurers arrived at the River Heber; where Don Quixote was infinitely pleased to behold the Beauty of the River, the Verdure of its Banks, the abounding plenty of the Water, and the tranquillity of the Stream. And this delightful Prospect recalling to his mind a thousand amorous thoughts; more especially of what he had seen in the Cave of Montesinos, which he assured himself to be real Truths, in despite of the Monkeys Answer, and contrary to Sancho's more judicious Opinion, who took 'em all for lies, he abandoned himself, waking, to his wonted idle and fantastic Dreams.  
In the midst of these charming fancies, he spied in the River a small Bark without any Oars, Cordage or Sails, moored to the Trunk of a three. Thereupon looking round about him, and seeing the cost clear, he threw himself to the ground, commanding Sancho to alight and tie their Beasts to an Osier that grew ready at hand. Sancho asked him wherefore he alighted so briskly, and what design he had in his Noddle?  
Friend, quo Don Quixote, thou art to understand, that this same Bark lies there to no other end but only to invite me to enter into it, for the relief of some distressed Knight, or other person of Quality that is in great danger: For observe the very method of Enchanters in all the Books of Knight-Errantry, when any Knight, who is a friend of theirs, is up to the ears i' the suds, and knows not which way i' the world to get out of himself, but by the assistance of some other Knight, as being perhaps two or three thousand miles distant one from the other, they sand him, as here now, a Bark, that seems to be altogether unrigg'd, and without either Oars or Tackle, as this is, in which he crosses the Sea; or else they horse him up into a Cloud, and by that means before you can tell twenty, he is transported through the Air, or whisk'd along the Seas to the Place where there is occasion for him: and now if this Boat don't lye here merely upon this design, I am a Horse and no Knight-Errant. And therefore tie up Rosinante and Grizzle, and let's begon without losing time; for I am resolved to try this Adventure, tho all the Monks of St. Francis's Order should conjure me upon their knees to desist. Nay, Sir, quo Sancho, if nothing will serve your turn, but still to follow these intoxications of the Devils Witchcraft, my part is only to make a leg and obey— according to the Proverb— Do as thy Master commands thee, tho it be to sit at his Table. However in discharge of a good Conscience, give me leave to tell ye, I do not believe this Boat to be any of those Enchanters Boats you dream of, but some Fishermans Vessel that uses this River, which affords the best Thornback in all the Country. This advice did Sancho give his Master while he was tying the Beasts to the three, tho grieved to the very Soul to leave the poor Creatures alone; and therefore like a faithful Friend most hearty recommended 'em to the care of the Enchanters. Which Don Quixote hearing, bid him never pine himself for the Beasts; assuring him that the Necromancers would never suffer 'em to want. Go too, Sir, then said Sancho, they are fast I'll warrant ye, what must we do next? Nothing more, replied D. Quixote, but recommend ourselves to God and weigh Anchor. And so saying he leaped into the Bark, when Sancho following him, cut the Cable, and so by degrees the stream carried the Boat from the shore; but Sancho no sooner saw himself in the middle of the River, but he began to quiver and shake, as giving himself over for Sea-monster diet. But nothing grieved him so much as to hear Grizzle bray, and to see how Rosinante paw'd and tugged his Bridle to get to the Grass. Sir, said he, look yonder, how poor Rosinante strives to break his Bridle, mad to throw himself after Us; hark too, how my poor Grizzle bemoans our Absence. Ah my dear Friends, then continued he, have patience a little while, till Heaven shall find a Cure for this Madness of our Master's that makes this Separation, and then ye may be sure we'll soon return to your relief. Which said, he fell a blubbering and making such an ugly noise, that Don Quixote, giving him a surly look; Dastard, quo he, What is't thou fearest? What dost bleat for like a great Calf? Who pursues thee, for a Weezle-hearted Rascal? What wouldst thou say if thou wert to march Barefoot over the Snowy Riphaean Mountains, or the burning Sands of the Libyan Deserts; Thou that sitt'st like an Arch-duke at a Table abounding with Plenty? See how softly and gently the Current of this River carry's us along; from whence in a Moment we shall fall into the wide Ocean, if we are not there already. For I am sure we are about seven or eight hundred Leagues from the Place where we first embarked— had I but an Astrolabe here, I could tell thee exactly; tho if I guess right we are now about to pass the Equinoctial Line, that divides the whole World into two equal Parts.  
And when we have passed that Line, as you call it, I beseech your Worship, how many Leagues have we sailed then? When we come to the Line, quo Don Quixote, we have measured the one half of the Globe of the Earth, according to Ptolomies account, who was one of the best Cosmographers i' the World; which at three hundred and sixty degrees, and five and twenty Leagues to a degree, makes nine thousand Leagues in all.  
By the Lord Harry, quo Sancho, this same Monsieur of a Count, what d' ye call him, with his Additions of Meon or Meo, was a notable Man sure; and is mightily beholding to your Worship, to carry me along with ye by Water, to witness the Truth of his wonders; for I'll undertake neither Rosinante, nor Grizzle would ha' travelled one of these degrees in six years. I find thou dost not understand me Sancho, quo Don Quixote, smiling, neither have I leisure at present to inform thee; however thou canst not take it amiss to try an Experiment that costs thee nothing. The Spaniards and all those that Embark from Cadiz to the East-Indies, have made it a most infallible Observation, that so soon as they have passed the Equinoctial Line, all their Vermin die; not so much as one Louse remaining, tho you might have an Ounce of Gold for every Black-listed Animal. Look therefore Sancho' i thy Shirt, and if thou findest any Creepers about thee, then we have not past the Line; if thou dost not, then we have past the Line. Tararara, quo Sancho, the Devil take him for the Son of a Whore that believes a Tittle of all this: However I'll submit to your Commands, tho there be no occasion; for I plainly see with my own Eyes, that we are not got above twenty Perches from the Shore, by the same token that you may discern Rosinante and Grizzle in the same place still where we left 'em tied. And I'll venture my Wife and Children that we do not move much faster then an Emmet, and that we go no farther then yonder Lock which I see before us.  
Try what I tell thee, Sancho, and never stand to argue; thou know'st not what belongs to colours, Lines, Parallels, Zodiacks, Poles, Solstices, Planets, Signs, Tangents, Points and Climates, of which the sphere is composed; and therefore, as I said before, romage thy linen, and believe as thou seest thyself; for, for my part I take thee to be as clear as a Sheet of guilt Venice Paper. Thereupon Sancho obeyed, put his hand gently into his Bosom, and after he had felt a while, staring in his Masters Face, the Experiment is false, quo he, or else we mistake quarter Inches for Leagues— How! quo Don Quixote, hast found any thing Sancho? 'tis enough that I tell ye th' Experiment's false, cried Sancho, and so saying, he shook his Fingers over the Water, and then washed his Hands in the River, upon which the Bark driven along insensibly, without the help of any secret Intelligence, or concealed Necromancer, but only by the bare Assistance of the Current as calm and smooth as a Milk-bowl. Don Quixote however would not believe but that he was whirled along as swift as an Arrow out of a Bow; and perceiving certain Mills i' the middle of the River, full of joy, Friend Sancho, quo he, look yonder, there's the City or Castle, I'me sure, where some distressed Knight, or Queen, or Princess lies, that wants the succour of my Potent Arm— and now— What City or Castle i' the Devils name d' ye mean? Sir, quo Sancho— Have not you lived long enough yet to know Mills from Cities? Good God, quo Don Quixote, how long will these Misfortunes of mine attend me? They seem indeed to be Mills, but assuredly they are not Mills. Have I not  told thee a hundred times that these Necromancers change, overturn, and disguise all things at their pleasure; not that these changes are really so, but only their Sorceries make 'em seem to be so. Of which we have had a late Confirmation in the Enchantment of my Dear Dulcinea, the only Refuge of all my Hopes.  
By this time the Bark being got into the middle of the Stream, the Current carried it along much swifter then before. At what time the Millers perceiving the Bark coming a-drift full upon the Mill Wheels, came running out with their long Poles, with all the Assistance they could readily call together, crying out as loud as they could open their Throats, Devils of Men, what d' ye mean, whither are ye going, are ye mad i' the Boat there, d' ye intend to be drowned, or ground to bits by the Mill Wheels?  
Don Quixote observing the Miller's Countenances powdered with Meal-dust, and all their Tatters of the same Colour; did not I tell thee Sancho, said he, 'twould not be long before we came to the place where it is ordained for me to show my utmost Prowess, and the Invincible strength of my Arm? See yonder how many dismal Hobgoblins make head against me, how many deformed Physiognomies appear at once together, thinking to affright me with their Goggle Eyes and Saracen's Faces? But we'll be with ye Hang-dogs, immediately. With that he stood up in the Bark, and rending his Wind-pipe, in a most terrible tone began to threaten the Millers, crying out, Sons of Perdition, Infidels accursed of Heaven, Pagans, mahometans, Turks, and Devils upon Earth, release forthwith those Captives detained within your Castle, High or Low, Rich or Poor, of what Condition or Quality soever they be; for I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Renowned Knight of the lions, for whom Heaven has reserved the Honour to put a happy Conclusion to this Adventure. And having so said, he drew his Sword and fenced with the Air, as if he had been at Back-sword already with his Enemies the Millers; who hearing all this while his thundering Threats, but understanding what he meant no more then Horses, stood ready with their Poles to keep off the Bark from the Wheels, and to preserve a Mad-man that had no care of himself. For near the Mill-dam the Stream ran strong, and brought down the Bark with a Rapid swiftness.  
All this while poor Sancho was at his Prayers to Heaven for deliverance but this one time; vowing to all the Saints as the Secretary did, that if ever they took him again in a Bark without Oars, he would give 'em leave to drown him; for that nothing but a Miracle or the Millers could save him: who so bestirred themselves, that they prevented the danger, tho not so dexterously, but that in turning the Bark from the Wheels, they overturned it the Keel upwards, with all its lading, and sauce came Don Quixote and his Squire both into the River. 'twas well for Don Quixote that he could swim like an Otter; but the weight of his armor for all that carried him twice down to the bottom; however by means of his extraordinary Skill, and his labouring for Life like a Mouse in a Wash-bowl, he got up again, and at length the Millers throwing themselves into the Water, made a shift to pull out Don Quixote, and poor Sancho, that looked like a pumpt bailiff; which had they not done, there had been an end of the Succour of the Oppressed, and the mirror of Island-Governours.  
In this Pickle, more sous'd then thirsty, the Millers laid out the Knight, now tame enough, and his Anabaptiz'd Squire upon the Grass a drying in the Sun; at what time Sancho shivering and shaking with could, and lifting up his Eyes and his Hands to Heaven, called upon all the Saints he could think of, to deliver him for the future from the Rash extravagancies, and inconsiderate follies of his Master.  
But he had scarce ended his Prayers, before the Philistin Fisher-men were upon him; who seeing their Bark broken all to pieces, fell upon Sancho, and began to uncase him, demanding satisfaction both of him and his Master for the loss of their Bark. To whom Don Quixote, no more disturbed then if he had been bathed in Essence of Oranges, answered with his usual Flegmatick Gravity, that he was ready to pay for the Bark, provided they would release the Captives that they detained unjustly in their Castle; which not being done they must hope for no Mercy nor Money from him. What Captives, i' the name of Lucifer, what Castle d' ye mean, Sir, quo the Millers, would ye carry away our Customers from us? This 'tis, quo Don Quixote, to preach in a Wilderness; a Man had as good talk to the Rocks, as to such Trash of Mankind as these. Then continuing his Speech; Certainly, said he, this must be some confounded Contest between two Necromancers, both Craftmasters i' their Art: One sends me a Bark and t'other overturns it; God sand us better Times, for here is nothing but over-reaching and undermining i' this World. Then casting a fixed eye upon the Millers, well— my dear Friends, and Princesses, quo he, pardon me, I beseech ye, since it so falls out, both to your Misfortune and mine, that it lies not in my power to release ye from your Chains.  
After that, he came to an agreement with the Fishermen for the price of the Boat, to whom Sancho paid down five good Mark in ready coin, fetching a hundred sighs from the bottom of his heart as he  told out the money: and when he saw the Fishermen purse up the Guelt; Adieu dear Images of our sovereign Lord the King, quo he, one such Voyage more will bring our Noble to Ninepence.  
Thus Don Quixot, like some Princes, wisely bought his Peace: yet neither could the Millers nor the Fishermen forbear admiring two such Figures and Resemblances of Human Offspring, that neither spoken nor acted like the rest of the Sons of Men; both their Language and their Design being all Heathen Greek and Mysteries to Them incomprehensible. And therefore at length concluding 'em to be Ten degrees madder than any Tom-a-Bedlams they had ever seen, they left 'em and return'd, the Millers to their Mill, and the Fishermen to their Employment. Don Quixot also and Sancho made hast to relieve their Beasts, that with sorrowful Countenances seemed to bewail their being tied up from the sweet Tufts of Grass that grew under their noses; a Grievance to them beyond the Enchantment of ten thousand Princesses and Persons of Quality.   

CHAP. XXX.  
Containing what happened to Don Quixot, upon his meeting with the fair Huntress.  
THus the Knight and Squire return'd with wet Shirts, and melancholy Hearts to the dear Companions of their Travels; tho Sancho were the more cast down and pensive of the two; who minding nothing but his Profit, inwardly sorrow'd for the loss of his Five Marks, which he looked upon as so many drops of Blood, or the apple of his Eyes. Well, to be short, at length they both mounted, without so much as opening their Lips one to another, and left the unfortunate River, riding along like two Mutes, the one profoundly drowned in his Romantick Amusements, the other pondering how to get more Money, and where to lie warm at Night. For Sancho, as simplo as he was, had so ill an Opinion of his Masters Fegaries, that he began to despair of any good to be expected from his Promises, and to cast about which way to make his escape, and leave him to Ramble by himself. But Fortune ordained it quiter otherwise then he could possibly imagine, as you shall find by the Sequel.  
It happened then, that the next day toward Evening, just as he was bidding farewell to a forest, Don Quixote spied a great number of People, at the farther end of a green Meadow; to whom he road up, and then found 'em to be certain Persons of Quality, that were abroad with their Hawks and their Spaniels. Among the rest he perceived a Lady with a Hawk upon her Fist, richly habited, upon a white Pacing mere, sumptuously equipped, with a green Velvet Side-saddle embroidered with Silver. Which made Don Quixote believe her to be some Person of Honour, and Mistress of the Train that attended, as indeed she was. Thereupon, turning about to his Squire, Son Sancho, said he, go and present my humble duty to that Lady upon the white mere, and tell her the Knight of the lions adores the Majesty of her Matchless Beauty; and if she pleases to vouchsafe him the favour, has an Ambition to kiss her fair Hands, and obey her Commands to the utmost of his Power— But Sirrha, have a care how you deliver yourself; more especially refrain for once that confounded Custom of thine, of garbling thy moldy Proverbs with my refined compliments. mary, quo Sancho, who more a Proverb monger then yourself?— Is this the first time think ye, that I have gone of your Embassies to great ladies? Unless it were when I sent thee to Madam Dulcinea, replied Don Quixote, I never know of any other for me. 'tis very true, cried Sancho, but a good Paymaster never grudges his Wages; and in a House where there's plenty the Cloath is soon laid. That is to say, I need none of your Admonitions; for God be thanked, I know a little of every thing. I believe it, quo Don Quixote, go thy ways, and thy good Angel guide thee. Presently Sancho set forward, putting his Patient Grizzle to the Trot, and approaching the fair Huntress, he presently alighted, and throwing himself upon his Knees; Most fair and right Reverend Lady, quo he, the Knight whom yonder you behold with your Beautiful Eyes, is the Knight of the lions, my Master, and I am his Squire, whom my Neighbours at home call Gaffer Sancho Pansa. This Knight of the lions, who not long since was called the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, sends me to bid me tell your Huge and Mightiness, that his Lowness desires the Favour, with your good leave and perdition, to come and prostrate himself, in the first place at your Highnesses Feet; i' the second place, to rise up and kiss your sweet Winsom Gollikins, as we say in our Country; and then in the third place to put in execution his terrible design, which as he says, and I believe, he has to admire your Safforn duty, and to serve your High-born Revinity to the utmost of his Power; for which if you will give him your perdition, he will take it for a great favour, to be your ternal Vassel. In good truth, most excellent Squire, you have delivered your Embassy with all the formality and discretion, that such a weighty Commission required. Recover your Legs I beseech ye, Sir; for 'tis not reasonable the Squire to so famous a Knight as the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, with whose Grandeur and worth we are sufficiently acquainted, should remain upon his Knees; rise therefore Honest Friend, and go and tell your Master, that 'twill be the greatest Honour and Satisfaction imaginable both to the Duke and myself, if he will but accept the rude welcome of a House we have hard by.  
Sancho rose, altogether ravished with the Beauty and Affability of the Lady, but much more when he heard her talk of the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, as a Person that was known to her, never taking notice of her not calling him the Knight of the lions, which was a Title he had but lately assumed to himself.  
Then quo the duchess, I pray Mr. Squire tell me one thing. Is not this Master of yours the Person whose Life is lately come forth in Print, under the Title of The History of the most admirable Knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, who adores for his Mistress a certain Lady, called by the name of Dulcinea deal Toboso? The very same an't like your Holiness, quo Sancho, and that same Squire so often mentioned in the History by the name of Sancho Pansa, is myself, Madam, if I was not changed i' my Cradle. I am extremely glad of it, replied the duchess, Go then dear Pansa and tell thy Master, that he has extremely obliged me by his arrival on my Territories, an accident so grateful that nothing could have happened more to my Content and Satisfaction.  
With this same gracious Answer, Sancho return'd overjoyed to his Master, to whom he repeated all that the Lady had said to him, extoling in his rustical dialect, her Beauty, her Carriage, and her Affability, to the sky.  
Don Quixote overjoyed at such a Prosperous beginning, seated himself in his Saddle, fixed his Toes in his Stirrups, gracefully accommodated the Vizor of his Helmet, and cheruping to his Rosinante, road forward to kiss the Lady's Hand. Who so soon as Sancho was gone, had sent for the Duke her Husband, and given him an account of the Message she had received. Thereupon they both prepared to receive the famous Champion; for having red the first part of the History of his Life, they were no less curious to see and know the Person, resolving, as long as he staid, not to contradict him in any thing, but to humour him in all things that were essential to the Entertainment of a Knight-Errant, according to what they had already observed in their frequent reading of Romances.  
Presently Don Quixote approached; at what time Sancho perceiving him making a Motion to alight, hastened to be ready to hold his Stirrup; but making more hast then good speed, he entangled his Leg after such a strange manner in the Cord that served him to rest his Foot, that not being able to disengage himself, he hung by the Heels with his Head upon the Ground close by his Master. On the other side Don Quixote, thinking that Sancho had held his Stirrup, as he was lifting his right Leg over the Horse to alight, with his left brought the Saddle, that was very loose gird, under the very Belly of the Horse, and with that disappointment down came he Head and Crupper both together, confounded with shane, and Cursing poor Sancho, who was almost in as bad a Condition as himself with his Heels i' the Stocks. But the Duke beholding 'em in that distressed plight, gave order to some of his followers to set 'em both upon their Legs again. At what time Don Quixote, who had very much bruised his Huckle-bone, with a Hipshot grace approaching the Lady fell upon his Knees at her Horses Feet. But the Duke, who knew his Wife and her mere to be no Saints, and therefore that so much Adoration was none of their due, alighting from his Horse, and embracing the humble Votary, Sir Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance, said he, It has been no small trouble to me, that you should no sooner set your Foot within my Territories, but you should have so much cause to repent of your favours; but the negligence of Squires is many times the occasion of worse Accidents. The sight of your Illustrious Person, mighty Prince, replied Don Quixote, is a happiness so much by me esteemed, that I would not have valued my falling to the bottom of th' Abyss, for the Purchase of so great an Honour. 'tis true, my Squire, the Devil pick his fat Bones, understands better how to hold a Canterbury Tale of five hours long, then to saddle a Horse; but let my Posture be what it will, whether level with the Earth, or pitched upon my Head with my Heels upward, whether a foot or a Horse-back, I am absolutely at your Lordship's Service, and the most humble Slave of my Lady the duchess, your Peerless Consort, the Queen of Beauty, and sovereign Princess of all courtesy. Forbear your compliments, good my Lord Don Quixote de la Mancha, quo the Duke, so long as Madam Dulcinea lives, all other Lady's are unjustly applauded.  
Here Sancho Pansa, not able any longer to forbear, till his Master had return'd an Answer; It cannot be denied, quo he, but that Madam Dulcinea is a very sweet Creature, a Primrose of beauty; but all the world does not know where the Hare will start. I have heard a good Preacher say, that this same I know not who she is, whom ye call Madam Nature, is like a Potter that makes Vessels of day; he that makes one handsome Pot, can make one, two, three, or a hundred: And so I must tell ye my thoughts, that my Lady the duchess is nothing inferior to Madam Dulcinea. Upon which, Don Quixot addressing himself to the duchess, 'tis my misfortune, Madam, said he, but certainly never any Knight-Errant i'the world was troubled with such an eternal Prateroast, nor such a conceited Hangdog of a Squire, as I am: which if I have the honour to continue but a few days in your Service, your Highness will find to be true. Let Sancho be as conceited as he pleases, replied the duchess, I shall esteem him the better; 'tis a sign he has some wit in his brains: Good Conceits you know my Lord Don Quixot are not to be met with among Loggerheads and Jobbernoles: and therefore if Sancho be a man of merry conceit, I'll warrant him also for a man of wit; and a perpetual babbler to boot, Madam: so much the better cried the Duke; a man that talks well can never talk too much. But not to lose more time in words let's hasten home, whither I intend the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance shall accompany Us this night, if he pleases to do us that honour.  
Your Highness, quo Sancho, mistakes his Title, to call the Knight of the lions, the Knight of the ill-favoured Countenance. Knight of the lions let it be then, replied the Duke— So I say again, if the Knight of the lions will vouchsafe us his presence at a Castle which I have hard by, he shall not fail of the best Entertainment these parts will afford, and which the duchess and myself are wont to give to all Knight-Errants that travail this way.  
Thereupon they all mounted and set forward, the Duke and D. Quixot riding upon each hand of the duchess, who called for Sancho to attend her likewise; pleased with the sportive divertisement of his impertinent Drollery. Nor was the Squire such a bashful Milksop to refuse the Invitation, but crowded in among the foremost, after his wonted unmannerly way, as believing there was no sport i' the Play without him. A saucy Rusticity extremely delightful to the Duke and duchess, who were overjoyed to have met with two men that were not to be paralleled in all the world beside.   

CHAP. XXXI.  
Containing several Extraordinary Matters.  
IT is not to be imagined how joyful Sancho was to see himself so much in the Dutchess's favour. For he made no question but that he should wallow in the same Plenty at the Dukes Palace as he had met with at Don Diego's and Mr. Basil's Houses. For being an Affectionate Friend to good victuals, he laid hold of Opportunities Forelock upon all occasions to stuff his Paunch, wherever he met with Provender to his Liking.  
Now before they arrived at the Castle, the Duke road before, and gave particular Instructions to his Servants how to behave themselves toward the new-come Guest. So that no sooner was Don Quixote entered the Court Yard, but out came two lackeys in long Vests of Crimson, and took him from his Horse; telling him withal, that the duchess expected the same Assistance from his Highness. Thereupon Don Quixote hastened to the duchess, and many Highflown compliments there passed between the Lady and the Knight; but in conclusion she refused to alight in the Arms of any but the Duke her Husband; excusing her self to be a burden too mean for the Arms of such a worthy Champion: so that there was a necessity for the Duke himself to perform that Office. And now being entered into a spacious Hall, immediately there came two young Damsels, who threw a rich and long Mantle of fine Scarlet about Don Quixote's Shoulders. Which done, the Galleries of the Room were filled with Men and Women, the domestics of the Duke, loudly crying out, Welcome, Welcome, the Cream and flower of Knight-Errantry; and so saying, they rained showers of Essences and Sweet Waters, upon the Duke, the duchess and Don Quixote; to the unspeakable Joy and Admiration of the ravished Knight, who never till then so certainly believed himself to be an undoubted and real Knight-Errant; finding himself treated after the same manner as he had red in his Romances of the Entertainments of Knights-Errant in former Ages.  
As for Sancho, he followed the duchess, and keeping close at her Elbow, entered the Hall with the Rest. But being pricked with some remorse of Conscience, for having left his beloved Grizzle alone, he went to a Reverend Matron, that came with the Rest of the waiting Gentlewomen to meet the duchess, and whispering in her Ear, Madam Dorothy, quo he, or what is your name I beseech ye Forsooth? My name, Friend, quo she, is Abigal Fitchet, what is your pleasure with me? I would desire ye, quo Sancho, to go into the Court, where you will find an Ass of mine, pray do me the kindness to order him into the Stable, or else led him thither yourself, for the poor Creature is very timorous, and does not love to be alone in a strange Place.  
If the Master have no more Manners then the Servant, we are all well hope up i'faith, quo Mrs. Abigail; good Gaffer Trundle-tail, go seek some where else for Ladys, with a murrain, to look after your Ass; for here are no Ostlers Daughters i' this House. Gud's life, quo Sancho, what are ye in a Huf, Madam? As if I have not heard my Master, who understands all the Histories in the World, often say, that when Lancelot return'd into England, the Princesses took care of his Person, and the Ladys looked after his Horse. And I must tell ye good Madam Squeeze-fart, I would not change my Ass for Lancelot's Horse, as Mettlesom as he was.  
I think the Fool rides the Fellow, quo Mrs. Abigail— Pray Mr. Jack Adams keep your buffonries for those that will take 'em, and pay ye better then I shall; for I assure ye, had all the Drols i' your great Fairs no better Customers then I, they might go hang themselves; nor would I give a Fig for all the Jests i' your Budget. In my Conscience, quo Sancho, should I take thee for a Fig, I might be sure of a Ripe one; for if I should guess your ladyship at Sixty, I should not miss a Cock-stride of my account.  
Son of a Whore, replied Mrs. Abigail in a violent Twitter, whether I am Old or no, what hast thou to do with it? I am to give God an account of my Age, and not such a Rakeshame as thou— mary gap— ye poison faced Rascal— These last words she uttered with such an outrageous disdain, and so loud, that the duchess heard her, and observing her Colour up, asked her what was the matter? What's the matter, quo she, why here's a saucy Jack Pudding would ha' me put his Ass i' the Stable, telling me a Story of Princesses that looked after the Horse of one, I know not who, Sir Lancelot I think he calls him; and because I superabundant do as he bids me forsooth, here i' your Graces own House he calls me Old in downright English.— Fie Sancho, quo the duchess, I had thought you had known better things, then to call a Gentlewoman Old; and be mistaken too! that's worst of all, for Mrs. Abigail's a young Woman, and wears her Peak, as a Badge of her Authority, not a Mark of her Age.  
May I never go out of your House again, Madam, if I meant any harm— only I have such a Paternal Affection for my dear Grizzle, as having been bread up from our Infancy both together, that I thought I could not recommend him to a Person more Charitable then this good Gentlewoman. Sancho, quo Don Quixote, casting a sour look upon him, d' ye know where ye are? Sir, quo Sancho, every Man talks of his Business in the place where he is; here it was that I thought of my Grizzle, and here I talk of him, had I called him to mind i' the Stable, I had talked of him there— Sancho speaks nothing but reason, said the Duke, nor do I see any cause to blame him; but let him take no care for his Ass— his Ass shall have as good Entertainment as himself.  
This Pleasant Squabble being over, which was sport alone for all the Company, unless it were the formal Don Quixote himself, the Knight was carried into a Noble Room of State, sumptuously hung with Cloath of Gold, where he was disarmed by six young Damsels, that served him instead of Pages, who were fully instructed how to behave themselves, on purpose to feed the Champion's Fancy with Knight-Errant Entertainment. And now Don Quixote being disarmed, appeared in his close Breeches, and Shamoy Doublet, as meager as an old Witch; Hollow-ey'd, Buckram-jaw'd; with both his Cheeks meeting i' the middle of his Mouth: in a word, his Figure was so ridiculous, that the young Girls had certainly bepiss'd themselves with laughing, had not the Duke expressly forbid 'em Giggling, whatever they did. At length they desired the Knight to let 'em pull of his clothes, and put him on a clean Shirt. But he refused their kindness with a serious Modesty, affirming that it became not Knight-Errants to show young Wenches their Tackle; and therefore he requested 'em to leave him and his Squire alone for a while. And so being shut up in a Chamber no less Magnificent then the Room of State, he took his Shirt, and casting a surlie look upon Sancho, Modern Scoundrel, and Ragamuffin of old, quo he, where learnt you to abuse a Lady so venerable and deserving respect as Madam Abigail? Was that a time to think of your Confounded Ass? or dost thou think that Persons of Quality who so Nobly and Magnificently entertain the Masters, forget to provide for their Beasts? For Heavens sake, Sancho, leave off these Fooleries, and don't discover thyself to be such an ignominious Clown as thou seek'st to be. Canst thou be such an ignorant Fop still, as not to understand that People value the Master according to the Behaviour of his Servants; and that Persons of quality have this Advantage over others, to be served by their followers no less civil and well behaved then themselves? But when they find thee out to be such a rustic and Buffoon, what will they think of me? will they not take me for some Country Bumkin, or some Knight that was dubbed with a Stake out of a hedge? No, no, Sancho, avoid these vanities— He that lets his Tongue run at rovers at all times, and at every Body, shall at length be despised by all the World for a Common Twatler, and a Fellow not worth minding— and therefore bridle thy Tongue, Ponder and chaw thy words, before thou let'st 'em fly out of thy Mouth: And lastly consider that we are now happened into a Place, where by the Assistance of Heaven, and the force of this Arm, we may enrich ourselves in Honour and Reputation, and reap the Fruits of our good Fortune. Sancho thus lashed and schooled by these Verbal Castigations of his Master, fell a greeting like a Scotch-man i' the Stule of Repentance, asked forgiveness, and promised for the future so to behave himself, that they should believe he had been bread up at the Feet of Gamaliel.  
Don Quixote having thus vanquished the stubborn humour of his undutiful Prateroast, presently dressed himself; Hung his Eel-skin Belt about his Shoulders, together with his Trusty Sword; buttoned on his Scarlet Cloak, and covered his skull, the Seat of Prudence, with a Velvet Monteer Cap lined through with Cloath of Tissue, which the Damsels brought him, and in that Equipage entered the Great Room of State, where he found twelve Damsels ranged in order, six a one side, and six a' t'other ready to receive him, which they did with all the Ceremonies, Curchees, and compliments imaginable. At the same time also came a dozen Pages with a Squire, to conduct the Knight where the Duke and duchess expected him at Supper. In the midst of those Pages, some before, and some behind, he marched in great Pomp, toward a Sumptuous Parlour, where stood a Magnificent Table covered only with four Messes. At the entrance into the Room stood the Duke and duchess ready to receive him, attended by their Chaplain, a Person of Years and great Gravity; but a kind of formal Pedant, of the Number of those who not being born Princes, will yet take upon 'em to teach Princes their Duty— and be confining their Grandeur within the narrow Limits of their own college Breeding; no less morose, then presumptive to instruct his Betters.  
After many Compliments that passed on all sides, enough to have exhausted the magazine of ten more then ordinary Courtiers; the Duke, the duchess and Don Quixote approached the Table, where there arose a fresh dispute about pre-eminency of Place; but at length the Dukes Importunity prevailed over Don Quixote's modest refusals, so that he was constrained to take the Upper end: The Chaplain sate at the Lower end right against him, and the Duke and the duchess upon each Hand of the Knight. Sancho was astonished to see the Honour done his Master, as if he had been some Angel dropped from Heaven, and observing what a world of High-flown Language there past between the Duke and his Master about the Upper end of the Table; If your Lordships, said he, will give me leave, I'll tell ye what happened one day in our Village, in reference to this same Racket of yours about Places. Sancho had no sooner done speaking, but Don Quixote took the Alarum, afraid that his Squire had some impertinency or other to throw up, that lay heavy upon his Stomach; which Sancho perceiving by his looks, Sir, said he, never fear, my words are all weighed and considered, and shall be all to the purpose, my Life for yours; I have not forgot the Lesson you gave me so lately, about talking little or much, sense or nonsense. I say nothing to thee, Sancho, replied Don Quixote; prithee go on, but be quick, good Sancho. Why— My Lords, quo Sancho, what I have to say is as true as that my Mother bore me; for if I shall chance to trip never so little, there's my Master to give me the lie immediately. Tell as many lies as there be spots i' the Moon, quo Don Quixote, I'll never contradict thee— but— have a care what thou sayst— O Sir, replied Sancho, I have champt and chaw'd, considered and re-consider'd, I have rumbl'd and tumbled this Story i' my mind a thousand times, and I am sure it must take— In truth, cried Don Quixote, applying himself to the Duke and duchess, your Graces would do well to dismiss this idle Fellow, whose extravagancies you can never be able to bear with. By the Life of the Duke, replied the duchess, Sancho shall stay with me; I love him too well to part with him so, and have a great Confidence besides in his Discretion. God sand your Holiness, Madam duchess, quo Sancho, to live a Thousand years for your good Opinion of Me, tho I confess I am a poor Man and little deserve it— now then for my Tale.  
A Gentleman in our Village, wealthy and well descended, for he was of the Family of the Medina's deal Campo, invited one day— Hold— I forgot to tell ye that this Gentleman married one Madam, One-a-five-hundred, or the Daughter of Don Alonzo Mendishosen, Knight of the Order of St. James, who was stifled in a Smiths Forge, about whom there happened formerly a great Quarrel, in which, I have heard say, for 'twas before my Time, that my Master Don Quixote had his Shins broken; and that Don Drayman-Boxero the Unthrift, Son to Old Bouzabouto the Farrier, had like to ha' cozened the Gallows, being almost wounded to death— Speak Master of mine, is not this Truth?— speak truth and shane the Devil, and let Monsieur the Duke and Madam the duchess see, that I am neither a Prater, nor a liar— Till now, replied the Chaplain, I took thee rather for a babbler then a liar; but now I profess I know not what to think. Thou call'st so many Testimonies to witness, and producest so many Circumstances, quo Don Quixote, that most certainly it must be true what thou sayst. But shorten thy Tale, for as thou beginnest, thou'lt not make an end this week I'me sure. My Friend Sancho, quo the duchess, shall not shorten his Tale, if I may have my will; let him tell his Story as he understands it himself— and let him be this fortnight a telling it, I'll find him Ears to hear it— my thinks he begins very pleasantly— Then Sancho prosecuting his Tale, This Gentleman, my Lords, quo he— This Gentleman, of whom I  told ye before, and whom I know as well as I know my own Face i' the Pond in our Back-side, for I'll undertake to sling a ston from his House to mine— This Gentleman invited a Country Farmer, who indeed was none of the richest, but yet he was counted an honest man among the Neighbourhood, which was no small Commendation to him— Put on, good Brother, quo the Chaplain, interrupting him, you proceed so slowly with your Tale, as if you intended to tell some part of it i' the other World— Spare a little of your Christian Patience, quo Sancho, he that rides a Gallop many times comes later to his Inn then he that keeps his constant three mile an hour.  
Now the Farmer, as I said before, being come to the Gentlemans House, who, as I  told ye before, had invited him, and who had married the Daughter of Don Alonzo Mendishosen, poor Gentleman, God rest his Soul, for he has been dead, 'tis now about three years since, by the same token, that they say he died the Death of an Angel— for, for my part, I was not with him when he died— being gone at that time to Harvest-work a matter of six mile off to a Village called Tembleck— As you love your Life, Friend, leave your Harvest-work— and without troubling yourself to bury the Gentleman, go on wi' your Story— It happened then, continued Sancho, as they were ready to sit down at Table, I mean the Gentleman and the Farmer,— Hold a little, for methinks I see 'em now as plainly as if the thing had happened but yesterday.  
Infinitely were the Duke and duchess pleased to hear how Sancho went on with his Parable, never minding the Chaplains Interruptions. For that was Sport alone for them which teez'd the Chaplain, and made Don Quixote grinned his Teeth for madness, though he durst not be so bold as the Levite.  
Well, quo Sancho, to go on with my Story, when Dinner was brought in, and that they were going to sit down, the Farmer stayed for the Gentleman to sit down, that he might take his Place, and the Gentleman at the same time made a Sign to the Farmer to place himself at the upper End. By no means, quo the Farmer;— Prithee, quo the Gentleman,— I beseech your Worship, quo the Farmer— Prithee, quo the Gentleman. The Farmer scraped and cring'd and refused— The Gentleman  told him he would be Master in his own House— But do what the Gentleman could, the Farmer stood so stiffly upon his Punctilio's of good Manners and Behaviour, that at length the Gentleman was forced to take him by the Shoulders and set him in his Chair, withal in a kind of Passion grumbling to him, Sit there, Goodman Bumkin, where 'tis my pleasure to have ye— for sit you where you will, the place of Worship is where I sit. Look ye, My Lords, thus ends my Tale, and by Guds deigns I think I ha' spoken nothing but what's to the purpose.  
At this, so many different Colours arose in Don Quixote's Countenance, who found himself nipped to the Quick by Sancho's Morals, that his Face looked like a piece of speckl'd Jasper; so that the Duke and the duchess, who perceived the disturbance of his thoughts, forbore to laugh outright, tho' they could willingly have given full vent to their Mirth, but that they were loth to provoke the already enraged warrior.  
And therefore that Sancho might have no farther opportunity to continue his unseasonable follies, the duchess turning the Stream of the Discourse, asked Don Quixote, when he had heard from Madam Dulcinea, and how long it was since he had sent her any Robbers or giants Heads for a Present. Madam, replied Don Quixote, my Misfortunes have had their beginning, and I hope they will one day have an end. True it is I have vanquished many Robbers and giants, and sent her the Trophies of my Victories; but where shall they find her, or how shall they come to know her? For alas, Madam, she lies now Enchanted in one of the Counters, taken up for a Sole Trader, and by those accursed Necromancers of Turnkeys, and Tap-house Men, so transmogrify'd and bloated up with Brandy and foggy Ale, that I myself when I saw her did not know her again. I don't know, quo Sancho, but I'me sure I never saw her Parallel for Beauty; at least I never saw the like of her for Maypole-tripping; she'l whisk it about like the girl that turned round and threaded Needles; the Devil take me, Madam duchess, if she superabundant jump as nimbly upon a Dresser, as any mortal Cat. Then the Duke putting the Question, didst thou ever see her Enchanted, Sancho, quo he? See her! quo Sancho, what a Question you ask? You may be sure I ha' seen her and seen her again— I was the first Yeemun know that discovered the sad Accident of her being Enchanted— and she's as much Enchanted as my Father.  
The Chaplain, who heard 'em talk of nothing but giants and enchantments, began to conjecture that this must be that same Worshipful Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose History the Duke was continually reading, tho' he had frequently reprehended him for giving his mind to such follies, and at length believing his Conjectures were true, he addres'd himself to the Duke, and with a starched and formal Gravity, intermixed with a kind of serious Anger, Sir, said he, your Excellency will have a larger account then you think for to give, for Pampering the Extravagancies of this poor Man. This same Don Quixote, or Don Codshead, or call him what ye please, is no such Fool as your Excellency takes him to be, or make him believe he is by feeding his Fantastical Humours. And then turning to Don Quixote himself; Hark ye, Goodman Coxcomb, wi' your Donship, who has put it into your Empty-firkin-pate, that you are a Knight-Errant, and kill Robbers and giants? Go, go, get ye home again and look after your Wife and Children, or whatever honest business you have to do, and leave wandring and scaperloytring about the World, and making yourself a Laughing-stock to all that know ye, and know ye not— Where do you find any of these chimeras of Knight-Errants, only talked of in former Ages, and now not so much as dreamed of? What part of the World did you meet with those giants, and Hobgoblins, and Enchanted Dulcineas, that pester and encumber your Noddle? All this while Don Quixote never gave the least Interruption to the serious Chaplain, but listened to his cutting reprehensions with a Job-like Patience; till at length perceiving he had done, or at least not able any longer to resist the violent Agitations of his provoked Choler, he rose up and flung from the Table, as read about the Gills as Bowdy-scarlet, never minding his respect to the Company, and gave the Chaplain the following reply, which therefore deserves a whole Chapter.   

CHAP. XXXII.  
Containing Don Quixote's Answer to the Chaplain.  
THE Knight of the lions thus nettl'd to the very Marrow of his Back, trembled every joint of him for Madness, like a Lump of Quick-silver, and casting a Busbeyan Frown upon the Chaplain— Supercilious Pedant, quo he, fitter to Jerk Boys then Men; The Place wherein I am, the Presence of these Noble Persons, whom the Laws of Civility oblige me to particular Veneration; and the Respect which I have to your Profe●●●●n bridle my just Resentment and tie up my Hands. Were not those Obligations upon me, I would have in another manner chastised the Insolence of your inconsiderate Tongue. But considering that the Weapons which Men of your Coat, and Women make use of are the same, I scorn to terrify thy Female Soul with Masculine Steel, resolving fairly to combat your stingy Gravity upon equal Terms, and with your own Weapon.  
And so, Sir, I must tell ye, I always expected from a Man of your Character sober Admonitions, and modest Reasons for your Reproofs, but you, contrary to all the Laws of Moderation, without any occasion given, or any knowledge of my Person, fly out into Reproaches and Defamations, more fit for a Broom Man then a Divine. Pray, Sir, where did you learn your Billingsgate Breeding?— Surely you cannot otherwise believe but that these public Reproofs, and bitter Taunts of yours, have passed the Limits of all Brotherly Correction. But if you do not know your Duty, or at least seem never to have understood it, let me advice ye for the future; consider before ye utter your Reproofs, whether your Authority be sufficient, and let your first Corrections be all Sweetness and Mildness, Brandy mixed with syrup of Gillowflowres; but above all things have a care of calling a Man Fool and Coxcomb, before y' have made him sensible of his offence. I would desire your Doctorship to tell me what extravagance it is of which you accuse me, and why you sand me so magisterially to look after my Wife and Children, before you know whether I am married or no? Think you not those to be as justly condemned, that wimble themselves into other Mens Houses, on purpose to govern the Master at their own pleasure, and because they have had the good twenty Pound a Year luck to be Tutor to the young Heir, tho' they never saw the World above ten Miles from home, take upon 'em the privilege to prescribe Laws to Knight-Errantry, and judge of Knights-Errant? You forsooth account it an unprofitable Employment, and Labour lost, to travail round the World, tho' scorning the Delights and Pleasures of it, and enduring only the Hardships and toils of Life, that advance the Brave and Valiant to Immortality— What then?— No— If Men of Honour, Knights, Lords or Princes, looked upon me as a Fool, I should think myself deservedly contemned, and suspect my own judgement; but when mere Scholars and Pedants that never trod the Paths of Chivalry, pass their lewd Censures on my virtuous Labours, I valu't not a Rush— I am a Knight, and a Knight I mean to die, if so it please the Almighty. Some blindly follow their own Haughty and Irregular Ambition; others by low and servile Flattery advance themselves; others with the Cloak of deceitful hypocrisy cover their Evil designs; and others walk according to the true Rules of Piety and Sincerity. I, for my own part, guided by my happy Stars, follow the narrow Path of Knight-Errantry, despising Riches and the vain Amusements of the World, Ambitious only of Honour and real Glory. I have composed Quarrels, revenged Injuries and Wrongs, chastised insolences, overthrown giants, fought with Phantomes and Hobgoblins: I am also in Love, but no farther then the Profession of Knight-Errantry obliges me to be; and being so, I cannot be reck'nd in the number of vicious Lovers, whose only object is voluptuous Pleasure, not like mine, Platonic Chastity. My Intentions are all directed to Virtuous ends; that is, to do no Man Wrong, but Good to all the World. And now whether a Person, who by his Works demonstrates the Integrity of his Sentiments, such as these, deserves to be upbraided for a Fool, I leave it to the judgement of your Excellencies.  
Upon my Religion, quo Sancho, here's as much as can be said— Stop Master, stop now y' are well— for all that a Man has to do i' this World is only to say, think and preserve— and therefore if Mr. Doctor will not now yield there were any Knights-Errants i' the World, 'tis no wonder he knew so little what he said.  
D' ye hear you Mr. Prate-apace, quo the Chaplain, are not you that Sancho Pancha to whom your Master has promised an iceland? The very same, quo Sancho, and I must tell ye, the very same He too that deserves it as well as another, let him be as cocket and as lofty as he please. I am one of those of whom they say, Keep honest Company, and honest thou wilt be; and of those of whom it is said again, Lean against a good three, and thou shalt have a good Shelter. I am tied to a good Master, and I have kept him Company for some Months together; and now He and I am all one: And if it please God that we live together, I make no question that neither will he want Kingdoms to give, nor shall I want Islands to Govern.  
No, no, Friend Sancho, quo the Duke, that thou sha't not, for I myself will give thee one of mine own, where thou shalt have the honour to Govern a Mayor, no less famous then the Mayor of Quinborough.  
Down a' your Mary-bones, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, and thank the Duke— Here's Luck in a Bag indeed. Had we been either of us a Bed this night, I would ha' sworn thou hadst risen with thy Bum upwards— Sancho thereupon flung himself immediately upon his Knees, and kissed the Dukes Feet, with more then ordinary Humility. Which put the Chaplain into such a fret, to find his Admonitions take so little effect, that he rose from his Chair in a great heat, and with a surly arrogance beholding the Duke; By the Habit which I wear, quo he, your Excellency is more too blame then are these Miscreants themselves— For how is it possible they should be otherwise then Fools, when Wise Men countenance their Delirium's. Your excellency may keep them Company if you please since they so well fit your humour; for my part, I'll not set my Foot within these doors so long as they continue here, to excuse myself from reprehending those Extravagancies which I cannot prevent. And so saying, away he flung, like one that takes a sudden disgust at his Company in his drink; tho true it is the Duke did not use much entreaty to stop him, not being able for a good while to forbear laughing at his Impertinent Choler. But this fit of Mirth once over, the Duke recovering his serious Countenance, said he, to Don Quixote, in truth Sir Knight of the lions, you have answered so well for yourself, that you need no other satisfaction of the person, then the outrageous Passion you have put him in; besides that the Affronts of Women and Black-coats are to be looked upon with the same slight and scorn. 'tis very true My Lord, replied Don Quixote; for Women, Children, and Church-men, as they are Persons that cannot defend themselves, so can they neither give nor receive an Affront. Therefore there is this difference berween an Injury and an Affront, as your Excellency well knows. The Affront is given by him that is able to give it and maintain it when he has done; an Injury may be done by any sort of People whatever. For example, a Man walking in the Street, and never dreaming of any thing, is set upon by ten Armed Men who dry-bast him; he draws his Sword to revenge the Injury, but cannot in regard they are too many for him; this Man may be said to be injured, but not to have received an Affront. again, a Man comes and surprises another, takes him at an advantage, and having cudgeled him sou●●●y, runs away, the t'other runs after him, and cannot overtake him. He that was beaten has received an Injury 'tis true, but not an Affront, because the Act was not justified; but if he that struck first had drawn his Sword and justified the Fact, then he that was struck'n had received both an Injury and an Affront. Thus I may have been injured by this Chaplain, according to the Laws of Duels, but I have received no Affront, because he ran away; neither do I believe myself obliged to take notice of the Language he gave, only I wish he would have stayed a little longer, that I might have made a Convert of him, by convincing him of his error, in believing there never were any Knights-Errant i' the World. Had Amadis or any of that numerous Gang but heard him talk at that Rate, I would not ha' been in his Coat for the best bishopric i' the Kingdom. Gud's my Dignity, quo Sancho, putting in for his share, they had split him from Head to Foot, like a Pomegranate or a Ripe Melon: They were not Men believe me, to be so fooled with; they would nere ha' swallowed such Pills as my Master has done. Hear me what I say, and I'me sure I speak nothing but truth, had Rinaldo of Montalban heard this same Pimpwhisken talk at this rate, he had laid him on such a Beauty-spot upon the Snout with his Four Fingers and Thumb, that I question whether he would have talked again this three Years. Let him if he think fit go and keep those Swashbucklers company, and preach the same doctrine to Them, by yea and by nay, and in good soothe he'll tell me another tale when he comes back— No, no— there's no dealing with those roisters.  
The duchess held her sides and laughed at Sancho's Discourse, whom she found to be much the more pleasant Fool then his Master. At what time Don Quixote returning to his Seat at the Table, they made an end of Supper, which being done, while others were taking away, there entered four young Damsels, the one carrying a basin of Silver guilt; a second with an ewer in her hand of the same Mettle; the next brought a very fine Parcel of linen richly perfumed; and the fourth with her Sleevs tucked up to her Elbows, carried a Silver Box full of sweet Washballs. Presently she that brought the linen, unfolded a Towel and pinned it behind the Champions Neck; the second held the basin under his Chin, and the third poured out the Water. Don Quixote was surprised at such an extraordinary usage, but believing it to be undoubtedly the Custom of the Country, to wash the Beards instead of the Hands of Persons of Quality, he only thrust out his long Chin without speaking a word. And then it was that the dansel that carried the Washbals fell to work, belather'd with all her strength not only the patient Knights Beard, but his whole Face, so that he was forced to shut his Eyes. Madam Barbaress having thus laid the Knights Countenance a-soak in sweet Suds, pretended to want Water, and sent for more, after she had begged Don Quixote's Pardon for making him stay. All which time the Poor Knight sate exposed to all the Company, the strangest Spectacle that ever was seen, with his long Neck stretched out, his Beard as big as a conductor Brush, besmeared with Soap Suds, his Eyes fast shut, and his Chaps all in a white foam. 'twas a pleasant sight to see a Knight-Errant so handled by a knot of unlucky Flebergebits; yet no body durst laugh at present, tho all were ready to burst; and all their satisfaction was, that they should have enough to laugh at hereafter. Well at length the Water came, and the courteous dansel after she had rins'd off the Soap, with her lily white Hands, dried and wiped the Beard and Face of the Obedient Knight, with that softness and leisurely tenderness, as if she had been afraid to hurt his Skin. Which done the Damsels having made the Spruc'd-up Knight their serious Curchees and profound Reverencies, were about to retire. But the Duke, afraid least Don Quixote should think himself abused, called to the dansel that carried the basin, crying to her to come and wash him too. Thereupon the young Lady, who was not then to learn her Psalter, understanding the Dukes meaning, went and gave her Lord a Cast of her Office in like manner, but with a quicker dispatch, for that his Excellencies Beard was neither so long, nor his Face so foul. Which being done, they made their Obeysances and vanished.  
Now you must know that Sancho had beholded the whole Ceremony, and having often revolved it in his mind, God forgive me, quo he, why should it not be the Custom of this Country to wash the Squire's Beards as well as the Knights? For by my Conscience there's as much need of the one as the other; and if Madam Barbaress would but shave me to boot, I would give her a grey Groat with all my Heart. Which words as he was mumbling to himself, the duchess observing his Chaps wag, What's that you are muttering between your Teeth, Sancho? quo she. I say Madam, that I ha' been  told how 'tis the Custom indeed among your Great Folkes, after the Cloath is taken away to have Water brought to the Table, for every one to wash their Hands, but I never heard of your Women Barbers before: But the longer a Man lives, the more he shall know; and on the other side they say, that he who lives long has much to suffer, tho if he suffer no other harm then the washing of his Beard, I rather believe it must rather be a pleasure then a pain, especially when he suffers under the fair Hands of such a handsome Madam Barber as my Master did. Well— well— for that Sancho, quo the duchess, set thy heart at Rest— I'll order my Laundry Maids to wash thee, and if thou wilt, thou shalt have a lie made a purpose. Let 'em only wash my Beard at present, answered Sancho, and as I like that I shall consider what to do farther.—  
Steward, quo the duchess, let Sancho want nothing, but have whatever he calls for. It shall be done Madam, replied the Steward, and so took Sancho along with him to his own Table, leaving the Duke, the duchess and Don Quixote alone; to whom the duchess after several Discourses concerning Knight-Errantry, made it her Request, to give her a particular description of Madam Dulcinea, adding with all, that as People spoken of her Beauty she must be the only mirror of Perfection i' the World.  
Upon which, Don Quixote fetching a profound Sigh, to give your Excellency satisfaction, said he, in this particular, it is requisite I were able to unrip my Breast, and lay before your Eyes in a Plate upon this Table my Heart itself, where her Beauty is so exactly depainted; seeing my Tongue can never express what can hardly be conceived by Imagination. For to make an exact Picture of the Peerless Dulcinea, it would require the Pencils of Rubens, Urbin, Tintoret, the Graving Irons of Lysippus, and indeed all the Art and Skill of all the famous Painters, Engravers and Statuaries in the World, with the rhetoric of Demosthenes and Cicero to boot. However quo the Duke, there is nothing impossible to a Genius like yours; and you will highly oblige us, but only to give us a rude draft of the out Lines; for certainly the most imperfect Sketch in the World of her Lineaments, must suffice so set all our Celebrated Beauties railing against Nature, for being so niggardly of her Perfections to them. I would willingly obey your Excellencies Commands, replied Don Quixote, but that the Misfortune lately befallen her, has almost eradicated the very ideas of her Angelic Features from the seat of my Memory; so that I have now more reason to deplore her Change, then to describe her Person. For going not long since to kiss her Hands, to pay her my Respects, and obtain her leave for my designed Absence in search of new Adventures, I found her, to my unspeakable Grief and Astonishment, metamorphosed from a Princess to a Country Puzzle: Her Beauty changed into foul and excessive Deformity; she that breathed nothing but Arabian Perfumes before, now stunk like a Polcat; I expected a charming Wit, and she talked of nothing but Hog-troughs, Dish-clouts and scalding of Milk-bowls; I looked for her wonted Modesty and Reservedness, and she was ready to put her ugly Golls i' my Breeches; I thought to have found an Angel, and met with a Devil. In a word, I looked for Dulcinea deal Toboso, but met with a mere Blowzie, Mowzie, lousy, Lockram-smock'd Cinder-wench.  
Passion a' my Heart, cried the Duke with a loud Voice, and what inhuman Monster could this be so cruelly malicious to the whole World? Who has deflowered those Beauties which gave it all its Ornaments? Who such a Mortal Enemy to Nature, as to deprive her at once of all her Wealth and Glory— Who! replied Don Quixote; who should it be but one of those perpetual Ragamuffins of Necromancers, that Hell has spewd up to Eclipse the Glory of Men of Merit, and blemish their achievements, while they labour to exalt and magnify the Actions of the Wicked. These accursed Necromancers are they that have plagued me all along, and will without cessation persecute me still, till they have buried Me and all my famous Deeds in the profound Abyss of Oblivion: Nor were they ignorant which was the most sensible part to wound me in, well knowing that to deprive a Knight-Errant of his Lady was to deprive him of the Eyes with which he sees, of the Sun that enlightens him, and the Nourishment that sustains him: For a Knight-Errant without a Lady, is like a three without Sap, a Structure built upon the Sand, and a Body without a Soul.  
Very good, cried the duchess; but if we may believe the Story of your Life so lately published with great applause of the whole World, we do not red that ever your Lordship saw this Madam Dulcinea, only she seems to be some Chimera of a Lady, which your Lordship has begot by the strength and heat of your Fancy, and brought forth in your Imagination, like Jupiters Pallas, and to which you ascribe such advantages and perfections as you think fit yourself. Madam, replied Don Quixote, your Graces Catechism goes a little too far upon this Subject; God above knows, whether there be any such Woman i' the World as Dulcinea, and whether she be a Reality or a Fiction. But these are Mysteries not to be so profoundly dived into. Let her be or not be, 'tis sufficient that I look upon her as a Lady endued with all those Advantages and Perfections capable to procure her the Esteem of the Universe: Lovely without Blemish; reserved without Pride; Amorous with Modesty; cheerful without Vanity; Witty without Impertinency, the Effects of her Education, the Consequence of her Illustrious descent: For that Nobility of Blood gives brisker and more resplendent colours to the Graces of Beauty in Persons highly born, then in those that are meanly descended.  
This is a Truth which admits no contradiction, said the Duke; but give me leave I beseech ye, Sir, to propose one Scruple, which the reading of the late History of your most Renowned Actions has raised in my Breast; which is this, that tho we should grant Madam Dulcinea to be really born upon the Earth, and to be fair to that degree of Beauty as you depaint her, yet do I not find that she can any way compare for Grandeur of descent with those Oriana's, Madasima's, Genever's, and a Million of others which are mentioned in those Histories with which you are so well acquainted.  
To that, replied Don Quixote, I answer that Madam Dulcinea is the Daughter of her own Actions, and that the lustre of her virtues ennoble her Blood; since the distinction of accomplished Merit is far beyond that of High Descent, not graced with any other accomplishments. Now then Madam Dulcinea being a Lady endued with all those transcendent Qualities, capable to advance her to a Throne, and entitle her to be the Mother of a long Pedigree of Princes: hope is never to be bounded where Merit has no Limits; so that altho not actually, yet virtually, she includes within her self a Birthright to the most elevated and surprising Fortunes in the World.  
I must confess, cried the duchess, your Lordship, My Lord Don Quixote, has the true Gift of persuasion; for whatever you say, moves with a Foot of led, and as they say, with the Plummet in Hand; and therefore I submit, and from henceforth I am resolved to believe and maintain, that there is such a Lady as Madam Dulcinea, that she lives, Beautiful beyond compare, of an Illustrious Race, and altogether deserving the Services and Adoration of so worthy a Knight, as the Knight of the lions. Nevertheless there is one Scruple continually haunts me, which I ha' used all the Art I have to exorcize, but cannot; and which causes me to have a very ill Opinion of Sancho; who has the Confidence to report in your History, that when he carried your Letter to Madam Dulcinea, he found her winnowing of Oats, by the same tok'n that she was Red-hair'd, which makes me very much question the Nobility of her Birth.  
Oh Madam, replied Don Quixote, for that, you must understand that all Things happen to me, quiter contrary then they were wont to befall other Knight-Errants; whether it be by the unalterable decree of Destiny, or through the Malice of my Implacable Enemies the Necromancers. Now 'tis a Truth never to be controverted, that many of the most Famous Knight-Errants were secured under the Protection of some private Advantage; as for some to have the favour that they could never be Enchanted; for others to be Invulnerable, as Rowland, one of the Twelve Peers of France; who was impenetrable in all other parts of his Body, unless it were under the Sole of his left Foot, and that only with the point of a small Needle; So that Bernardo deal Carpio finding no way to tap him with his Sword, was forced by main strength to lift him from the Ground, and then choke him, as Hercules did the giant Anteus, who was said to be the Son of the Earth. Hence I infer that there is some secret virtue that guards me likewise, not that I am invulnerable, for I know by woeful and frequent Experience that my Flesh is very tender; nor free from Enchantment neither; for I have found myself tyd hand and foot and crowded into a Cage, where all the World could not have locked me up, but by the force of Enchantments. But I have some secret charm about me, that still I receive no great harm, and procure my own liberty myself; so that these Vermin of Necromancers perceiving they cannot work their ends directly upon me, reck their Malice upon what I love above all the World, and endeavour to take away my Life, attacking hers by whom I live and Breath. And so I believe that when my Squire delivered my Embassy to her, they showed her to him, under the shape of a deformed Country Puzzle, and poorly busied in the low and base employment of sifting Wheat; tho I, say and affirm 'twas neither Barley nor Wheat but Oriental Pearl. For proof of which I shall tell your Excellencies, going a while since to Toboso, I could not so much as find fair Dulcinea's Palace; whereas my Squire went the next day, and saw her in her lustre, brighter then Aurora, or the Sun himself; yet when I met her after that, she appeared to me i' the shape of a pitiful Country Dowdy; and she that was all discretion and modesty itself, talked to me as if she had been bread in a White-Fryars Ale-house; and therefore because they cannot have their will over me any more, she forsooth, who is the wonder of the World for Wit and Beauty, she must be thus enchanted, transmogrify'd, metamorphosed, disguised and disfigured; and this is that which makes me renounce all the Pleasures of this World, and consume myself in Tears and Sorrow, till I have restored her to her first Estate. All which being considered, Sancho's Relation of what he saw signifies nothing, for if the Necromancers could delude Me, they might well put their tricks upon Him.  
In short, Madam Dulcinea is both Illustrious and Virtuous, and descended from one of the most Ancient Families in all Toboso, of which there are not a few in that City, which now will be no less famous for being the Place of her Nativity, then Troy for the Birth of Helena, Delos for that of Latona, or the River of Severn for bearing the Name of Sabrina, St. Georges Mistress.  
By the way let me tell your Graces, that Sancho Pancha is one of the Pleasantest Drolls of a Squire, that ever served Knight-Errant: Sometimes you shall hear such dry Bobs come from him, that 'tis hard to distinguish whether the Rogue mean Wittily or Knavishly; by and by he talks so like a downright Fool, that he discovers himself to all the World; sometimes he is so scurrilous that he deserves to be kicked; he questions every thing, and believes every thing; and when you would think the Varlet had intreagu'd himself in a piece of folly never to recover himself again, he disintangles himself of a sudden, and is applauded to the Skies. In a word, I would not change him for any other Squire, tho I might have a City to boot; yet I cannot tell whether it be so proper to sand him to the Government which your Excellency has been pleased to give him; tho on the other side I find in him a pretty Aptitude to Govern, so that by giving never so little a whet to his understanding, he may perhaps do as well as another; and so much the rather, because we see by experience, that there are a hundred Governours that can hardly writ their Names, and will sometime undertake to red the Letters with their heels upwards. The main business for him to do is to preserve his Intentions right; to which purpose I shall advice him neither to take Bribes nor lose his privileges; with some other little Instructions which I have i' my Head, that will be very useful for him when he comes to sit in the Seat of Authority.  
While the Duke and Don Quixote were thus discoursing together, there was a great noise i' the Castle, and by and by they saw Sancho in a terrible fright, running toward the Parlour where they were, with a greasy Napkin about his Neck, followed by the Scullions and other Rabble of the kitchen, among whom there was one that carried a Kettle full of nasty Dish water, who more eagerly pursuing poor Sancho then the Rest, endeavoured to put it under his Chin, while another more greasy then himself was ready to bedaub his Countenance.  
What's the matter there, quo the duchess, what are ye doing to Sancho? Don't ye know he is a governor Elect? Madam, quo the slovenly Barber, he refuses to be trimmed according to Custom, as my Lord Duke, and my Lord his Master have been already— 'tis a lie, replied Sancho, in a great fury— but I desire whiter linen, cleaner Water, and less greasy Fists to scrub me withal; for there's no such difference between me and my Master, that he should be washed with Water of Angels, and I be scoured with the Devil's lie. The Customs of Countries, and Princes Palaces are so far Laudable, while they give no offence— but this same beastly puddle is not fit to wash a friars Toes in. My Beard's as clean as a Lady's Comb-brush, nor do I need any such sort of Refreshment.— By the Death a' my Life, the first that touches a Hair of my Beard, I'll give him such a dash o' the Teeth, that I'll make him swallow my Fist— Such Ceremonies and Soapings as these tend rather to the scorn and derision, then Civil entertainment of Strangers.  
The duchess held her Sides and laughed, observing Sancho's fury, and hearing his Arguments for himself. But Don Quixote, displeased to see his Squire made the sport of that Impertinent Rabble, after he had made a profound reverence to the Duke and duchess, as it were desiring Liberty to speak, quo he to the Scullions, with a serious Tone, Hold worthy Knights, retire and let's be quiet; my Squire wants none of your washing nor rinsing; nor comes he here to be your Laughing-stock— therefore I advice ye to be gone in time— for neither do He nor I understand this kind of Drollery— No, no, Sir, quo Sancho, taking the Words out of his Masters Mouth; Let 'em stay, and go on with their work— before they and I ha' done, I'll pay my Barbers I'll warrant ye— if they think to make a May-game of Me: But let 'em fairly bring a Comb, and if they find any thing i' my Beard offensive to the Nicety of a waiting Gentlewoman, I'll give 'em leave to pluck my Beard from my Chin Hair by Hair. Sancho speaks nothing but reason, cried the duchess— He's as clean and as neat as a Bridegroom, and has no need of washing; and therefore since our Customs do not please him he shall be Master: Besides, quo she to the Kitchin-boys, you are a company of Insolent Rascals, to show such uncivil usage to a person of his Quality, and such a Beard as his. How durst ye be so bold?— Be gone, and know your distance between such Varlets as yourselves and the Squires to Knights-Errant.  
Upon these words the Rabble believing the duchess had spoken in good Earnest, retired; and Sancho seeing himself delivered from such a threatening danger, presently threw himself upon his Knees before the duchess; to whom, Madam duchess, said he, great Persons, are able to do great Favours; and as for this which your most Paternal Worship has done me at present, I know not how to repay it, but by desiring to be dubbed a Knight-Errant, to the end I might employ my whole Life in your Service. I am a poor Country-man, my name is Sancho Pancha, I have a Wife and Children, and serve as a Squire, if in any of these Qualities I can serve your Greatness, I am no less ready to obey then you to command. I find, Sancho, replied the duchess, that you have been taught Civility in the School of courtesy itself, and bread up under the Wings of my Lord Don Quixote, who is the Cream and Flower of Modern Courtship: Happy Age that enjoys such a Knight and such a Squire; of which the one is the North-star of Chivalry-Errant, and the other the Pattern of Loyalty and Fidelity. Rise Friend Sancho, and rely upon me for the recompense of your Civilities, by obliging the Duke to install ye in the Government he has promised.  
After this Don Quixote went to his Repose, and the duchess  told Sancho that if he had no desire to sleep, he might come and sit an Hour or two with her and her Damsels in a cool Parlour, where he should be welcome. To which Sancho answered, that tho it were his usual Custom in Summer-time to sleep five or six Hours after Dinner, yet to serve her Goodness, he would endeavour to break his Custom for once, in obedience to her Commands. The Duke also at the same time went forth to give new Orders to his People concerning the farther entertainment of Don Quixote, with directions not to swerve a Tittle from the Ancient Language of Knight-Errantry.    

THE THIRD BOOK Of the Ingenious KNIGHT Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART II.  

CHAP. I.  
Containing the Pleasant Discourse between the duchess, her Damsels and Sancho Pancha, worthy to be red with Attention.  
THE Story afterwards relates, that Sancho slept not a wink all that day, but in observance of his Promise, went to attend the duchess, who stayed for him in the Parlour; where as soon as he entered, the duchess bid him take a low Chair and sit down by her, which Sancho refused, like a Man who understood what was what: But the duchess  told him, that he might be allowed to sit as a governor, and talk as a Squire, for that in both those respects, he deserved the Seat of the Famous Champion Cid Ruydias himself. Thereupon Sancho bowed his Head and obeyed; at what time all the Dutchesses Damsels and Maids of Honour flocked about him with great Silence and Attention.  
Then the duchess first beginning, now we are alone, said she, I would desire ye, Mr. governor, to resolve me certain Doubts, which I find very difficult to be understood, in the History of the Famous Don Quixote de la Mancha.  
First, it appears that Sancho never saw Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, nor ever carried her the Letters, which his Master Don Quixote wrote her from the Black Mountain, as having left the Table Book behind him; which being true, how durst Sancho be so audacious as to fain an Answer, and say that he had seen the Lady sifting of Oats, which was not only a lie, but a Scandal to the Honour of such a Peerless Lady, and an Imposture beneath the Sincerity of a Loyal Squire.  
Sancho having heard the Questions propounded, rose from his Seat without speaking a word, laid his Finger upon his Lips, and creeping softly round the Room step by step, like a Nurse in a Sick Man's Chamber, he took up the Hangings every where, to see that no body listened; and then returning to his Seat, Madam, said he, 'tis good to be sure, the Walls have Ears, but now knowing myself to be as safe as a Thief in a Mill, you shall have my very Heart out of my Belly; I am ready to answer all your Questions, tho as numberless as the Sand of an Hour-Glass, without fear, scruple or hesitation; But not a word o' the Pudding, Madam.  
First then, I must tell your Highness that I take my Master for a most accomplished Cuccow-brains, tho sometimes he will utter such things, which not only in my Opinion, but in the judgement of better Schollards then myself, are directed still so well to the purpose, and all Extrumpre as they say, that Satan himself with all his Knowledge could never speak better. Nevertheless my Conscience will not give me leave to think otherwise, but that he had a Confounded Knock in his Cradle. And because I am pretty confident of this weakness of his, faith I take upon me sometimes to put the shame upon him, and tell him Stories of Cocks and Bulls, that have neither head nor tail; such as was the Answer of his Letter; and that same lie in Pickle which I was forced to invent the other day, concerning the Enchantment of Madam Dulcinea, whom I made him believe to be enchanted, tho she's no more enchanted, before George, then Mahomet's Tomb.  
Thereupon the duchess desired the governor to tell her the whole Story of the Enchantment. Which he did without omitting the least Circumstance, to the great satisfaction of his Auditors: Only the duchess having heard him out; by my truly, Monsieur Sancho, quo she, you have raised another most terrible Scruple i' my Conscience; for me thinks I hear something whisper me i' the Ear and say; If Don Quixote de la Mancha be such a Fool past recovery, wherefore does Sancho Pancha who knows him so well, still continue in his Service upon the hopes of his vain Promises. Certainly the Squire must be more a Sot then the Master; and if so, what will be said of Madam the duchess, to be guilty of Conferring an iceland upon Sancho Pancha? For he that knows not how to Govern himself, can never be able to Govern others. Upon my Virginity, Madam, this Scruple came into the World with the Head foremost: Your Whisperer is not altogether mistaken; nay you may assure him from Me, that I know he speaks Truth— for had I been but as wise as Waltham's Calf, I had left my Master long a go. But it is my hard Fate; Where the Goat is tied, she must browse; and then again I must tell ye, we are both of us Towns-born Children; I have eaten his Bread; he is a good Master, and I love him; he has given me his Colts; more then all this, I am naturally Faithful, so that 'tis impossible there should be any other separation between us, then that of the Pickaxe and Spade; then indeed God-den, and good Night: friends must part, as King Dagobert said to his Hounds. But as for the Government; if your Tallness think it not fit to bestow it upon me, however 'twill be a Government still for all that; 'twas no burden of my Mothers Womb that came along with me into the World— It may be for the good of my Conscience to go without it: I am a Beast 'tis true, but what says the Proverb, They owed the Pismire a Spleen that would have given her Wings; and I am of Opinion, that Sancho the Squire may enter Paradise as soon as Sancho the governor. We feed upon Bread here as well as in France; and i' the Dark all Cats are Grey. He must be very unhappy that goes without his Breakfast till Two a Clock i' the Afternoon; and there is no Man that has a Stomach twice as big as another; but let it be never so big, there will be Straw or Hay enough left to fill it. 'tis God that feeds the little Birds of the Air; and six Ells of Sarge are as long as six Ells of Velvet; and when our time is come to crawl out of this World, the Road is no fairer for a Prince then a Labouring Man; nay the Popes Body lies in as little room as a Sexton's; we are all equal in the Grave, whether we must all go in spite of my Teeth, and in spite of your Teeth, and in spite of all our Teethes; and when that time comes, 'tis just like letting down the Curtain when the Play's done. So then Madam if your Ladyship think it not fit to give me the iceland because I am a Fool, I shall be so wise as not to care whether ye do or no, that's the short and the long on't. I have heard say the Devil stands behind the across; and all is not Gold that glisters: Bamba a poor Farmer was hurried from the Plough-tail to the Throne of Spain; on the other side, King Rodorick was haled from his Pomp, his Pastimes and his Riches, and thrown to be devoured by Snakes and Adders, if the Ballad be true. I dare say 'tis true, quo Mrs. Dorothy, that had formerly quarrelled with Sancho; For the Story says, that they threw King Rodorick into a Ditch full of Toads, Serpents and Efts, by the same token that two days after he was heard to cry out with a pitiful Voice, Oh, how they tear, devour and gnaw my Sinning Part; and if so I had rather be a poor Labourer still, then a King to be devoured of Vermin.  
The duchess laughed at the Comment which her Woman had made upon Sancho's Text. But being no less taken with Sancho's way of Arguing by Proverbs and pithy Sentences, like the Ancient Jews; Friend Sancho, quo she, you know that when a Knight makes a promise once, he ought to keep his promise though it cost him his Life. The Duke, my Lord and Husband, is no Knight Adventurer 'tis true, however he is no less a Knight for all that, and therefore thou mayst rely upon his word, maugre all the Envy and Malice of the World. Pluck up a good heart therefore, honest Sancho— Thou shalt suddenly see thyself in full possession of thy Government, lodged like a Prince, and arrayed in Velvet and Cloth of Tissue. All the Charge that I lay upon thee is only to be careful of well Governing a People which thou wilt find Obedient and Loyal.  
Puh, is that all? replied Sancho, as to the business of Governing, there's no need of laying that Injunction upon me; for I am naturally Charitable, and was always compassionate to the Poor, and scorn to take the Meat out of another Man's Mouth.— On the other side, by my Holiness, they must not think to put their false Dice upon me— I am an old Dog not to be twice bitten; I am past a Baby— Teach me to Govern! Teach your Grannam to grope Ducks— Zookers— I want no body to drive the Flies from my Nose— There's no body can tell me where the show rings me— that is to say, I am resolved to know who and who's together— and for all your true Hearts that drink fair and keep the Commandments, they shall be a' my side and be welcome to my Table— But for your Factious Rebels, and smooth-fac'd fanatic Dissemblers I defy 'em all— For in reference to Government I am persuaded that the main Business is to lay a good Foundation; so that I make no doubt in fifteen days to be as expert in Governing as ever I was in Mowing an Acre of Grass, to which I ha' been bread up from my Infancy.—  
You say very true Sancho, replied the duchess; for no Man is born a scholar; nor are Bishops and Popes made of Stones, but of Men. But, Mr. governor, to return once more to Madam Dulcinea's Enchantment, I hold it for a certain Truth, that Sancho's making Don Quixote believe his Mistress was Enchanted, was merely the wicked Contrivance of those Enchanters that persecute him. For I am convinced in good part that the Country Blowze that skipp'd so nimbly upon the Asses back, was the Real Dulcinea deal Toboso her self; so that Sancho, who thought to deceive his Master, was himself beguiled. For you must know Friend Sancho, that we have several Necromancers and Figure-Casters in this Country, who make it their Business to inform us of every thing that happens remarkable in the World; and by them we understood that the Country Puzzle was Dulcinea; that she is Enchanted, and that when we least expect it, we shall see her again in all her Glory, and then shall Sancho find 'twas he himself that was bubbl'd.  
By my Faith, Madam, quo Sancho, all this might well be; and I begin to believe My Masters Story of Montesinos's Cave, where, as he says, he saw Madam Dulcinea in the same Habit and Condition wherein I  told him I had seen her, when it came into my Brain to Enchant her. I see now 'twas quiter another thing and that I was the first that was Conycatch'd, as your Greatness well observes. For now I think on't, 'tis plain I never had so much Wit for such a sudden Contrivance; nor do I believe my Master such a Woodcock to be over reach d by such an Ignoramus as myself. However Madam, I would not have you think me to be a Knave neither, seeing that such an idiot, as I am, is not able to defend himself from the Malice of these Enchanters. I invented that same tale of a Tub, only to avoid my Masters Importunities, and not to abuse him; and if it fell out contrary to my Intention. God is in Heaven the Judge of all Hearts. 'tis honestly said, replied the duchess, but tell me Sancho, what is that Adventure of Montesinos's Cave? I would fain understand the bottom of it. Whereupon Sancho, having made a full Relation of the whole Story, the duchess thus proceeded. Look ye, said she, here's the very thing that confirms what I  told ye, friend Sancho; for seeing the famous Don Quixote saw the same Country Puss that Sancho met coming from Toboso, 'tis apparent 'twas Dulcinea, and that the Necromancers are very swift in their Intelligence.  
Well, quo Sancho, if Madam Dulcinea be Enchanted, 'tis so much the worse for her; what's that to me, I am not bound to quarrel with all my Masters Enemies, which I find are many, and too powerful i'faith for me to deal with. This I am sure of, she whom I saw was a Country Wench, I took her for a Country Wench, and I left her a Country Wench— But whether that Country Wench were Madam Dulcinea or no, is no Bread and Butter of mine; I shall neither be the better nor worse for it. Besides I must tell ye, I don't like these odd kind of Repetitions— Sancho says one thing, Sancho says another; Sancho's a' this side, Sancho's a that side— Sancho did this, and Sancho did that— as if Sancho were not the same Sancho so famous already over all the World in History, as the Student samson Carrasco  told me not long ago; and I know he would not lie for all the Gold within or without the Bowels of the Earth. And therefore let not me be plagued with your Enchantments, I wash my Hands of 'em all; I'me sure no body can say but that I'me honest; and a good Name is better then a Gold Chain about a Man's Neck. Let me but have this Government once, and then you shall see Miracles— a good Squire will make a better governor.  
I' my Conscience, Sancho, cried the duchess, you are a most incomparable Man— You speak nothing but Sentences— according as we say in our Country, a tattered Cloak may cover a good Drinker— Upon my Credit Madam duchess, answered Sancho, I never drink out of malice; for thirst perhaps I may: for I have nothing of the Hypocrite in me. I drink when I have occasion; and sometimes when I have no occasion, especially when the liquour is offered me; for why should I go about to affront an honest good Fellow. Really Madam, he must be very hard hearted that refuses to pledge his Friend, when it costs him nothing to open his Mouth. Nor indeed is it well done to upbraid the Squires of Knights-Errant; poor Creatures, God wot, that are always in deserts or Forrests, Woods or Mountains, without tasting so much as one merciful drop of Wine, would they give one of their Eyes for a Thimble-full.  
I believe it Sancho, cried the duchess, but now it grows late, and therefore go to your repose— another time we'll have the t'other Mess of chat— I' the mean time I'll take order that you shall have your Government, and that speedily too. Thereupon Sancho made his obeisance once more to the duchess, and besought her to give command that particular care might be taken of his Grizzle, which was no less dear to him then the Light of his Eyes. What Grizzle dost mean? quo the duchess. My Ass, Madam, with reverence be it spoken, replied Sancho; but because I am unwilling to call him Ass, which is common both to Man and Beast, I gave him the name of Grizzle. 'tis very well Sancho, quo the duchess, take no care for Grizzle— now I find him to be one of my good friends movables, I'll take him into my Bosom rather then fail. Not so neither I beseech ye, Madam duchess, quo Sancho, 'tis sufficient that he has a warm Stable— neither he nor I are worthy a Moment's Repose in your Bosom: Nor would I harbour such an unmannerly thought for all the Asses in the World, tho I might have 'em bridl'd and saddl'd to boot— Nay, quo the duchess, I am not so fond of your Grizzle neither, but that you may take him along with ye to your Government, where you may feed him with Panada's, and make him as fat as you please. Ah Madam, quo Sancho, there's many a true word spok'n in jest— 'tis not the first Ass that I have seen go to a Government, and if I carry mine, 'tis no such new thing.  
The duchess could not choose but laugh at Sancho's Answer; and so sending him to his natural Rest, she went to the Duke and gave him an account of the pleasant colloquys between her and Sancho. Which done, they contrived together to put Don Quixote upon a most famous Adventure, the likest to a Romantick Piece of Knight-Errantry that ever was in the World, and which if the Reader be but never so little Ingenious, he must confess to be one of the most delightful Passages in the whole Book.   

CHAP. XXXIV.  
Relating the method that was taken to disenchant Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, which is one of the most famous Adventures in this Book.  
THE Duke and the duchess were greatly delighted with the humours of their Guests, Don Quixote and Sancho Pancha; which made 'em study all the Contrivances imaginable to make the best of such a pleasing divertisement. To which end, the Story that Don Quixote had  told 'em of Montesinos's Cave furnished their invention with matter sufficient; and Sancho's Simplicity, who was now coax'd to believe Dulcinea's Enchantment to be real, tho he himself were the first contriver of the delusion, made 'em confident they should prosper in their design.  
To this purpose, at the end of six days, which they spent in instructing the Actors in this Comedy, they carried Don Quixote and Sancho to hunt the Wild Boar, with such a Retinue of Huntsmen and Attendance as might have become a crowned Prince. For Don Quixote himself they provided a Hunting svit rich and noble, and another for Sancho of fine green Cloth. Don Quixote refused to accept of his, alleging that he was in a short time to return to the severe Exercise of Arms, and could not carry along with him Sumpters and Wardrobes: but as for Sancho, he willingly accepted of his, designing it for the Broker upon the first occasion.  
The wished for Morning being come, Don Quixote put on his rusty armor, and Sancho his Grass-green Breeches and Coat, and mounting his Grizzle, which he would not leave for a good Horse that was offered him, crowded in among the rest of the Huntsmen. At length appeared the duchess also, gaily and richly habited like the Picture of Diana; at what time Don Quixote out of pure Courtship would needs hold the Reins of her Bridle, till she were fixed in her Saddle, tho the Duke seemed very unwilling, and fain would have dissuaded him from so mean an Office. In short, away they set forward, the duchess riding between the Duke and Don Quixote, till they came to a Wood that grew between two high Mountains. Where being arrived, the toils were set, the Hounds uncoupled, the Hunters took their stands, and the chase began with such a hideous noise, what with the Dogs, what with the Horns, what with the hollowing and hooping of the Huntsmen, that a Man could hardly hear the Person that stood next him. Presently the duchess alighted, and with a Javelin in her Hand, placed her self where it was most likely the Boar would take his flight. The Duke and Don Quixote alighted at the same time, and enclosed the duchess on each side. But Sancho glad he had such a Defence between him and Danger, kept a loof off, behind his Illustrious Rampart, not daring to alight from his Grizzle, for fear of some untoward Misfortune.  
Nor was it long before the hideous Boar appeared with the Dogs and the Hunters close at his heels. At what time Don Quixote shouldering his Buckler, and with his drawn Sword in his Hand, prepared to receive the furious Mountaneer. The Duke also hastened with his Boar-Spear to have the first stroke: the duchess likewise would have advanced before 'em both, had not the Duke prevented her. Only Sancho beholding the enraged Animal with dismal Tusk and foaming Chaps, as his fears suggested, making toward him alone, skipp'd from his Pack-saddle, and fell a running as fast as his thick Legs could carry him, toward a high Oak which he had in his view, to the top of which he endeavoured to have clambered out of harms way. But being heavy and unused to climb, he was not got much above half way before one of the Boughs broken, and he had had a fatal squelch, had not a more merciful Stump of another Bough caught hold of his new Breeches, and entering the Cloath behind, preserved him from the fall. However there he hung, quiter contrary to Men hanged in Chains, with his Heels up, and his Head down, within a Foot of the Ground. In this Condition, finding his Breeches torn, and every Minute fancing the Boar to be tearing his skull, he made such Out-cries, and baul'd out so loud for help, that they who heard him and saw him not, verily believed him between the Teeth of some devouring Beast. But there he must hang, for the Hunters were busy till they had killed their Game, which they were not long a doing  Don Quixote hunting; Sancho Panza falling out of a tree 
The Duke, duchess, and Don Quixot hunting the wild Boar; Sancho Pancha falling out of a three is catched by the Breech. page. 454.   Don Quixote and Sancho Panza ride blindfolded 
Don Quixot and Sancho Pancha ride blindfold through the Air upon a wooden Horse, page. 477.  with their Spears and Javelins; and Don Quixote hearing Sancho's cries, made hast to relieve his distressed Squire. Nor was it long before he discovered him hanging like a Calf in a Butchers Slaughter-house, and his Patient Grizzle by him, that never deserted him in his Calamity. For Cid Hamet observes, that you should never see Sancho but you should see Grizzle, never Grizzle but you should see Sancho, such was the constant Friendship and faithful Unity between them two. Well in short, Don Quixote took him down; but if Sancho were overjoyed to find himself safe and at liberty, he was no less grieved to behold the hole in his fine hunting svit, that he valued equal to a Coppihold Farm.  
In the mean time the Boar being laid upon a Mule, and covered with Branches of Rosmary and myrtle, the Victorious Huntsmen carried their new conquered Spoils in Triumph to a fair Tent in the middle of the Wood, where they found a Table ready spread, and a Collation beseeming the Magnificence of him that bestowed it.  
Presently Sancho with a Melancholy Countenance drew near the duchess, and showing her his rent Breeches; had this been a bare surprise of a Hare, or a Poaching after Partridges, quo he, this Misfortune had never befallen me: I wonder what pleasure there is in waiting for a Wild Beast, that if he do but strike a Man into the Guts with one of his tusks, sends him presently into the other World? I shall never forget an Old Song that runs thus: 
Mayst thou be eaten by the Bears  
Like Fabila in former Years;  That Fabila, cried Don Quixote, was an ancient King of the Goths, who going a Hunting was devoured by the Bears. That's what I say, replied Sancho, or at least what I mean— For I would not that Kings and Princes should run the hazard of their Lives, for the vain Pleasure of killing a poor Animal that never offended the Law. You are mistaken, Sancho, said the Duke, Hunting is an Exercise more convenient and necessary for Kings and Princes then any other. For Hunting is a Representation of War: It teaches us how to make use of Stratagems, Policy and Ambuscades, and to vanquish an Enemy without detriment to ourselves; it exposes us to Heat and could; enures us to Labour and Hardship; increases Strength, and renders the whole Body active and vigorous, and more then all this, it is a prejudice to no body. And therefore Friend Sancho, when you are once settled in your Government, I advice ye to use the Sport of Hunting; for then you will find the benefit of it.  
I beg your Pardon, good my Lord Duke, replied Sancho, a good governor should have his Legs broken, that he may stay at home. 'twould be a fine thing indeed, that when People come about business weary and tired with long Journeys, and think to find Mr. governor at home, he should be gone a Hunting for his Pleasure forsooth i' the Country— y' good faith Business would be finely dispatched at that Rate, would it not? May I never enjoy the Blessing of Bag-Pudding more, if I don't think that Hunting is fitter for those that have nothing to do, then for a governor. For my part I am resolved that a little Recreation shall serve my turn— a Game or two at All-Foures, or Twenty or Thirty, more or less for Christmasses, Easter's and Whitsontides; and upon common Sundays and Holidays, a little Pastime at Kettle-pins; but for your Hunting, as ye call it, it neither agrees with my Humour nor my Conscience. In good time, replied the Duke; but between saying and doing there's a vast distance. Let it be as vast as it will, quo Sancho, a Good Pay-master never grudges his Wages. He whom God assists, does better then he that rises betimes in the Morning: 'tis the Belly makes the Feet amble, not the Feet the Belly. My meaning is, that if Heaven assists me, and that I do my endeavour with a good Intention, I make no doubt but to Govern better then a Gerfaulcon. They that won't believe me, let 'em put their Fingers i' my Mouth and try whether I can bite or no— No, no— believe me 'tis not the cowl makes the Monk— and when.— accursed of Heaven and all the Saints, accursed Sancho, cried Don Quixote, interrupting him, when shall I hear thee talk a Quarter of an Hour without a Company of Mangy Proverbs? I beseech your Excellencies, let some body stitch up the Mouth of this Eternal Dolt— presumptuous Slave, that thus dares tease your Ears with his Impertinencies. Sancho's Proverbs, replied the duchess, are nere a whit the more to be disliked for their number— Wise Men have thought their time not ill spent in Collecting of Proverbs— but Sancho's a Collection of Proverbs himself— He has by heart what other Men must poor for in indices— And whether he speaks to the purpose or no, that's not a Straw matter— I'll assure ye he pleases his Friends, if I may be said to be one.  
After these and such like Discourses, they re-enter'd the Wood, to see whether any Game had fallen into the Nets. Where while they continued eager at their Sport, they were of a sudden surprised by a dark Night; more dark indeed then usual, but as it happened more favourable for the Duke and Dutchesses design. For as they stood wondering what was become of the Stars, in a Moment all the forest seemed to be of a light Fire; and by and by they heard a loud noise of Trumpets and other Warlike Instruments, as if several Regiments of Horse had been marching through the Wood. This unexpected Light and amazing Noise surprised the Eyes and Ears of all that were present; but far greater was their wonder when the medley of Sounds increased, by the Intermixture of Cornets, Fifes, rattling of Gridirons, Keys and Tongues, Trumpet-Marines, Lancashire Hornpipes, in dreadful Consort with Irish Ohones, that made such a dismal Chiurm i' the clouded Air, as threatened some sudden disaster to the whole World. The Duke shivered, the duchess quaked, Don Quixote himself was in a could Sweat, Sancho's Bones rattl'd in his Skin; and in a word, all that were present were at their private Ejaculations. By and by, upon the ceasing of this same Black Santus, a kind of a Post, that looked like one of the Devils Postillions, upon a round Gallop brushed by the Company, sounding a Horn of a prodigious bigness, and as terrible for the noise it made as a speaking Trumpet; to whom the Duke, calling after him, hold Brother Post, quo he, who art, whether so fast— what Sons of Mars are they that seem to across the Wood?— I am the Devil, cried the Post, in a dreadful tone, that look for Don Quixote de la Mancha, and those People that you take for warriors, are six Troops of Necromancers, that bring along th' Enchanted Dulcinea deal Toboso in a triumphant Chariot, accompanied by the famous Knight Sir Francis Montesinos, who comes to teach Don Quixote the way to disenchant her. If thou best the Devil, as thou sayest thou art, replied the Duke, thou art a Mope-ey'd Devil not to see Don Quixote, who stands here before thee. Before Heaven and by my Conscience, cried the Devil, I have so many things i' my Head, that I forgot my main Errand. Body a me, quo Sancho, this Devil must be an honest Fellow, and a good catholic, he could never swear else, before Heaven and by his Conscience. But now I find that even in Hell itself there are some good People, as well as in other places. At the same time, the Devil keeping his Saddle, and fixing his Eyes upon Don Quixote, To thee Sir knight of the lions( and I wish thee fast i' their Claws for the trouble thou giv'st me) to Thee am I sent by the Valiant, but unfortunate Montesinos, to bid thee wait his coming where ever I should find thee, for that he brings along with him an acquaintance of thine, one Dulcinea deal Toboso, and can tell thee how to disenchant her— thats my Errand and all I have to say— and so may Devils like myself be always thy Companions, and Angels guard the rest of this good Company. And so saying he blew his dreadful Horn, and disappeared without staying for an Answer.  
At this the Hunters were more astonished then before, but most of all affrighted Sancho and Don Quixote; Sancho, to see that in despite of what he knew to be true, they would have Dulcinea still to be Enchanted, and Don Quixote, to find that what he had only dreamed of Montesinos's Cave, should prove to be Truth. To whom, while he was pondering these things in his imagination, What think ye Sir, cried the Duke, are ye resolved to expect your friends? Why not, replied Don Quixote, I'll wait their coming with my wonted Courage, tho I were sure to encounter all the Devils in Hell. You may do what you please, quo Sancho, but if any more Devils or Horns come hither, they shall as soon find me in Flanders as here.  
By this time the Night being far spent and very dark, they discovered a great number of Lights, like so many Jack in a lanterns; and immediately after they heard a most dreadful noise, like that of a Cart laden with Bars of Iron crossing forty Kennels one after another, and the ungreas'd Wheels creaking at the same time; which is a sort of Melody, they say, will fright the very wolves and Bears themselves if they hear it. But that which rendered this Diabolical Harmony the more terrible, was another sort of noise of so many Battels joined in all the four Corners of the Wood, where Peals of Cannon, Volleys of muskets; the cries of the wounded; Groans of the dying stupefied your Ears; so that Don Quixote himself, notwithstanding all his Courage, began to find his Hair stand an end. Sancho had no leisure to summon up his Resolution; for such were his fears that he fell down in a swoon at the Dutchesses Feet: And whether he would ever have come to himself again, is a question, had not the duchess been so kind as to bid her Servants throw good store of Water in his Face.  
The Poor Soul began to open his well washed Eyes, just as one of the creaking Carts happened to pass along, drawn by four slow-paced Oxen, covered with Mourning, and carrying upon each Horn a lighted Torch. At the upper end of the Cart, was erected a kind of a Throne, where sate a Venerable Old Man with a Beard as white as a Parson's Band, and reaching down to his Girdle, wrapped up in a Gown of black Buckram. The Oxen were led by two Devils very black and so very deformed, that Sancho having seen 'em once, was forced to shut his Eyes that he might not see 'em again. When the wagon came near the Duke, the Venerable Old Man rose up, and with a loud and deep Voice cried out, I am the Necromancer Lirgand, and so the wagon went forward. After this followed another wagon with another grave old Man sitting in it, who when he came near the Duke, cried out in a hoarse tone, I am the Necromancer Alquift, the great Friend of Urganda the Ungrateful. Then followed a third Cart, but he that sate upon the Throne was a strong sturdy stern sower-fac'd Fellow, and he cried out with a Voice more Inward and Devil-like, I am the Necromancer Arcalaus, the Mortal Enemy of Amadis de Gaule and all his Race; and having so said, he followed the rest of the wagons. All these three wagons made a stop, after they had gone some few Paces only. And then the unpleasing wicked noise of the Wheels ceasing, a pleasant sort of music began to strike up, which Sancho taking for a good Omen, Madam, quo he, to the duchess, from whom he would not budge an Inch, where there's music, there's generally good cheer. Very true, replied the duchess, music delights the Ear, as Light rejoices the Eye. Peranter I, Peranter no, quo Sancho, Light proceeds sometimes from flamme, and a Man may set his House a Fire and run away by the Light on't; but music is always a sign of Jollity and reveling. That will be seen by and by, replied Don Quixote, and so we go on to the next Chapter.   

CHAP. II.  
Containing the means that were used to disenchant Dulcinea, with other Admirable Passages.  
AS the music drew near, they beholded a triumphant Chariot coming towards 'em, drawn by six Mules, covered with White, and upon every Mule a Penitent sate in the same Colour, bearing a great Torch in his Hand. The Chariot was three times as big as any of the wagons, carrying twelve other Penitents in White, with their Torches likewise; and at the farther end upon a Throne sate a Nymph, shining all in glittering Tinsel; so that tho she were not in such a Condition as to be sold to her worth, yet to the outward Eye no Queen could be more gloriously arrayed; besides that her Face was covered with a Transparent Gause, through which you might discern a most Lovely Beauty between Sixteen and Seventeen Years of Age. Close by her sate another Figure, clad in a long side-Garment of black bays reaching down to her Feet, her Head being covered with a Mourning veil. So soon as this Chariot came before the Duke and Don Quixote, the music ceased, and this same Figure standing upright upon her Feet, displayed her Garment, and throwing away her veil, discovered a mere Skeleton, that represented the deformed and ghastly Figure of Death, which put Don Quixote into a Melancholy Dumps, and terrified poor Sancho in such a manner, that he began to be somewhat offensive; nor were the Duke and duchess without their seeming disturbances. At what time Death observing still the same Posture, with a Faint utterance and Languishing Tone thus began.  
I Merlin am whom Story's fain  
To be the Devils Father,  
For on my Learning so profound  
This lie did former Ages ground.  
Sole Monarch o'er Magicians all I Reign;  
All Faustus's and Bacons secrets I  
Can tell, commanding Fate and Destiny.  
I Rule the Demons and the Stars themselves,  
King Oberon, and his Fairy Elves;  
And for Knights-Errant have a tender Love,  
As being favoured from above;  
Their honour I uphold, and still at hand  
Their Lives from vile Enchanters I defend.  
Within my dark abode  
In gloomy Caverns of the Stygian God,  
Where I was drawing Circles, crowned  
With Names of Saints and Avemaries round,  
I heard the doleful Lamentations  
Of Matchless Dulcinea, Queen of Nations;  
Which drew me from my Rest  
To Succour her that lies so sore distressed.  
Oh Thou of wandring Chivalry,  
The Glory and the Ornament;  
Thou that forsakest the soft repose  
Of Downy Beds where Drones and Cowards lie;  
Renowned Knight that never dofft'st thy clothes,  
But under Oaks or Beeches, wet or dry,  
In ponderous armor sleepst upon the Ground,  
Seeking Adventures never to be found;  
To thee famed Hero, that hast long deplored  
Thy Lady's Fate, by thee so much adored,  
Tho now transformed into a Country Dowdy,  
To thee I come, not with a Formal How d' ye;  
But to restore her to her Former State,  
And make her happy that's unfortunate.  
Six hundred Stripes upon his naked Bum,  
Thy Peerless Squire must first receive,  
And then by Fates unalterable Doom,  
Then Dulcinea shall return and live  
For thy Embraces Fit,  
And never more shalt thou have cause to grieve.  
Very finely contrived, quo Sancho, me thinks three Lashes might serve turn, gently laid on with my own Hand— the Devil take thee for a Pedagogue of a Devil for thy manner of disenchantment; what have my Buttocks to do with Sorcery? Before George Mr. Merlin, if you have no better way of disinchanting Madam Dulcinea, let her een go Enchanted as she is into the other World for me.  
How Rogue! cried Don Quixote, all in fury, Scoundrel Garlick-eater— refuse the Oracle, and I'll take thee myself and tie thee as naked to a three as ever thy Mother bore thee, where I'll make up the three thousand three hundred, ye Varlet, six thousand six hundred, at sixcore to the hundred— answer me a word ye Dog and I'll tear out thy Soul.—  
Soft and fair, quo Merlin, for the Stripes that honest Sancho is to receive, must be with his own consent, and he may take his own time, for he is not tied to a Day: Nay, he may be exempted from one half of the Lashes too, provided they be laid on by another Hand, which perhaps may not indeed be so Compassionate. Neither another Hand nor my own, neither heavy nor light, neither hard nor soft, replied Sancho: Did I beget Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, that my tail must pay for the Sins of her Eyes? Een let my Master Don Quixote whip himself, 'tis his own business; he that calls her every foot his Life, his Soul, and his Support, let him, if he pleases, try to disenchant her at the expense of his own Flesh and Blood— but for any whipping of me, I beg his Diversion.  
Sancho had no sooner made an end of speaking, but the Lady in the Throne stood upon her Feet, and lifting up her veil, discovered a Beauty altogether Extraordinary; and then with a Countenance full of anger and disdain, addressing her self to Sancho, shane to thy Profession, quo she, with no more Soul then a Black-jack, and no more Heart then a Muscle, Poor Entrails of a Gudgeon, hadst thou been commanded, Varlet of a Hangman, to throw thyself from the Top of some high Tower to the Ground; hadst thou been requested, Enemy of Mankind, to have eaten a dozen of Toads, two dozen of Efts, and three dozen of Adders; or hadst thou been persuaded to saw off the Necks of thy Wife and Children, it had been no wonder to have seen thee obstinate and Melancholy; but to boggle at three thousand three hundred Slashes of a Whip, that every pitiful Clout-pricker of a Religious Virgin gives her self once a Month, and every old Cripple of a Fornicator suffers from the flogging Hand of a Brawny bawd, strikes admiration into all that hear it, and will be the Astonishment of all succeeding Ages. See here, perpetual Ragamuffin, look upon these Eyes of mine, more bright then glittering Stars, and but observe how my hot Tears insensibly furrow the flowery Meadows of my lovely Cheeks, that were before a Paradise Terrestrial. Die cruel Monster; drop into the Earth for shane, to see a Princess of my Years consume the flower of her Age, and pine away under the Disfigurement of a Country-puzzle, tho at present my former Charms are for a while return'd me, by Gracious Merlins Art, in hopes the sight of so much Beauty would have mollified thy Heart. Relent, relent, inexorable Monster; be not so sparing of that wrinkl'd Skin of thine, th' enclosure of thy Dirty Soul; vanquish for once that passionate love of thy Belly, and forbear to listen to that greedy Worm that's always bawling to thee for Kitchen Consolation; vanquish I say this exorbitant Self-love, and assume to thyself the honour, by a little Mortification of thy Flesh, to restore me the Delicacy of my Skin, the sweetness of my Disposition, and the incomparable Beauty of my Complexion: Or if I am not yet sufficiently miserable to move thy Pity, do it for the sake of that poor Knight who stands by thy side, consuming himself in sorrow, I mean thy tender Master, whose very Soul I see just at his Throat, not above ten Fingers breadth from his Lips, ready upon thy kind or rugged answer, to fly out of his Mouth, or return back to his Midriff.  
Upon these words Don Quixote felt his Throat, and then turning to the Duke, By the Body of Caesar, said he, Dulcinea has spoken nothing but the Truth; for I feel my Soul lie across my Throat, like a Bullet in a Cross-Bow. Well, Sancho, quo the duchess, and what say you to all this? I say, Madam, as I said before, that as to the business of Lashing, I renounce the Devil and all his Firkirs— and therefore I beg your Reversion; Diversion you mean, Sancho, quo the Duke. Hoyday! what again! I beseech your Grandeur to let me alone; is this a time to trouble a Man with Niceties, and Spelling of Letters, when he's in danger of losing his Skin? Therefore I would fain know of my Lady, Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, where she learnt to beg Kindnesses of people after such a rude manner? She desires me that for her sake I would suffer my Skin to be flayed from my Back, and at the same time calls me Savage Monster, Soul of a Black-jack, Tiger and Ragamuffin, with a hundred other reproachful Names, which the Devil himself would never endure. It may be I might have a Body of Brass, if I might gain any thing by disinchanting her. If she had brought along with her a dozen of Shirts, half a score Night-Caps, and three or four new Pair of Shoes, by Gud's Deins I should ha' known what to ha' said to her. But she forsooth to get me into a good humour, presents me with a Bushel of Injuries and Reproaches, as if she intended to Hector me out of my Skin— No— no— she's too young I see to know that an Ass laden with Gold mounts the more nimbly up the Hill, and that Presents mollify Stones: But I can tell her, a bide i' the Hand's worth two i' the Bush; and he's a Fool that will not give an Egg for an Ox. And then again, my Master too, who one would think should make it his Business to speak me fair, and coax me up, as being the only Person that can serve him, threatens to tie me to a three, and to make me pay double the Price which the Devil demands for his Mistresses Ransom. Besides, they ought to consider, 'tis not a Squire only, but a governor whom they would have to whip himself— Beshrew their Hearts, let 'em know to whom they prate, and what they Petition for— Let 'em learn Civility with a Murrain, and understand times and seasons— for all days are not alike, nor are Men, always in a good Humour. They see me pensive and greiv'd for having torn my new svit, and they would have me tear my own Flesh too, when I have no more mind to it then to turn Turk. Sancho, quo the Duke, I must tell ye, y're too nice— and therefore in short, you must either become as soft as a ripe Fig, or renounce your Government. For it would be ill done of me to impose upon my Islanders a governor so Savage and Cruel, that neither the Tears of distressed Ladies, nor the Admonitions of the wisest Necromancers can move him. Once more therefore, Sancho, you must either be lashed, or Lash yourself, or else you can be no governor. My Lord, quo Sancho, may I not be allowed two days to consider what I had best to do? By no means, replied Merlin, you must resolve one thing or other immediately, and that in this very place too, or Dulcinea must return to Montesinos's Cave, whence in her Pristin Form of a Country Wastcoteer, she must be hurried to the Elysian Fields, till the Devil has given her an Acquittance for the Lashes imposed upon thy Buttocks; three thousand for beelzeebub the Master jailor, and three hundred for the Turnkeys Fees.  
Come Sancho, quo the duchess, fie for shane, pluck up a good Courage; what is thy Heart sunk i' thy Belly for fear of a few School-boy jerks? Why thou art a sensible Creature, and me thinks shouldst have a little more gratitude for the Bread thou hast eaten from thy Master Don Quixote's Table, whom we all Admire and Reverence for his Generosity and renowned Feats of Arms. Were I a man as thou art, and had such a Whitleather Skin as thou hast, I'de defy the Devil, and banish fear to the Wretched— Come Sancho, strip and to work— Madam, quo Sancho, your Arguments might convince a Dray-man, were he to be whipped with his Leather Jacket on, but Madam the naked Skin is tender, and therefore addressing himself to the Chariot, Mr. Merlin, quo he, the Post that road by just now,  told us that signior Montesinos himself was a coming, and bid my Master stay for his Instructions about this disenchantment; but as yet we have neither seen Montesinos, nor any body like him.  
That same Devil, replied Merlin, was both a Fool and a Knave— 'twas I that sent him in search of your Master, not by any Warrant of Montesinos, but of my own Head. Montesinos lies still in his Cave, expecting the dissolution of his Enchantment, which perhaps may be when two Sundays come together; but if he ow's ye any Money, or that you have any question to ask him, I'll bring him either hither or to any other place: In the mean time I advice ye to undergo this petty Penance, which I'll assure ye, you will find no less beneficial for your Souls Health then the Welfare of your Body. For your Souls Health, by the Consequences of an Act of Charity: and for the Welfare of your Body, because I know you are of a hot Sanguine Complexion, and the loss of a little Blood can be no prejudice to ye. In good Faith, quo Sancho, I don't find there is such a scarcity of Quacks i' the World at this time, that Necromancers should turn Mountebanks. Nor should all your Twittle cum Twattle persuade me to be angry with my own Flesh and Blood, in despite of my own Natural Affection to myself. But I must confess I do begin to feel my own soft and tender Inclinations, and the innate goodness of my Disposition begin to work upon me: So that in compliance with my Lady duchess, and because it shall not be said that ever I spoyled Madam Dulcinea's Marriage, who I must confess to be much more Beautiful then ever I thought her, I am content to give myself the three thousand three hundred Lashes, provided I be not limited to a Minute, or a day, or a Month. And I will have these Conditions moreover i' my Bargain, that I will not be obliged to whip myself till the Blood come; and that if any of the Slashes happen to fall beside, they shall be reck'n'd into the Tale. Item, that if I should happen not to tell right, Mr. Merlin, who knows all things, shall be obliged to take care that I do not exceed my number. There's no danger of that, replied Merlin; for so soon as the last Lash shall be given, the Spring of your Arm will stop of itself; and at the same moment shall Madam Dulcinea be disinchanted, and shall come and aclowledge Sancho's Kindness, not only in airy words, but with substantial Presents. And therefore never stand upon more or less— but for that trust to my Conscience; nor indeed will Heaven permit me to deceive any Man whatever of the least Hair of his Head.  
Go too then, cried Sancho, I submit to my Misfortune, and accept my Pennance upon the Conditions and Covenants agreed upon. Sancho had no sooner spoken the last words, but the Fiddles strook up again, and three Volleys of small Shot testified the general joy of Madam Dulcinea and her Friends, for her approaching freedom: Don Quixote also threw himself about his Pious Squires Neck, and kissed his Cheeks and Forehead a hundred times; the Duke and duchess were well pleased; and then the Chariot beginning to move, the fair Dulcinea bowed her Head and made a low obeisance to Sancho. And now the Sun began to guild the tops of the Mountains; at what time the Duke and the duchess infinitely satisfied that their design had succeeded so well, return'd to the Castle with their Guests, resolved to continue the Pastime which had hitherto given 'em so much content.   

CHAP. III.  
Containing the strange and wonderful Adventure of the Lady Dolorida, otherwise Countess of Trifaldi, with a Letter which Sancho wrote to his Wife Teresa Pancha.  
THe Duke had a Sreward who was a very Witty Person, full of Conceit and Fancy; and he it was that had invented this whole Comedy, composed the Verses, represented Merlin himself, and ordered one of the Dutchesses Pages to act Madam Dulcinea. And he it was that by the Dukes appointment composed another Scene of Mirth, more Artifical and Pleasant then the former.  
The next day the duchess asked Sancho whether he had begun his Jerking Exercise? To whom Sancho replied, that he had, and the Night before had given himself five Lashes. The duchess asked him with what? with my hand, quo Sancho. Your hand! quo the duchess— That's rather a Pleasure then a Pain; you do but tickle yourself I find; and I'm afraid the Necromancer Merlin will not be so satisfied. He expects that Honest and Just Sancho should discipline himself with Brambles, or a good Horse-whip at least: Alas, the freedom of so great a Princess as Madam Dulcinea, will never be purchased at so mean a Price. Madam, replied Sancho, I'll leave it to your Ladyship to give me what sort of disciplining Whip or Ropes-end you shall think fit, and I'll make use of it, provided it do not put me to Pain: For I must tell your Ladyship, tho I'm a plain Country Bumkin, my Flesh is not made of canvas, but of Tiffany; nor is it reasonable that I should flay myself for anothers Benefit. Well, well, Sancho, quo the duchess, if that be all, I'll provide ye a Top scourge to Morrow, that shall agree with the tenderness of your Skin, as if the very Thong and that were Cousen-germans. But you must be sure to be true to your Word; let me have no foul play; no Favour or Affection to your Flesh. I'll warrant your Ladyship for that Madam, quo Sancho; or if you mistrust me, Seeing's Believing, I'll strip and whip myself in your Ladyships Presence. Then Sancho proceeding; and now Madam, quo he, you must know I have written a letter to my Wife Teresa Pancha, wherein I have given her an account of what has befallen me from the time that I partend from her: I have it here in my Pocket, wanting nothing but the Superscription; and I would that your Discretion should have the Honour to red it, because methinks it is written as a governor ought to writ. And who signed it? quo the duchess, Sinner as I am, replied Sancho, who should sign it but myself? Didst writ it too? quo the duchess: How could that be, replied Sancho, for I can neither writ nor red; however I can make my Mark. Let's see't, quo the duchess, for I dare say 'tis an Ingenious Piece. Thereupon Sancho produced the Letter, and presented it to the duchess, who red therein the following Lines.  
Sancho Pancha's Letter to Teresa Pancha his Wife.  
'twas well for me, Wife, that I had a strong Back; for it has been soundly curry'd; but if I get my Government, I value not three thousand Lashes no more then so many strokes of a Feather. This my Teresa thou wilt not understand at present, another day thou shalt. In the mean time, Teresa, know I am resolved thou shalt ride i' thy Coach; for as for all the other usual ways of riding or walking, thou'dst as good be seen to creep abroad upon all four. In short, thou art a Governours Wife; hence forward let no body tread upon thy Heels. I sand thee a Green Hunting svit, which Madam the duchess gave me; let it be so ordered as to make a Petticoat and waistcoat for our Eldest Daughter. Don Quixote my Master, as I have heard say i' this Country, is a discreet Fool, and a pleasant Madman, and I am accounted little inferior to him. We ha' been at Montesinos's Cave; and the Necromancer Merlin has made choice of me for the Disinchanting of Dulcinea deal Toboso; to which purpose I must give myself Three thousand three hundred Lashes wanting five, which I have had already, and then she shall be as free as her Mother that bore her: But not a word of this to any of thy Gossips living; for they will be buzzing a hundred Shitten cum shires i' thy Ears, and all to no purpose. Within these few days I shall go to my Government; whither I go with an eager desire to get Money; as all new Governours do. I'll first see how things go, and then sand thee word whether thou shalt come to me or no. Grizzle is fat and lusty, and recommends himself both to thee and thy Children. I will not leave him, tho I were sure they would make him Grandsignor of Constantinople. My Lady duchess kisses thy Hands a thousand times over; return her two thousand, seeing there is no Merchandise so cheap as Compliments, as I have often heard my mast say. I have not as yet found another Purse with a hundred Crowns in it, tho it has not been for want of seeking I assure thee. But let not that trouble thee, my dear Teresa; the Government shall make amends for all. One thing perplexes me, which is this, that when once I come to taste this Government, I shall eat my very Fingers, the Sauce is so delicate; which if it should happen, I should have a dear Bargain; and yet the Lame and the maimed find good returns from the Alms which they beg; so that come what will come, thou art like to be Rich and Fortunate. Heaven's Plenty be upon thee, and God preserve me to serve thee. From this same Castle, July 20. 1614.  
Thy Husband Sancho Pancha governor.  
The duchess having red the Letter; quo she to Sancho, methinks Mr. governor, you are here mistaken in two things. First, in that you would make the World believe that this Government was given ye for the Lashes which you are to endure. Whereas you know that when the Duke my Husband promised you this iceland, he never dreamed of this Pennance that is now imposed upon ye. And secondly, you seem to be too much swayed by your own Self-interest, which in me creates a bad Opinion of any Man; for as they say Covetousness breaks the Sack; and a Covetous governor will be always doing Injustice for his private Emolument. Truly, Madam, replied Sancho, I did not much consider what I wrote; however if the Letter does not please your Ladyship, I'll tear it, and writ another, tho I'm afraid 'twill be worse if it be left to my inditing. No, no, replied the duchess, 'tis so very well that I intend to show it the Duke. And so saying she went into a Garden, where they were to Dine that day, and gave the Epistle to her Husband, who red it three or four times over with great delight.  
After Dinner they divertiz'd themselves while with Sancho's Ripartee's, when on a sudden they heard the mournful sound of Flute in consort with an ill-brac'd Drum, that made a very unpleasing sound. While this sad and doleful music discomposed their Ears, all the Company seemed to be amazed: Don Quixote himself shew'd Trouble in his Countenance; and Sancho crept to the duchess, his usual Refuge. Soon after there entered the Garden two Men in long Mourning Cloaks that trayl'd a long way upon the Ground. They had each a great Drum covered with black Bays, which they beat after their manner; and of one side walked a Negro playing upon a Fife. These three were followed by a tall giant, in a monstrous ill shaped Mourning Cassock, over which he wore a Belt with a hugeous Scimitar, the Scabbard of which was blacken'd with Lamb black; his Face was also covered with a long Transparent black veil, through which appeared a Beard down to his Navel, as white as Snow. In his motion he seemed to keep time with the Drums, observing a grave and sober place. In a word, his Bulk, his Gate, his Ethiopic Colour and his Company were so surprising, as promised no less then some strange and uncouth Adventure. At length this giant approaching near the Duke, fell upon his Knee's, and was going to open his Lips; but the Duke would by no means permit him to speak till he had raised him upon his Feet. Which done, the prodigious Specter, after he had three or four times stroked his Yard-long broad white Beard, the like to which no Mortal Eye had e're before beholded, fixed his Goggles upon the Duke, and with a deep sonorous Voice that came from the bottom of his spacious Chest, Most Noble and Potent Lord, said he, my Name is Trifaldin with the white Beard, Squire to the Countess Trifaldi, otherwise called the Lady Dolorida, from whom I am sent with a Message, that your Highness would be pleased to hear the strange and unheard of Story of her Misfortune; to which purpose she begs the Favour to be admitted into your Presence. But first she desires to know whether the Valiant and Invincible Don Quixote de la Mancha be at this time in your Castle; for he it is my Mistress seeks, and for whose sake she has taken a tedious Journey a foot, and without so much as Bayting by the way, from the Kingdom of Cambaya to these your Graces Territories; a thing that only can be attributed to a Miracle, or the force of Enchantment; and she waits at your Highnesses Castle Gate, till I bring her your permission to enter. Which said, he concluded coughing and stroking his Beard from the Top to the Bottom, and with a most solemn and formal Gravity expected the Dukes Answer, which was this. 'tis now a long while since, most Noble Squire with the white Beard, that we understood the Misfortune of my Lady the Countess Trifaldi, called by the Necromancers Madam Dolorida; and therefore most stupendious Squire, you may go and tell her, she is freely welcome, and at such a lucky time, that she will meet the Peerless knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, upon whose Generosity she may assuredly rely for all manner of Favour and Protection. Tell her also from me, that if she thinks me capable to do her any Service, she shall find me equally ready, as being obliged by my Profession of Knight-hood, to succour and relieve all Women in distress, especially Ladies of her transcending Quality.  
Trifaldin having received his Answer, made a low obeisance, and having given a sign to the Fife and Drums to play and beat as they did before, return'd with the same slow place and Gravity as when he entered, leaving all the Company in a deep Admiration of his Proportion, and Venerable Deportment.  
And then it was that the Duke addressing himself to Don Quixote, at length, said he, we find that all the Clouds of Envy and Malice, are not able to obscure the Beams of true Courage and virtue. For you have hardly been six days within this Castle, but here we find ye hunted out, by Persons that come from Regions far remote; not in Coaches or a Horse-back, but a foot and without eating by the way; so eager are these poor distressed People to find ye out, and such is their Confidence in the strength of your Arm, and in the Generosity of your Courage. Thanks to the Reputation which your vast Exploits have acquired, and that loud Report which famed has spread of your Valiant Deeds over all the World. Now would I give a Shilling, replied Don Quixote, that that same Wisacre of a Chaplain had been here; he I mean, that t'other day so testily exercised his Gifts against Knight-Errants; for now his own Eyes might have been judges, whether Knights-Errant be such unnecessary things i' this World or no. At least he might have been convinced that the Distressed and Disconsolate seek not for the relief of their Misfortunes, nor the redress of Wrong and Injury done 'em in monasteries or colleges, nor repair to Cowardly and slothful Knights, who only are dubbed to please their Wives, nere put on Arms i' their Lives, nor gave any Marks of their Courage; nor to Soft and Effeminate Courtiers, who had rather relate the Stories of other Mens Actions, then signalise themselves with any achievement worth rehearsal, or fit to eternize their Memory. And therefore the true Succour of the Distressed, the Support of the Miserable, the Protection of young Virgins, the Comfort of Widows is no where more certainly to be found, then among your Knight-Errants. For which reason I return innumerable thanks to Heaven for having called me to this Noble Profession; and as for the toils and Labours I have already suffered, and whatever I am farther yet to endure, I look upon 'em as the chiefest Pleasures of my Life. Therefore let this Distressed Lady come, and make but known her Complaints, that her Relief may be assured by the force of my Arm, and the unalterable Resolution of that Courage which guides it.   

CHAP. IV.  
Being a Continuation of the Famous Adventure of the Lady Dolorida.  
THE Duke and the duchess were extremely pleased to find that their Contrivance had so well hit Don Quixote's Humour, nor were they wanting in themselves to act their Parts. But Sancho, who carefully observed all Passages, and made his Reflections upon 'em, could not be so easily satisfied in his Mind. Pox o' these Lady Matron's, quo he; I'll be hanged if she ben't come to carry my Master a Dog-trot to some Fag end of the World or other, and so I must lose my Government. I remember I was once acquainted with an Old Potecary that loved a Glass of good Wine, and talked like a Starling, who was wont to say, that where ever your Lady Matrons intrude themselves, nothing ever prospered i' that Family. So God help me, he knew 'em too well, and therefore hated 'em as bad. Whence I gather, that if all your Lady Matrons are such Impertinent troublesone Gossips, of what Condition or Quality soever, there can be no good expected from these Distressed Twittle cum Twattles, that muffle up their withered Faces in old Riding-hoods, such as they describe this same Countess of Three-Clacks to be. Soft and fair Sancho, cried Don Quixote, for since this Lady comes so far in search of me, she can be none of those Matron's thy Apothecary talked of, more especially being a Countess: For when Countesses become Governantes or Matrons, they never serve any but Queens and Empresses, and are themselves attended by other Servants which are under them. I'll assure ye, cried Madam Dorothy, who was there present, My Lady duchess has Women that serve her, who might have been Countesses, had Fortune been so kind as she should ha' been: But Fate Governs the World, and therefore let no body speak ill of Governantes, especially of Maids at Forty. For tho I ha' been married myself, yet I find the advantage that your Maiden Governantes have over your Governantes that are Widows; but after all's done, he that thinks to sheer an Egg has little to do with his soldiers. However, quo Sancho, your Governantes are not so bare but that they may be shorn sometimes, if my Barber spoken Truth; but it seems we must not stir the Rice tho it stick to the Pot. Your Squires, replied Mrs. Dorothy, are always our Enemies; for that being themselves confined to the Antichambers, and seeing us whisk in and out every where and at all Times, they spend their idle Hours, which are very many God wot, in reviling, and striving to deprive us of our Honour and good Names. But let 'em go to the Hospital of Fools, we shall live i' the World in spite of their Teeth, and be wanted by Ladies of the best Quality, tho when we grow Old and turned out of Service for doting, perhaps we may be put to snap at a Crust, and cover our Winter John-Apple Skins with the Tatters of my Lady's old Gown, just as they cover a dunghill with an old piece of Hanging when the Procession goes by. And therefore, I would have all you Mr. Do-little Squires to hold your Tongues; For had I time I durst undertake to make it out, not only to you, but all the World, that there is no virtue honoured among Men, which is not enclosed within the Stays of a Governante.  
Truly, quo the duchess, I am apt to believe my Woman is in the Right; and therefore we must have another time to bring about this dispute again, as well to confute this Heathenish Apothecary, as to root up that same bad Opinion which the great Sancho has so unwarily fixed in his Breast. Faith Madam, change of Condition alter's Manners— I don't know my own Opinion myself; for ever since the Thoughts of being a governor have steam'd up into my Brains, I ha' laid aside my petty Title of Squire, scorn Disputes with Governantes, and care not a Fig for a whole Ships Loading of such sort of cattle.  
These words had bread ill Blood, and the Storm had risen higher, but that the sound of the Drums and Fife returning, gave 'em to understand that Madam Dolorida was at hand. The duchess asked the Duke, whether it might not be convenient to go and meet her, since she was a Countess and a Person of worth. To which Sancho made answer, That as she was a Countess, it might be proper for her Ladyship to meet her; but as she was a Matron Governante, his Opinion was that neither of their Excellencies ought to stir an Inch.  
Good-man Coxcomb, cried Don Quixote, what dost thou trouble thyself for, who requires thy Advice? Why do I trouble myself? replied Sancho— I trouble myself as it is my business to trouble myself in these Affairs— I trouble myself as being a Squire bread up in your Worship's School, who is a Knight the best bread of any in the World, the very mirror and Quintessence of courtesy and Courtship itself; and I have heard you often say, that in these matters a Man may as well lose a carded too much as a carded too little, and a word to the Wise is sufficient. Sancho speaks Truth, replied the Duke, let's first see how the Lady deports her self, and then we shall know how to entertain her. And then it was that the Fife and the Drums entered the Garden after the same doleful manner as before.  
Here also the Author concluded this short Chapter to begin the next; prosecuting the same Adventure, which is one of the most remarkable in the whole History.   

CHAP. V.  
Wherein Madam Dolorida recounts her Misfortunes.  
THe sad and dismal Drummers were attended by twelve Damsels in two Files, marching two and two together, clad in large Mourning habits, covered with white Vails of white linen, that reached down to their very Feet. After them followed the Countess of Three-Skirts, lead by her Squire, Trifaldin with the White Beard, in a long Garment of Black Bays, with three Trains carried up by three Pages in Mourning. This same threefold Train of Hers, made all the Company believe she had borrowed her Title from some new Fashion of her own Invention then lately come up, for the Ladies to have three Skirts to one Gown, and therefore called her self the Countess of Three-Skirts. Which Benengeli confirms, and says moreover that she was called the Countess of Wolf-Land, by reason of the great number of Wolves that bread in her Territories. However it were, the Countess and her Damsels marched a Procession place, with close Vails over their Faces, that hindered the sight of their Countenances; only the veil which the Countess her self wore was Transparent.  
So soon as the Black Squadron drew near, the Duke, the duchess, and D. Quixote rose up; at what time the twelve Damsels ranging themselves in two Rows, Madam Dolorida advanced with a slow place toward the Duke, who stepping forward to meet and receive her, she threw her self upon her Knees, and with a Tone of Humility, I am utterly ashamed, quo she, of the Honour which your Excellency does me; I beseeeh ye therefore give yourself no farther trouble, for being distressed to the degree that I am, my Mind is not at Liberty to make Returns of so many Civilities, since my Misfortunes have bereaved me of my Senses. Rather Madam, you might say that we had lost our own, did we not in your Person discover your high Merit, and pay those Honours due to your Transcending worth: And so saying, he raised her from the Ground, and seated her by the duchess, who failed not to compliment her according to her Quality. Don Quixote looked on, but said not a word, his compliments were all locked up for the present; and as for Sancho he was mad to see the Countesses Face, or of some of her Damsels; but 'twas impossible, till they themselves were willing.  
At length the compliments on both sides being over, Madam Dolorida made a profound Reverence, and thus bespoke the Company. I make no question, said she, most High and Potent Lord; thrice Beautiful and most Excellent Lady; and most Prudent and Illustrious Auditors, but that I have met with a favourable Reception in the Generosity of your Hearts; since my Misfortunes are such as would mollify Marble, soften Diamonds, and melt Brass and Steel into a Hasty-Pudding. But before the Rehearsal of my unutterable Adventures reach your Courteous Ears, I would fain be satisfied whether the most Magnanimous Knight Don Quixote de la Mancha, and his most Illustrious Squire of Squires, Pancha, be a part of this Company, or no. Pancha, cried Sancho, interrupting her, is here in proper Person; and so is my Lord Don Quixote likewise: Proceed therefore most Dolorous Metron, and tell out your Teale at large to those that are willing to learn, and ready to serve your Metronship to the itmost of their Ebilities. But then Don Quixote Majestically approaching the Distressed Lady, Oppressed Princess, quo he, if you have any design to be relieved in your Misfortune by the Strength and Valour of any Knight-Errant, I offer ye my Force and Courage, and such as they are, I dedicate 'em to your service. I am Don Quixote de la Mancha, whose Profession it is to take care of all persons in necessity▪ and being so, you need not put yourself to the trouble of Preambles, or studied sleights of Eloquence to circumvent my favour; but utter your Calamities in down-right Terms without far-fetched Speeches; for they that hear ye, will be ready to redress your Grievances with all the willingness, that your Compassion or Generosity can claim.  
At those words Madam Sorrowful threw her self at Don Quixotes Feet; and striving to embrace his Knees, maugre all the kind resistance of the Knight; most invincible Champion, cried she, at these most Indefatigable Feet I throw myself, the Foundations and Pillars of Chivalry-Errant; these Feet, that I can never too much adore, since their steps must hasten the Succour of my Misfortunes, remediless by any other then your Potent Arm, most Valiant Knight-Errant, whose real achievements obscure the Fables of all the Amadis's, Guy's of Warwick, Bevis's of Southampton, and Belianis's i' the World. Then turning to Sancho, and taking him by the Hand; And thou, most Faithful Squire that ever attended the Magnanimity of Knight-Errantry; whose goodness is of a larger extent then the broad and long Beard of Trifaldin my Squire, well mayst thou account thyself most Fortunate in serving the Great Don Quixote, paying thy duty to all the Valour and Courage of all the whole Rabble of Knight-Errants that ever handled Arms, epitomized in one single Person. I conjure thee most noble Squire, by that unspotted Loyalty of all thy careful Services, to be a Courteous intercessor to thy Master, for a most Unfortunate Countess, and thy Humble Servant.  
Madam Countess, replied Sancho, whether my Goodness be as large as your Squires Beard or no, that's nothing to the purpose. I shall have a Beard and Mustachio's to boot, let me die soon or late; nor do I measure my Goodness by any Man's Beard. And therefore without guilding my Pills with your Flatteries, which I deserve not, I shall desire my Master( who I know loves me, and at this time stands in some need of me upon a particular occasion) to assist ye to the uttermost of his Power. In the mean time, dear Madam, discharge your burdened Soul, let us understand what it is that perplexes your Spirits, and leave the rest to Us.  
The Duke and the duchess were ready to burst with Laughter, to see their Project take so good Effect; for Don Quixote and Sancho were very serious upon the Matter, and the Countess of Three-Skirts acted her part to a Miracle. Returning therefore to her Seat, after silence commanded, she began her Story thus.  
Queen Maguncia, King Archipiela's Widow, was Empress of the Famous Kingdom of Candaya, lying between the Great Tabrobana; and the Sea of Sur, Six Leagues more or less from scape Comorin. By the King the Queen had a Daughter name Antanomasia, who remained under my Charge, as being Mother of the Maids to the Queen. In process of Time the young Princess arrived at the Age of Fourteen Years, with more Beauty then Nature had ever bestowed upon any of her greatest Favourites. But notwithstanding her Youth, she was ripe in Knowledge and judgement: She was no less discreet then fair, and the fairest Creature in the World, and is so still, if Jealous Destiny and the Marble-hearted Sisters have not cut the Thread of her Life. Which certainly they have not done, for Heaven could nere permit so great an Injury to be done the Earth, to pluck the unripe Grapes before their time, from the Loveliest vineyard under the sky. Of this same Peerless Beauty, not to be expressed by my impoverished Tongue, an infinite number of Princes, as well Natives as foreigners, became enamoured; and among the rest of these great Personages, a Private Knight was so presumptuous as to advance his Thoughts to this Ninth Heaven of Beauty, born upon the rapid Wings of his Inordinate Ambition, and confiding in his Youth, his Courtship, his goodly Aspect, and the Vivacity of his Wit.  
I may say without telling an untruth, that this young Knight was endued with wonderful Qualities, not only capable to move the Heart of a young Lady, but also to shake Mountains. He played with that Skill upon the Guittar, that he made it speak several Languages; he made Verses like another Ovid, and out-caper'd a French Dancing Master: And he was so great an Artist at making of Straw Bird-cages, that had he had nothing else to live upon, he could have kept his Coach and six Horses merely by that Trade. Yet all these great Parts and Endowments could never have prevailed to win the Fortress of which I was made the Commandress, if this same Hangman of a Knight had not made use of all his cunning Shifts and Contrivances to ensnare me first. To that purpose he first besieged me at a distance, then making his Approaches nearer and nearer, he began to undermine my Fidelity, and wrought so deeply undiscovered, that what with Sugar words, what with his Gold and his Jewels, he blew me up of a sudden, and persuaded me to deliver him the Keys of the Fort wherewith I was entrusted. But that which chiefly brought me to surrender, was a Copy of Verses that he Sang one Night under my Window, of which I remember the first four Lines to this Effect.  
From the fair Eyes of my adored Saint,  
A Hurt I feel that wounds me to the Heart;  
Which the sly gipsy, for my greater smart  
Would have me feel, without the least Complaint.  
These Verses charmed me, and his Voice Enchanted me to that degree, that I lost my Reason, and from that time forward every time I reflected upon the Crime I had committed, I concluded that Plato was in the Right, in giving his Advice that all Poets, especially your Wanton and Lascivious Rhimers, should be banished out of all well governed Common Wealths; their Compositions being such, as like that sort of Thunder which melts the Sword without any hurt to the scabbard, consume and waste the Soul, never so much as touching the Body. Another time he bewitched me with the following Lines.  
Come quickly, Death, but come Incognito,  
If thou intendst to ease my pain;  
Else in the midst of all my woe,  
The pleasure I  
shall take to die  
Will make me covet Life again.  
He likewise repeated to me a great number of other Verses of that Nature, that they Charm ye when they are sung, and Ravish ye when they are red; and among the rest he shew'd and sung to me several of his Compositions, which he called Ballads, a precious sort of Rhime-doggrel, much in Fashion in Candaya, that will make a Womans Soul to skip in her Belly, tickle her into a Convulsion with laughter, distemper her whole Body, and put Quick-silver into her very Thoughts: Therefore I say such kind of Poets ought to be sent to the Antipodes. Tho had I stood upon my Guard as a Faithful Governess ought to have done, all their Whimseys could never have moved me, nor would I have believed 'em to be other then a Company of liars when they cry,  
I live dying— I burn in Ice— I tremble in Fire— I hope without hope— My Heart remains and yet is fled— With a number of other Impossibilities of this Nature, with which they shift their Raptures. No less ridiculous are their vain Promises of Arabian Phenixes, Golden Fleeces, Ariadne's Gowns, Gyges's Rings, Mountains of Gold and heaps of Diamonds, of which they are very Liberal, since they know it costs 'em little to promise what they ever can, nor ever intend to perform. But whether do I wander, Miserable as I am? What folly rides me thus to count the Impertinences of others, that have committed more myself then will fill whole Volumes. Alas, alas! Why wailst thou thus abandoned Wretch! For neither did those Verses deceive thee, nor those Sugard persuasions undo thee; 'twas thy own Simplicity, thy own Ignorance, thy own Weakness and Inordinate Passions that opened the Gap, and levelled the way for Don Picklochio's designs( for that was the Name of the Knight.) 'twas I myself that introduced him, not only once or twice into Antonomasia's Chamber, rather by me deluded, then by Don Picklochio's Cunning; tho in reality he has a lawful claim to be her Husband; for had it not been for that, as much a bawd as I was, He could never have kissed the Hem of her Garment. No, no, there must be first a Forenoon Walk to the Minories, or Dukes Place, or St. Katherns, or at least a fair Promise, before I meddle in such Affairs. Herein I did the Lady wrong, that I too slightly considered the Inequality of their Conditions; Don Picklochio being but a private Knight, and the Infanta Antonomasia Heir, as I have said, of the Kingdom. Now for some time this intrigue continued undiscovered, till at length I perceived a certain Swelling below Antonomasia's Stomach, and then I feared her Treacherous Belly would betray us all. These fears of ours forced us to several private Consultations, wherein it was at last resolved, that before the imposthume broken, Don Picklochio should demand the Princess in Marriage before a person, by virtue of a Promise or Contract, which I myself had dictated in such due form, that all the strength of samson was not able, as I knew full well, to break it. Great Diligence was used, the person saw the Contract, Gold rained into his Hand, and he dispatched the Business forthwith, despising all Suspensions.  
How, quo Sancho, be there Parsons and Poets in Candaya too? Well, I see the World's the same from one Corner to the other— only I don't believe the Parsons wear periwigs in Candaya as they do here. But pray go on Madam Three Skirts, and make an end as soon as you can, for it grows late, and I long to hear the end of this Story, which as I may tell to you, is a little o' the longest.   

CHAP. VI.  
Being a Continuation of the Wonderful History of the Countess of Three-Skirts.  
SAncho spoken not a word, which did not infinitely please the duchess; on the other side Don Quixote was ready to hang himself every time the Squire opened his Mouth; insomuch that in a great Passion he commanded him to hold his Tongue; and then the Countess proceeding, At length, said she, the Business was canvased in the Civil Court, where the Doctors and Proctors got the Devil and all by replies and double replies, till at last the Judge gave Sentence in favour of Don Picklochio, which Queen Maguncia laid so grievously to Heart, that within three Days she was buried. Then, as far as I find by the Story, the Queen died, quo Sancho. 'tis very clear, replied Trifaldin, for in Candaya they never bury the Living but the Dead. With your good leave, Mr. Squire, answered Sancho, I have heard of a Woman that lay in a swoon and was buried alive; afterwards the Sexton coming i' the Night to rob her of her Shrowd, the Woman started up in her Coffin, the Sexton ran away, the Woman got to her Friends, recovered and was married again. In good faith between you and I, your Queen Maguncia was too hasty in dying so soon; my thinks it had been enough for her to have only shut her Teeth and her Eyes for an Hour or too; for we may help many things while we are alive; nor do I find the Infanta's folly was so great, that the Mother should take such a pet at the World, for her Daughters being gotten with Child. Had she married one of her Pages, or the Coach-man, as I have heard many young Ladies of Quality have done, that had been a Scandal indeed; but to Espouse a Knight so rarely well qualified as you set him forth, in good soothe Law, tho 'twere a folly, yet was it no such prodigious Crime as you would make it to be; for according to my Masters maxims, who is here present, and will not suffer me to lie, as learned Men are made of the same Mould as Bishops; so Knights, if they be Knights-Errant, are made of the same Materials as Kings and Emperours.  
Thou sayst very true, replied Don Quixote, for a Knight-Errant if he have but two Fingers breadth of good luck, is in a probability to be the Greatest Monarch i' the World. But pray let Madam Countess go on; certainly the worst of the Story's behind; for I profess I have heard nothing hitherto but what has been very pleasant. You say very right, the bitter is to come, and indeed far more bitter then Wormwood and Aloes.  
The Queen being Dead, and not in a Swoon, we butted her; but no sooner had we covered her with Earth, and taken our last leaves, when— Ah! who rehearsing woes like these from sorrow can refrain? When mounted on a wooden Horse, there appeared upon the Grave the giant Malambrune, Cousin German to the deceased Queen, casting upon all that were present such Wild and Cruel looks, as were more piercing then pointed Arrows. This giant, as he was cruel to excess, so was he likewise a great Necromancer, and came to revenge the Death of his Cousin German; and therefore to chastise Don Picklochio's Presumption, and punish Antonomasia for being so hasty, he left 'em both Enchanted upon the same Tomb; the one being turned into a Brass Female Monkey, and the other into a dreadful Crocodile of an unknown Mettal, with a Pillar between both, on which were engraved these words in Syriac Letters.  
These inconsiderate Lovers shall never recover their pristin shape, till the Valiant Manchegan shall come to Encounter me in single Combat; for only for him it is, that th' unalterable Destinies reserve this Adventure so Extraordinary.  
Which done, he drew from his Scimitar a hugeous, broad, swinging Cutlace, and catching me fast by the Hair, made as if he would have pared off my Head. I stood immovable as a Statue, not so much as daring to cry out Murder, till at length making a virtue of Necessity, I wept so bitterly, and gave such melting good words, that he surceac'd the rigorous execution of his intended Punishment. At length he caused to be dragged before him all the Ladies of the Palace, who are these that you see here before ye; and after he had aggravated upon us our breach of Trust, reproached us with the vile Conditions of Matrons and Governantes, upbraided 'em with their Procurations and Panderisms, charging all with the wickedness of which I was only Guilty; he  told us he would lay a punishment upon us that should be worse then Capital, for that it should be a kind of continual dying; and having so said, we felt of a sudden the Pores of our Skins open, and such a vehement pricking and itching over all our Faces, like the pricking of so many Needles; and then laying our Hands upon our Faces, we felt ourselves as you shall presently see; and so saying, Madam Sorrowful and the rest of the Damsels lifting up their Vails, discovered their Chins and Lips overgrown with thick Beards of several Hews; some black, some white, some Carrot coloured, and others Motley. A sight that greatly astonished the Duke and the duchess, put Don Quixote into a could Sweat, and had like to have laid Poor Sancho in another Swoon, but that he was more afraid of being buried alive. Thus, said the Countess of Three-Skirts, continuing her Story, did this same Barbarous Villain of a giant, Malambrune, disfigure the Beauty of our Cheeks with these rough Beards, so unusual to our Sex; far more happy, had he taken our Heads from our Shoulders with his dreadful Scimitar, then to let us live disgraced before all the World with these Furbushes upon our Chins, like so many Cloven footed Satyrs. For if your Excellencies consider it, Where shall a Lady dare to appear with such a Rubbing-Brush about her Chaps? What will the World think of her? What will busy and scandalous Tongues say of her? What Parents will aclowledge her? Or who will be so Charitable as to pitty her? Women, we find, have much ado already, with their Paints, their Washes and their Puppy dog Waters to preserve their Complexions, so as to win the Love of nice Mankind— What then will become of us with our Faces like Bears Arses? O Dearest Ladies, and Companions of my Misery, what unfortunate Stars were we born under! In what unlucky Hour did our Fathers beget, and our Mothers bring us forth! and so saying she fell into a Swoon.   

CHAP. VII.  
Containing several Matters that appertain and belong to this Remarkable Adventure.  
BY the Faith of a Living Man, quo Sancho, seeing Madam Sorrowful in a Swoon, and by the Life of all the Pancha's, my ancestors, never in all my Life did I ever see or hear of the like Adventure; nor did my Master ever tell me or think of the like. A thousand Satans hale him to the bottom of the Abyss, for a Dog of a Necromancer; could he find no other Punishment for these poor Creatures, then by All-to-be-grandfathering their Muzzles. By the Lord Harry, he had better have split their Nostrils, tho they had snuffl'd through the Noses, like so many Pockify'd Daughters of Venus— For now I'll be hanged if the poor Souls have Money enough to pay a Baber for shaving' em.  
'tis very true, Sir, replied one of the twelve, we have not Money enough to pay for shaving; and therefore some of us are constrained for saving of Charges, to lay on plasters of Pitch upon the places affencted, which pull away roots and all, and leave our Chins as smooth as the bottom of a Stone-Morter. Not but that there are Women in Candaya, that go about from house to house, to rectify over-grown Beards, and Beetle Brows: Nay, and as there are some Women that are as bald as Death's Heads, there are another sort of Female Barbers, that will make ye a whole head of hair, or a Tower for the Forehead only, which sets a Woman out extremely; but we that are Ladies of Honour, never make use of these kind of cattle, because they are generally Women of bad famed. So that if my Lord Don Quixote, do not relieve us, we must carry our Beards to our Graves. I'll first give the Moors leave, replied Don Quixote, to tear off mine hair by hair, but I'll have your disguises off without any other shaving, then shaving off the Sorcerers head who thus bewitched ye.  
By this the Countess of Three-skirts being come to her self, Most valiant Knight, quo she, the grateful sound of your promise reached my Ears in the midst of my Fit, and re-call'd both my strength and senses. I beseech ye therefore once more, renowned and Invincible Champion, to let your Deeds be answerable to your Words, with all the speed that may be. That shall be none of my fault, replied Don Quixote: Tell me but what I must do, and you shall find me wholly at your service.  
Your Magnanimity then must understand, replied the Lady Sorrowful, that from hence to the Kingdom of Candaya it is about some five thousand Leagues by Land; I will not stand with your Worship for a League over or under. But if you ride through the Air, in a direct Line, 'tis not above three thousand two hundred twenty seven Leagues: and the Giant Malambrune  told me, that so soon as it should be my good fortune to meet the Champion that was to dissolve our Enchantment, he would sand him an excellent stead, much better, and with far less resty Jades tricks, then any of your Common Hackney Post-horses, as being the same wooden Horse that carried the Valiant Pedro, and the fair Magalona double, when he stolen her away. A peaceable creature, and governed with ease, only by turning a Pin which he has in his Forehead, but such a one as flies i' the Air with that swiftness, that you would swear the Devil was at his heels with a hunting Whip. This same Horse, according to ancient Tradition, was the Master-piece of the Necromancer Merlin, who lent him to Peter of Provence, his great friend, who road him many a long journey through the Air; and when he had stolen Magalona, set her behind him, and carried her away with a jerk, while his Enemies, and her Friends, in vain stood gaping after him, like people that gape after a Paper Kite with a Candle and lantern, but are never the nearer; even so gaped they till their hearts ak'd, and then left off. After that Merlin lent this Horse to no body but his best Friends, or such as paid him well, and a Crown a day was his lowest price. Since that, Malambrune found a way to get him into his Stable; so that he saves a world of Horse flesh, considering how many ston he rides, and how he posts about to all the Fairs i' the world. You shall have him here to day, to morrow in France, the next day in China, to morrow in America: for as he is a great Giant, so is he a great Merchant. And being so, he could never have met with such a convenient Beast, for he neither eats nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor wears out any shoes, and paces so pleasantly through the Air, that you may carry a Glass of Wine i' your hand without spilling a drop: Which was the reason the fair Magalona, by her good will, would ne're be off of his Back.  
As for a delicate Pacer, quo Sancho, commend me to my Grizzle, tho I confess he cannot fly i' the Air; but upon plain ground I defy all the Amblers i' the world. Which set 'em all a laughing; but then Madam Sorrowful proceeding,  
This same Horse quo she, if it be Malambrunes pleasure to put an end to our Misfortunes, will be here within half an hour after 'tis dark: for it was agreed between us, that as soon as I had found the Knight, he would sand the Horse.  
Pray now, quo Sancho, how many people will this Beast carry? Two Persons, replied Madam Sorrowful, one in the seat, and the other behind: and these two persons are generally the Knight and the Squire, unless some stolen Lady be to be whirled out of human reach, like Ganymed upon the Eagles back.  
Pray Madam Sorrowful, how d' ye call this Horse's Name? To which the Lady replied, neither Pegasus like Bellerophon's, nor Bucephalus like Alexander the Great's; nor Golden Bridle, like Orlando's; nor Bayard, like Rinaldo's; nor Frontin, like Rogiero's; nor Bootes nor Pirithous, like the Horses of the Sun; nor Otelia, that unfortunate Horse, upon whose back King Rodorigo lost both his Life and his Kingdom. I do not ask ye, Madam, quo Sancho, negatively, how he was not called; for that I know as well as another. More then that, I'll hold my life his name is not Rosinante neither; for so is my Master's Horse called, according to his worth; which is such, that I'll be hanged if all the Horses with hard names that you have reckoned up, could ever match him either for heels or courage. I believe that, replied the Countess; nevertheless he has a Name too, very proper and significant; for he is called Screw-Pegg the swift, which answers to the swiftness of his heels, and the Pegg in his forehead. I like the name well, quo Sancho, but how d' ye rain him, with a Bridle or a Headstall? I have  told ye already, replied Madam Three-skirts, with a Peg, which being turned this way or that way, the Horse moves accordingly, either aloft i' the Air, or brushing the tops of the grass with his Hoofs, or else so in the middle between both, as to avoid the trouble of leaping hedges: he is the best for a Fox-chase in the world. I would willingly see this beast, quo Sancho, not that I have any thoughts to ride either behind or before. I don't say so neither; for they that expect any such thing from me, may as well expect Pears from an Elm. Is it likely that I, who can hardly sit my own Grizzle upon a Pack-saddle as soft as Silk, will suffer myself to be hors'd upon a hard piece of enchanted Timber, without either Pillow or Cushion? Not I by my faith, I thank ye, I'll not gall my Buttocks to dis-inchant the best Ladies Beard i' the world— Let them that have Beards wear Beards, or else shave themselves as well as they can. For my part, if my Master intends to go this long journey, let him een go by himself; he must not think to concern me in his Beard shaving, as he has done in the disenchantment of Dulcinea. Oh dear, Sir, replied the Lady Sorrowful, your presence is so requisite that we can do nothing without ye. Pray seek another Champion, I beseech ye, good Madam, where d' you find the Squires coupled with their Masters in their Adventures? Only they get all the Profit, and we all the Trouble.— Body a' me, when shall ye hear any Historian say, Such a Knight performed such an Adventure indeed, but it was with the assistance of such a one, his Squire, without whose help he could never have accomplished it? No, before George, but barely and singly, Don Paralipomenon, of the three Stars, finished the Adventure of the Hobgoblins, making no more mention of the Squire, then if there were no such person i' the world, tho he were present, and were well strapp'd for his pains. For once therefore let my Master een go by himself, and much good may his Honour do him; For my part, I'll keep my Lady duchess Company, and it may be by that time he returns, he may find Madam Dulcinea's business in a good forwardness; for whenever I have nothing else to do, I intend to lick myself soundly. However, honest Sancho, quo the duchess, if there be a necessity, you must accompany your Master; for 'tis unreasonable these Ladies should remain in this Monkey-fac'd condition, because of your vain fears. With reverence be it spoken, Madam, quo Sancho, Must is for the King— Were it to do a kindness for an honest virtuous Kinswoman, or the whole Bevy of Blew coat-Girls, 'twere a dead of Charity; but to hazard the breaking of a mans bones, to unbeard a parcel of bawdy Governantes, the Devil shall do it for me; let 'em een seek out other Shavers; for Sancho Pancha will be none of their Barber. By this light I had rather see 'em hairy all over, like Goats, from the Lady to the kitchenwench. I wonder you should be so angry with Governantes, friend Sancho, replied the duchess— In truth, you do 'em wrong— Among the Rest I have a Governante of my own; such a pattern of fidelity, that I'll put my life in her hands, and I'll go no farther then Mistress Dorothy. Your Excellency may say what you please, replied Mistress Dorothy, but God knows the truth of every thing— and whether bad or good, bearded or not bearded, we were all the Daughters of our Mothers, as well as others; and since God has sent us into the World, he knows wherefore, and 'tis in his Mercy, and my Ladies Favour and Charity that I must trust, and I hope I have learnt to wink at small faults: 'tis a good Horse that never trips.  
Mrs. Dorothy is in the right, cried Don Quixote: And as for you, Madam Countess, with the rest of your illustrious Company, I make no question but Heaven will look upon your misfortunes with a propitious Eye, and that Sancho will do what I command him. In the mean time, I wish that Screw-Peg were come, and that I were at cut and slash with Malambrune; there's no Razor should shave your Ladyships Beard with that ease as I would shave his head from his shoulders, and teach him at the price of his life to furbush Countesses Chins, and challenge Knights errand. High Heaven, cried Madam Sorrowful, with Eyes of Favour behold your Grandeur, and may all the Stars of the Celestial Regions,  shed down their Influence upon your Valour, and bless with all prosperity your Highness, the Buckler and support of the forlorn Society of Waiting-women and Chambermaids, so contemned by Pothecaries, accursed by Squires, and reviled by Pages. Most unfortunate among Females, better were it for us to cloister ourselves in the flower of our Age, then thus to be the scorn of all Mankind. Disgrace of the Earth, as we are, were we descended in a direct Line from Hector of Troy, I question whether exasperated men would allow us to prove our Pedigrees— And thou most mighty Giant Mambruno, as much an Enchanter as thou art, be faithful however to thy word, and sand away the peerless Screw-Peg, that so at last we may see an end of our misfortunes. For should the hot weather surprise us with so much Goats wool about our Noses, woe be to us and all our Progeny; since we can expect no other, then to bring a Race of Baboons into the world.  
These last words the Lady Three-Skirts, wringing her hands, uttered with such a lamentable tone, that she drew tears from all the Company; and among the rest caused Sancho also to water his plants, who now, compassion having melted his heart, resolved in his mind to follow his Master to the farthermost parts of the Earth, so he might any way contribute to clear away that venerable Camomile which be-spread the Ladies Cheeks.   

CHAP. VIII.  
Containing the Arrival of Screw-Peg, and the End of this Tedious Adventure.  
BY this the Night was come, and with it, the appointed hour for Screw-Peg's arrival, for which Don Quixote waited with an extraordinary impatience; believing that because Malambrune delayed so long the sending him, that either he was not the Knight for whom this Adventure was reserved, or else that the Giant was afraid to grapple with him. But when he least expected it, behold of a sudden four Savages, covered with green Ivy, entered the Garden, bearing a huge Wooden Horse upon their shoulders. Which as soon as they had set down upon the ground, presently one of the Savages cried out, Now let him that has the Courage, mount this wooden Animal. I'll mount no mounts, quo Sancho; for neither have I so much Courage, neither am I, God be thanked, a Knight-Errant. Then the Savage proceeding, and let the Squire, quo he, if there be any such person here, get up behind; and let the Knight be assured from Malambrune's own Mouth, that he intends nothing but a fair Stage, and fair Play, and that only with his trusty Sword. As for the Horse, let the Knight but turn the Peg in his Forehead, and he will carry his Riders in a trice to the place where Malambrune expects' em. And lest the vast height of the way should turn their brains, let 'em only bind a Kerchief about their Eyes till the Horse neighs, and then they may be sure they're at the end of their journey. Which said, the Savages skipp'd and frisk'd out of sight, the same way they came.  
And then it was that Madam Sorrowful, beholding the Horse with tears of gladness; Most valiant Knight, quo she, addressing her self to Don Quixote, Malambrune, you see, has fulfilled his promise, the Horse is come, our Beards grow, and therefore we beseech both thee and thy Squire, by all the hairs upon our Chins, to get up, and set forward with all speed, that we may be rid at last of this same troublesone Stool-ball-stuffing which thus disfigures the seat of Beauty.  
Distressed Lady, replied Don Quixote, such is my impatience to serve ye, that you shall see I will not so much as stay for a Cushion, or to put on my Spurs. For to tell ye truth, I long to see what pretty dimpl'd Chins, and soft lips, you had before this deformity seized ye.  
With your good leave, Madam Countess, quo Sancho, I am in no such hast; and therefore if you cannot be trimmed without a Squire gets up behind, my Master must hire another Squire, and these fair Ladies must seek another Barber; for I am no Conjurer, to fly among the Clouds upon a Broomstick. What will my Islanders say, when they hear their governor rides a Witch-hunting i' the Air? Besides, 'tis three or four thousand Leagues from hence to Candaya; so that if either the Horse should tyre by the way, or the Giant grow humoursome, it may be six or seven years before we return; and by that time there will be neither Islands nor Dry-lands i' the world, that will know me again. I have heard say, Delay breeds dangers; and when thou hast a Cow given thee, never run to fetch a Cord. Therefore these Ladies Beards must pardon me; St. Peter is at Rome, and I am here, where I am well used, I know when I am well; and where my Lord Duke has promised me the Government of an iceland.  
Sancho, Sancho, replied the Duke, the iceland which I promised thee is no moving iceland, nor going to run away; the Foundations of it are laid in the deep Abysses of the Earth. And therefore, since you know as well as I, that there is no Office of moment in this Age which is not purchased with some kind of you know what I mean; all that I shall demand for your Government is only to ride behind your Master, that there may be an end of this perilous Adventure. For whether you return so speedily as the swiftness of the Horse promises, or whether you be forced to foot it back like a hermit, begging from Inn to Inn, and Door to Door, you will find the iceland still where you left it, and your Islanders as ready to receive you for their governor as ever they were. And for my own part I'll give thee my Oath, if required, never to recede a Tittle from my word.  
No more, my Lord Duke, quo Sancho, I am a poor Squire, that am not able to bear the burden of so many favours, let my Master get up, then blind my Eyes; and so good People pray for me till I am got above the Clouds, for then I intend to call upon the Angels myself. That you may safely do, replied the Countess of Three-Skirts; for tho Malambrune be a Necromancer, he's a kind of a mongrel Christian, that contrives all his Enchantments with great Prudence to avoid all manner of Scandal. Go too then, quo Sancho, let's away, and the Lady of Loretta be our Guide.  
Since the Remarkable Adventure of the Fulling Mills, quo Don Quixote, never did I see poor Sancho in such a bodily fear as at this time, and were I as superstitious as other People, I cannot tell but that I might be alarmed at his fears. But come hither Sancho, for with their Excellencies leave, I have a word to say to thee in private. And so saying, he lead Sancho into a thicket of Trees, on the other side of the Garden, and there taking him by the Hand,  
Friend Sancho, said he, thou seest we have a long Journey to ride, and God only knows when we shall return, or what Hardships we may meet with, and therefore I would have thee make an excuse, and retire to thy Chamber, where I desire thee to give thyself, if it be but five hundred Lashes of the three thousand three hundred, to which thou hast obliged thyself; for a thing once begun is half ended. By this Light, very fine, quo Sancho, surely Master you are turned Changeling— This is just as they say, you see me in hast, and ask for my Daughter; I am going to ride the Wooden Horse, and you would have me flay my Posteriours. In truth, in truth Master, you are out of the way. Let's first go and get these Ladies unbearded, since the Devil has found us an Employment, and when we return, we'll tell ye more of our mind; let that suffice at present. Well, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I trust to thy Promise, and make no question but thou wilt keep thy Word, for tho th' art a Fool I know th' art Honest. Ay, Ay, rely upon me, cried Sancho, and never undertake too much Business at once.  
After this short Parley they return'd to the Company, and Don Quixote being just ready to get up, blind my Eyes, said he, to Sancho, and mount boldly: For 'tis not likely that he who sends so far for us, has any intention to deceive us; since he can get no benefit by deluding People that rely upon him; and tho Fortune should across our expectations, yet is it impossible that Envy should obscure the Honour we shall gain by having undertaken so glorious an enterprise. Dispatch, Sir, then, Dispatch, quo Sancho, for methinks I feel these Ladies Beards now sticking in my Heart; and I'me resolved not to put a Morsel of Bread i' my Mouth, till I see their Chins as smooth as a Looking-glass. Therefore I say, get up first and bind your Eyes; for if I must ride behind 'tis clear you must get up first. 'tis very true, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, and presently pulling a Handkerchief out of his Pocket, he desired Madam Sorrowful to bind it fast about his Eyes. Which being done, if my Memory fail me not, said he, I have red in Virgil, of the Trojan Palladium, that was a wooden Horse, which the Greeks presented to Pallas, and carried a Company of Armed Knights in his Belly, who were the Total Ruin of Troy: Which makes me think it not amiss, to examine what our Screw-Peg also carry's in his Guts. There's no necessity for that, answered Madam Sorrowful, I'll warrant ye no such thing; I know Malambrune, that I dare affirm him to be neither mischievous, nor Treacherous; get up, Sir, upon my word, and if any harm befall ye, I'll be bound to make ye amends. Thereupon Don Quixote believing it a Scandal to his Courage to make any farther Scruples, got up without more ado; and because his Legs hung down for want of Stirrups, he looked like a Roman Consul a Horse-back in an old fashioned piece of Arrass. Sancho also mounted last, like one that had been going up a Ladder to be hanged, and fixing himself upon the Crupper, felt it so hard and uneven, that he desired the Duke to lend him one of the Dutchesses Pillows; for, quo he, I'me afraid this Horse Trots damnable hard. To which Madam Sorrowful made answer, that Screw-Pin would endure no such thing upon his Buttocks, only for his ease, he might if he pleased ride sideways like a Woman; which he did, and then, after they had bound his Eyes, he bid the Company farewell. But he had not sate a Moment in that Condition, before he unbound himself, and looking round about him, besought the Company, with Tears in his Eyes, to bestow a certain number of Pater Nosters and Avemaries upon him, in that same dismal danger he was in, as they hoped for succour in the same distress. Dog in a Doublet, cried Don Quixote, what! dost think th'art going to the Gallows, that thou art begging the Prayers of the People? Rascal as thou art, dost thou not sit where formerly the fair Magalona sate, and from whence she alighted to be Queen of France? And am not I sufficient to put Life into thee, that now possess the place of old possessed by Peter of Provence. Blind thyself, blind thyself, senseless Brute, and let me hear no more of these thy Womanish Complaints, especially in my Presence.  
Blind me then, blind me, cried Sancho, and seeing 'tis so, that I must neither be prayed for by others, nor suffered to Pray for myself, in an ill Hour lets go on, and a Fig for all the Devils in Hell.  
And now all things being ready, and due leave taken, Don Quixote began to turn the Pin; at what time all that were present set up their Throats, crying out, Heaven prosper thee most Valiant Knight, Heaven protect th' undaunted Squire; sit fast courageous Squire, have a care of falling, for the Squelch will be far more fatal then his that misguided the Chariot of the Sun: See how they cut the Clouds— what a hight are they mounted already, and now quiter out of sight.—  
All this while Sancho got close to his Master, and clasping his Arms about his Wast, Sir, said he, why do they cry below that we are so high, since we can hear 'em so plainly, that one would think they were close at our Ears? Nere trouble thyself for that, replied Don Quixote; for these things being extraordinary beyond the Common Course of Nature, I know no reason but that if we were a thousand Leagues off, we might hear 'em, and see 'em too, if our Eyes were at Liberty, and that as plainly and distinctly, as if they were but three Paviers Feet from us. But prithee don't grasp me so hard, lest thou pull me out of the Saddle. For my part I admire at thy frights and thy fears, for the deuce take me, if ever I rid a Horse that went more easy i' my Life; a Man would swear he never so much as moved at all. Banish therefore those idle Fancies of thine, for as far as I can find, all things go very well, and we have the Wind in our Poop, as they say. So we have by my Faith, quo Sancho, for I feel such a brisk Gale at my Back, as if no less then four Smiths Pair of Bellows were blowing Wind i' my tail. And he had reason enough to say so; for there were no less then four or five Men stood behind continually puffing, with each a large Pair of kitchen Bellows in his Hands; so well had the Dukes Steward ordered his Business to perfect his design.  
At length Don Quixote feeling the Wind, Certainly, said he, Sancho we are now in the Middle Region of the Air, where all the Meteors are produced, as Wind, Hail, Thunder, Lightning, Snow, Rain, and the Like; so that if we mount a little longer at this rate, we shall be by and by in the Region of Fire; neither do I know how to govern this Peg to prevent our being burnt in those Ethereal Flames. At the same time they began to warm their Noses with lighted Tow, that made a sudden blaze, and as soon went out again, tied at the end of long Cains, lest they should be perceived.  
I'll be hanged, Sir, quo Sancho, if we be not come to that place you last spoken of, or at least very near, for my Chin is half roasted, and my Beard confoundly singed already— Pray let me unbind myself, to see where we are. Take heed, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, take heed what thou dost; and remember the Story of the Curate Toralva, whom the Devils carried a Pick-back through the Air, with a Muffler before his Eyes; and in twelve Hours they brought him to Rome, where they set him down upon the Tower of Nona; from whence after he had beholded the hideous Tumult, Assault, and Death of the Constable of Bourbon, the next Morning by break of day they return'd him back to Madrid, where he gave an Account of what he had seen. He farther said, that when he was in the Air, the Devil bid him unbind his Eyes, and then he saw himself so near the Body of the Moon, that he could have taken hold of her Horns; but that he durst not look down for fear his Brains should turn round. Thus Sancho, thou seest Curiosity may be dangerous, and therefore let this satisfy, that he who has taken charge of us, will be answerable for our safeties: Nay, my Mind gives me that we are just towering over the Kingdom of Candaya, where we shall come stooping down upon our Enemies, like a Saker upon a Heron; for tho we have not been a Horse-back much above half an Hour, believe me, we have dispatched a vast deal of Ground. As for that, replied Sancho, I know not what to think on't; but this I am sure of, that if Madam Magalona, as you call her, could sit this confounded Crupper without a good Cushion under her tail, she had a harder pair of Buttocks then mine.  
All this while the Duke, the duchess, and all the rest of the Company were very attentive to this delightful Dialogue, and now being willing to put an end to this so well managed Adventure, ordered a Fellow to give Fire to the Horses Tail; at what time the Nimble Screw-Pegs Belly being full of Squibs, Crackers, and other Fireworks that rumbl'd in his Guts, gave such a Curvet i' the Air, that with the Jolt upon his downfall, he threw his Riders Don Quixote and Sancho to the Ground, smoked and singed, and smelling of burnt Bristles like two Bacon-Hogs.  
Now by this time Madam Sorrowful with her Bearded Regiment were departed the Garden; and they that remained behind lay all like so many Dead People, stretched forth upon the Greensod. At what time Don Quixote and Sancho got upon their Legs, half doaz'd with their fall, and looking round about 'em, were amazed to find themselves in the same Garden again, and so many People lying upon the Ground without Life or Motion. But they were much more astonished when they spied a Lance stuck up in the Ground, and a fair piece of green Parchment hanging by two Silken Strings that were fastened to the upper end, wherein were these words.  
Th' Illustrious and Valiant Knight, Don Quixote de la Mancha, has put an End to the Adventure of the Countess of Three-Skirts, otherwise Madam Sorrowful, and her Companions in Distress, only by undertaking it. The giant Malambrune is satisfied; the Ladies have lost their Beards; and Don Picklochio the King, and Antonomasia the Queen, have resumed their former shapes: And so soon as the Squire shall have fulfilled his Pennance of three thousand six hundred Stripes, the White Dove shall be delivered from the pernicious Pounces of her Adversaries, and be received into the Arms of her beloved Adorer. This the Necromancer Merlin, King of the Magicians has ordained.  
Don Quixote had no sooner red those words, but finding a new Confirmation of Dulcinea's disenchantment, in the first place he showed his Piety, by returning a thousand Thanks to Heaven, that he had finished such a desperate Adventure with so little trouble, and then caressing himself with the Obligation he had laid upon those poor Bearded Ladies, who now appeared no more, he went where the Duke and duchess lay as it were in a swoon, and taking the Duke by the Hand; Wake, Sir, wake, quo he, pluck up a good Heart, all's well, the Adventure is at an end, and all the Danger's over, as you may see by this Writing.  
Thereupon the Duke, as it were waked out of a deep sleep, began by little and little to recover himself, as did the duchess and all the rest of the Company that were in the same Posture, drowsy and heavy, like People that had been in a Trance, and hardly knew where they were, and looking as if they had all been bewitched. Presently the Duke fell a reading with his Eyes half open and half shut, rubbing his Forehead at every Line; which when he had done, he threw his Arms about Don Quixote's Neck, assuring him, that he was the best and most renowned Knight that ever had been in all these Latter Ages. As for Sancho he stared about for Madam Sorrowful, to see how she looked now her Beard was off, and whether she were so Beautiful as she pretended to be before she was Chinbristl'd. But they  told him, that as soon as Screw-Peg was fallen to the Ground, all of a light Fire, the Countess with all her Company vanished without so much as the sign of any Beards, or the least appearance that ever they had any. Then the duchess asked Sancho, how he found himself after so long a Journey. To whom Sancho, I find myself, said he, indifferent well, thanks be to Heaven, only a little Shoulder sprain'd with my fall. As for the Journey itself, 'tis very true as my Master said, that we were in the Middle Region of the Air: for to tell ye the Truth, having naturally some Chips of Curiosity within me, and being willing to look about me when I travail, I thrust up the Handkerchief from my Eyes a little above my Nose, and looked down upon the Earth. God's Precious! Judge you now whether we were not got a prodigious height; for the Earth seemed to me no bigger then a Mustard-Seed, and the Men walking to and fro, no bigger then Hazle-nuts. Have a care what you say Friend Sancho, quo the duchess, for if the Earth were no bigger then a Mustard-Seed, and the Men as big as Hazle nuts, 'twas impossible thou couldst see the Earth for one single Man. That's nothing, quo Sancho, for I spied first one little side of it, and then I saw it all. These are Riddles, Sancho, replied the duchess, for how can a Man see the whole of what he sees but a part. I don't understand your Visions nor your Philosophies, but I saw as I saw, replied Sancho. Your Highness knows we flew i' the Air by Enchantment, and by virtue of that Enchantment, I saw the Earth and the Men, which way soever I turned my Head. And if you wont believe that, you will less believe, that when I pulled down my Blinder and looked up, I found myself so near Heaven, that I was within a Foot of the Main sky. And I can safely swear 'tis a very large Place; and by and by we came to the Seven Goats. Before Heaven and upon my Soul, if I don't believe we were above two Leagues above Pen men Maure; and in regard I had in my younger days been a Goat-herd, I had a longing desire to have a little Discourse with those pretty Creatures, and had I not done it, i' my Conscience I had been dead of a Consumption ere this, as short a while as it is. And therefore by my Life 'tis true; without saying a word to my Master, I slid down softly from Screw Pegs Crupper, and went and twattl'd for three quarters of an Hour with those pretty Creatures, that are made and smell just like Clove gillow flowers, and all the while Screw-Peg stood as still as a Dormous, never moving an Inch.  
And while Sancho was discoursing the Goats, how did my Lord Don Quixote spend his time? cried the Duke. Truly, replied Don Quixote, it is a thing so frequent for me to meet with strange Adventures, contrary to the usual Course of Nature, that I dare not question Sancho's Relation in the least; but for my own part, I must needs say that I never unblinded myself, and consequently saw neither the Heavens nor the Earth, nor Sea nor Mountains; only I found that when we had passed the middle Region of the Air, we were very near the Region of Fire, but that we were in it I cannot believe. For the Region of Fire lying between the sphere of the Moon and the upper Region of the Air, we could not get to the sphere of the Seven Pleiades or Goats, as he calls 'em, without being burnt to Charcoal; and therefore Sancho must either lie or dream.  
I neither lie nor dream, replied Sancho; if you think otherwise, let any body ask me the Marks of the Seven Goats, and then you shall see whether I speak truth or no. There need no Interrogatories, replied the duchess, you may tell what you know of your own accord. Why then, replied Sancho, I say there are two Green, two Carnation, two Blew, and one Motley coloured. Very pretty coloured Goats indeed, quo the Duke, we ha' no such upon Earth. Is that such a wonder, quo Sancho, that the Goats upon Earth should be of one Colour, and the Goats in Heaven of another? Prithee tell me Sancho, quo the Duke, didst thou see ne're a he Goat among the She Goats? No indeed, Sir, replied Sancho, and besides I have heard that neither he Goats nor Tups are permitted to go beyond the Horns of the Moon.  
Thus ended the Memorable Adventure of Madam Dolorida, to the great satisfaction of the Duke and all the rest of the Spectators; as being that which found 'em sport not only for the present, but matter to laugh at during all the rest of their Lives.   

CHAP. IX.  
Containing the Counsel which Don Quixote gave Sancho, before he went to his Government.  
AFter this same lucky Success of Madam Sorrowful's Adventure, the Duke and duchess, finding they could so easily impose upon their Guests, resolved not to want Pastime, but to be still contriving new Inventions for devertisement. To which purpose the Plot was laid, and Instructions given to all the Servants how to behave themselves towards Sancho. The next day therefore the Duke  told Sancho, that he must now prepare himself to take Possession of his Government, for that his Islanders expected him with the same impatience as the Earth gapes for May due. Upon which, Sancho bowed himself almost to the Ground, and with a strange sudden fit of Indifferency  told the Duke, that ever since he descended from Heaven, and had viewed the Earth no bigger then a Mustard-Seed, he had no great Stomach to be a governor. For, said he, what a great piece of Business it is to Govern a Point of a Grain of Mustard, and half a dozen Men no bigger then the end of my Little Finger; for I could not see any more i' the whole World. If your Excellency would give me a small Canton in Heaven, tho it were but half a League or so, I'de rather have it then all the Islands in the World. Look ye Sancho, replied the Duke, I can dispose of no part of Heaven, tho 'twere no bigger then my Nail. But what I am able to bestow I give thee, that is to say an iceland as smooth as a die, as round as a Bulrush, and as fertile as the Elysian Fields, where with Pious Care and good Management thou mayst get Wealth on Earth to purchase the Riches of Heaven. 'tis very well, Sir, quo Sancho, then let me have the iceland, and I'll endeavour so to govern here, that if I han't a Corner of Heaven to my share, it shall go hard: For I don't quit my own homely Cottage, Ambitious of being a governor, but only to know what these Governments are, so thirsted after i' this World. Oh— Sancho, cried the Duke, when y' have once tasted the Sweets of one, you'l never leave licking your Fingers— 'tis such a bewitching thing to command and to be obeyed; and this I must tell ye when Don Quixote comes to be an Emperour, as he cannot fail to be in a short time, according to the Courses he takes, he'll be ready to bite his Nails off, for refusing the Empress of Micomicon. You say very true, Sir, quo Sancho, 'tis a very delightful thing to Command, tho it be but over a Flock of Sheep. Let me die, Sancho, quo the Duke, if thou hast not an Insight into every thing. But no more at present— to Morrow's the day for taking Possession— This Evening therefore prepare thy Equipage, and get all things in a readiness.—  
Let 'em rob me, and Scarlet me, as they please themselves, quo Sancho, that's no care of mine— For whether in read, or in Yellow, or both together, I shall be the same Sancho still. However, replied the Duke, the Habit must be conformable to the Place and Dignity of the Person; Governours must not go like Soldiers, nor Soldiers like Priests. For your part Sancho, you are to wear the Habit as well of a Soldier as of a Civil Magistrate; for that to a governor Learning and Valour are equally necessary. As for Learning, Sir, quo Sancho, I must confess I am not over plentifully stored with it; for without Dissimulation, I never red my A B C. But I can say my Pater Noster backward and forward, and that's as much as needs for a governor. As for Weapons, I shall make use of such as they give me, till they fall out of my Hands— Sancho for the King, and God for us All. Well— well— quo the Duke, with so much Knowledge Sancho can never mistake in any thing.  
As the Duke and Sancho were thus discoursing, Don Quixote arrived, and understanding that Sancho was to depart the next Morning, after leave obtained of the Duke, he took him by the Hand, and carried him into his Chamber, there to give him some Instructions how to behave himself in his Government. To which purpose, Don Quixote having locked the Chamber Door within side, and caused Sancho, tho against his will, to sit down by him, with a Grave and serious Tone,  
Infinite are the Thanks which I return to Heaven, said he, that Fortune thus is pleased to Crown thee with her Kindnesses, before she has bestowed on Me the least of her Favours. I that was labouring my own Advancement, that I might be in a Condition to recompense thy Services, now find myself behind the Lighter, and thou contrary to the order of Nature, enjoy'st the Fruit of thy desires. Others bribe, solicit, importune, rise early, go to Bed late, wait all day long in Great Men's Antichambers, and all to no purpose. With thee, that art neither Laborious nor Vigilant, 'tis presently, unexpectedly, and of a sudden nothing but up and ride; so that 'tis a True saying, there's nothing but good and bad luck i' this World; and all this because thou only smell'st of Knight-Errantry. I speak, this my dear Sancho, not to upbraid thee, nor out of Envy; but only to let thee know, that thou art not to ascribe thy good Fortune to thy Merit, but only to the kindness of Heaven. acknowledge therefore the Favours of Providence, and above all things be sure to reverence the Profession of Knight-Errantry, which includes within itself whole Magazines of Honour and Preferment. And now thy Mind and Thoughts being thus prepared, listen with the Attention of a scholar that desires to learn; listen I say to the Instructions of thy Master, and the Precepts of thy Cato, who is willing to be thy North-star and Pilot in that perilous Sea, where thou art going to embark thyself, that so thou mayst arrive safe in the Port of Honour. For Offices and Great Employments are but a profound gulf of Confusion.  
In the first place, fear God and Love him; for the fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom; and Wisdom will never suffer thee to go astray.  
In the next place, look backward what thou were't, and endeavour to know thyself; which is the most difficult Knowledge i' the World. That knowledge will instruct thee, not to swell like a Toad, which Envying the Stature of an Ox, striven to be as big as he, and burst. For if thou dost, what will Men say? They'l say, he need not be so proud, for the Time was when he kept Hogs in his own Country. That was only when I was a little Boy, replied Sancho; for when I came to. be bigger I kept goose, and not Hogs. But that's nothing to the purpose, all Governours did not come from the loins of Princes. 'tis very true, replied Don Quixote, and therefore Men of mean descent, ought so much the rather to behave themselves with courtesy and Civility, to avoid the Reproaches of Envy and Malice, which else they will never escape.  
Sancho, never deny thy Parents, nor be ashamed of the meanness of thy Birth; for when no body see's thee run, no body will run with thee. 'tis better to be virtuously Humble, then a proud transgressor. Innumerable are the Examples of those that have been raised almost from the dunghill to the Papal Chair and Imperial Throne; but I pass 'em over in silence for want of Time.  
Let virtue be the Guide of all thy Actions; and prise thyself for doing virtuous Actions, and never envy Kings and Princes their Dignity. For Nobility is Hereditary; virtue is acquired; virtue is valued for its self; so is not Nobility.  
If any of thy poor Kindred come to see thee, never disown 'em, nor refuse to see 'em, but entertain 'em withal the Respect imaginable: So, thou wilt fulfil the Will of Heaven, and satisfy the Law of Nature.  
If thou send'st for thy Wife, as it is but reasonable she should partake of thy good Fortune, Polish her the best thou canst; Instruct, Admonish and advice her, and keep her from appearing much in Company, till she has shook off her Rustical behaviour, that she may not appear ridiculous in Company; and what she wants in dancing and talking out of Grand Cyrus, let her make out in Modesty and sober Behaviour, and then let all the Giggling-prying Gossips talk what they will.  
If thou happen'st to be a Widower, and that the Cares of thy Family and thy Employment oblige thee to mary again, have a care of Marrying a Hook and a Line; such a one, I mean, as will be taking with both Hands, and is all for making Hay while the Sun shines. For a Judges Wife ought not to be a Sollicitress; nor to be her Husbands conduit Pipe for the more cleanly conveyance of Bribes.  
Have a care of Obstinate Self conceit; for that's the only folly of ignorant People, that will presume to be wiser then they are.  
Let the Tears of the Poor move thy Compassion, but no more Justice to them, then to the Informations of the Rich.  
Let not the Presents of the Rich blind thee, nor be tired out with the Importunities of the Poor; for there may be delusion in both.  
When thou art upon trial of Criminals, stand not too nicely upon the Rigour of the Law: For a Judge gets as little Reputation by being too severe, as by being too Indulgent.  
If any of thy Enemies have a Cause before thee, lay aside thy Resentment, and Proceed only according to the Merits of the Cause; lest blinded by thy Passion, thou be forced to repair the Injuries of thy Injustice, by building of Clock-Houses.  
When a Beautiful Woman comes before thee, be not surprised by her Tears or Prayers; shut thy Eyes, and stop thy Ears, and stay no longer then to examine the Truth: For Beauty's a dangerous allurement; and there is no poison sooner corrupts the Integrity of a Judge.  
Neither joke, nor be too severe upon those thou condemn'st for their Crimes; for that's to insult over the Misfortunes of the Miserable, that rather deserve thy Pity.  
Be Merciful in judgement, for God approves Mercy beyond judgement.  
If thou observ'st these Rules, Sancho, thou shalt live many Years upon the Earth, and perpetually in the Memory of good Men. Thou shalt be happy whilst thou liv'st and blessed in thy Posterity. Thou shalt live in Peace and Honour, enjoying lawful Pleasure, and die in a good old Age, lamented by all the World, to receive eternal recompense in Heaven. These are the Precepts which I give thee in reference to thy Reputation, and the Salvation of thy Soul. And now I shall instruct thee in what concerns thy Person, and the Government of thy Family.   

CHAP. X.  
Being a Continuation of Don Quixote's Instructions to Sancho.  
I Would fain know now whether there be any Man living that had heard this profound Discourse, but would have thought our Knight not only to have been a Person of most Excellent Morals, but of great Prudence and Policy: Only this damned Knight-Errantry spoiled all, the very smell of a Romance put him quiter beside his Reason, and dislocated the whole Frame of his Understanding. As for his Oeconomics, they were not indeed of that Importance as his politics, only they shew'd us, that he had an Insight into the most minute of Family Duties. To which purpose he thus proceeded.  
As for the Government of thy House and thy own Person, my first Admonition, Sancho, is, to go neat and cleanly; to keep thy Nails pared, and not to let 'em grow like Orson the Brother of Valentine, who was the most nasty and slovenly Knight-Errant that ever was i' the World, as having been bread and suckl'd by a Bear: and therefore deservedly expunged out of the Roll.  
Never appear in public with thy Kneestrings untied, and thy Doublet unbutton'd, as if thou hadst been drunk over Night. 'tis an affencted Negligence that will but render thee despicable.  
examine carefully what thy Revenues amount to by the Year, and if they will afford thee sufficient to put thy Servants in Liveries, let 'em be decent and lasting, not for Gaudy Pomp and show; and for the Overplus of thy Thrift, expend it upon the Poor. If thy Estate will afford thee six lackeys, keep no more then three, and let 'em be Poor Orphans; for by that means thou shalt have three lackeys in Heaven, as well as upon Earth, which they shall never have that hunt only after vain Glory.  
Never defile thy Breath with Onions and garlic, lest People judge of thy former Condition, and the Rusticity of thy Manners by the scent of thy Mouth.  
Let thy place be grave, and thy Speech composed; yet not mumbling to thyself and as it were whispering i' thy own Ears; for Affectation is Ridiculous.  
Eat little at Dinner, and less at Supper; for the Health of the Body consists in not overcharging thy Stomach.  
Be moderate in thy Cups, considering that excessive Drinking neither keeps a Secret, nor observes any promise.  
Never show thyself greedy in Eating; and above all things have a care of Eructation before People. That's a hard word, quo Sancho, I don't understand it. That is, replied Don Quxote, have a care of Belching, which is one of the most nasty Words in our Language, tho very significant; and therefore I made use of the Latin Word Eructation, which is much more cleanly. Upon my Life, quo Sancho, I shall be sure to remember this Admonition; for 'twas a Custom I had got, to Belch very frequently. fie, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, you must not say Belch, but Eruct. Well— quo Sancho, Eruct then let it be; tho 'tis a plaguy Cramp Word, I wish I may be able to think oupn it.  
In the next place have a care of mixing such a Hodg-podge of Proverbs in thy Common discourse; for tho they are Concise and Pithy sayings, yet thou dragst 'em so often by the Hair, that they seem to be rather Extravagancies then maxims. God alone can remedy that, quo Sancho, for I have a Church Bible full; and they throng so thick, when I talk, to my Teeth, that they quarrel which shall get out first; so that my Tongue is forced to let go the first that comes, tho it be nothing to the purpose. But I shall take care for the Future to make use of no more then become the Grandeur of my employment. For in a Rich mans House the Cloath is always laid— and 'tis a hard Winter when one Wolf eats another— Scratch my Breech and I'll claw your Elbow— Money will do more then my Lords Letter— In giving and taking there is no mistaking— More to do with one Jackanapes, then all the Bears.—  
Courage— honest friend, quo Don Quixote, too't again, there's no body coming, My Mother whips me, and I whip the Gigg. I am correcting thee for a confounded Proverb monger as thou art, and here thou spewst me up a whole Legend of Proverbs, as much to the purpose, as to give a Goose Hay. A Proverb is not amiss when pertinent, but dragged in by head and Shoulders, renders Conversation troublesone, and tires human Patience.  
Be not a slave to thy Bed; for he that rises not with the Sun, loses so much Day-light. And I must tell thee, Diligence is the Mother of good Fortune, but sloth brings a Man to Beggary.  
Thus Sancho, I have bestowed upon thee the best Instructions I could call to mind; I might think of others perhaps, but the Time and Season will not permit me. And I'me afraid I ha' given thee more already then thou art able to barrel up in thy shallow Memory.  
All these Instructions, Sir, quo Sancho, I do believe i' my Conscience to be extremely profitable as well for this Life as for the next; but what good will they do one, if I should forget' em? 'tis true, that as for the paring my Nails, and marrying again, if it should ever be my good luck to be a Widower, they will never out of my Mind; but as for that other Gallimaufrey, and farthel of Stories and Flimflams, I shall no more remember 'em then the Clouds of last Year, unless you give 'em me in writing, for my confessor to red 'em to me, when I have occasion; for you know I can neither writ nor red myself. Oh— Sancho, quo Don Quixote, what a governor, and neither writ nor red! For certainly, for a Man to be so Illiterate, and to be Left-handed, argues that either his Parents were very poor and mean, or that the Son was such a Blockheaded thick-Scul'd Dunce, that no Learning would enter his Brains. Poor Soul, I pity thee— for shane therefore, Sancho, learn at least to writ thy Name. I can set my Name already, quo Sancho, that is to say, my Mark; I learnt to do it when I was Churchwarden of our Parish, and gave in my Account in Round O's that stood for Shillings. Besides, I may pretend that my right Hand is lame, and let another sign for me; for there is a remedy for all things but Death; and having the Power i' my own hands, I may do what I please. Let 'em handle and see, and then they'l be satisfied— I desire no Man to buy a big in a Poke— They buy Honey too dear that lick it off the Brambles— When God intends a Man a kindness he comes to his House— The Follies of the Rich pass for Sentences i' the World. So that when I come to be a governor, and consequently Rich, and Liberal withal, there's no Man will dare to question what I do. Daub yourself with Honey and you'll never want Flies— What a Man has, so much he's sure of, cried my Old Grandmother— Who shall hang the Bell about the Cats Neck— Muzzled Dogs never bite— Where e're a Man dwells he shall be sure of a Thorn-bush near his own Door— But 'tis good farting before a Mans own Fire— A good Stomach is the best Sauce— And a scalded Cat—.  
accursed of Heaven, cried Don Quixote, interrupting him, seventy thousand Belzebubs take thee, and thy Proverb-Master together— this hour hast thou been tormenting me with thy Proverbs; but if these Proverbs don't bring thee to the Gallows I am no false Prophet. I wonder where the Devil thou hast 'em all— for to speak One to the purpose, it makes me Sweat Mill-stones. Why now by my Life, Sir, quo Sancho, you are as Angry as a Cook, for just nothing— for who do I wrong in making use of my own? My Estate lies in Proverbs— nor do I borrow from any body— and i' good faith I had four coming out as pat to the purpose as Mustard to a Sawcidge; but I'll keep 'em between my Teeth now I think on't, for Sancho has always had the Reputation of a Close-Mouth'd Squire. Sancho the Close-mouth'd! cried Don Quixote, Sancho the babbler, and Sancho the Coxcomb, thou meanest— but Sirrah, what Proverbs were those thou braggst of so pat to the purpose? tell me but one, and I'll forgive thee all the Rest— Why, what four Proverbs would you have better then these? First, An Humble-Bee in a Cowturd thinks himself a King— and again, He that Thatches his House with a Turd shall ha' more Teachers then Reachers— And again, The Horse thinks one thing, and he that rides him another— And again, Tickle my Throat with a Feather and make a Fool of my Stomach. What a dekins ayls ye, would ye have better Bread then is made of Wheat? They that so easily see a Mote in another Mans Eye, should do well to take out the Beam i' their own, lest the Pot call the Kettle Black-arse. Now have I raised the Devil, and there's no laying him, quo Don Quixote, however this is my Comfort, I ha' done my duty like a Man of Honour, and discharged my Conscience. God direct thee Sancho, and may his Providence preserve thee, and deliver me from those fears that continually disturb me, lest thou shouldst ruin this poor iceland, and sink in the Ruins; which however I may prevent by discovering in time to the Duke what thou art; a mere Swag-belly, laden with Proverbs and Corruption.  
Sir, quo Sancho, if you think me not fit to do the Duty of a good governor, I am ready to quit my pretensions without proceeding any farther. Alas! the least part of my Soul, tho no bigger then a point of a Needle, is far dearer to me, then the Guts and Garbage with which you upbraid me, and I hope I shall live Plain Sancho, with a Morsel of Bread and an Onion as contentedly, as governor Sancho upon Pheasants and Turkeys. For all Men are equal i' the Grave and when they're asleep; Rich and Poor, High and Low. Only I desire your Worship to remember who put this Government into my Head. For I knew what belonged to Islands and Governours no more then an Oyster; so that if you believe the Devil will have the governor, I had rather go Sancho to Paradise, then governor to Hell.  
In Truth Sancho, these last Pious Expressions of thine deserve the Government of a hundred Islands. Thou art naturally well disposed to virtue, without which Knowledge little avails. Recommend thyself to God, and above all things beware of swerving from uprightness of Intention: For Heaven never fails to favour good designs; and so lets go and wait upon their Excellencies; for I believe 'tis now near Supper time.   

CHAP. XI.  
How Sancho went to take Possession of his iceland; and of the strange Adventure that befell Don Quixote in the Castle.  
DON Quixote after he had supped, wrote down the Instructions which he had given Sancho, and delivered 'em into his Hands. But it was not long after Sancho had received the Paper before he as carelessly dropped it; so that it was taken up and carried to the Duke and the duchess, who could not forbear admiring the Wit and Folly of the Knight. And to carry on a piece of sport that afforded them so much content, they resolved to sand away Sancho the same Evening to his pretended iceland. Now the Person that was ordered to accompany Sancho was the Dukes Steward, a Witty Man, and of a jocular Humour, and the same Person who had acted the part of the Countess of Three-Skirts; so that by means of his copious Fancy, and the Instructions which he had received from the Duke, he proved no less successful in this then in the former Contrivance.  
In the mean while Sancho having wistfully viewed the Stewards Face, perceived at length that he extremely resembled the Countess of Three-Skirts, and turning to his Master, Sir, said he, the Devil must immediately carry me away from the place where I stand, unless you will aclowledge the Dukes Steward to be Madam Sorrowful. Whereupon Don Quixote having exactly surveyed the Lineaments of his Face; why, Sancho, said he, I see no reason why the Devil should be so hasty to carry thee away; for tho there may be some Resemblance between the Features of Madam Sorrowful and the Steward, yet cannot the Steward be Madam Sorrowful; since it would imply a Contradiction. But 'tis no time now to dispute this Affair, for fear of bringing an old House upon our Heads. All we have to do is to pray to God to deliver us from Sorcerers and wicked Necromancers. Sir, quo Sancho, you may think perhaps I jest— upon my Life there's no such Matter. 'tis not long since I heard the Steward speak, and upon my Soul I thought I heard Madam Sorrowful's Tongue. However I shall say no more at present, but I will take more notice for the future, and try whether I cannot discover something that may give us more Light. That thou mayst do, replied Don Quixote, and let me know what thou hast discovered, and how thou succeedst in thy Government.  
At length the Hour of his departure being come, Sancho set forward with a numerous Train, clad himself like a Judge in a long Gown of Waterd Camblet, and a Bonnet of the same Colour, and mounted upon a Spanish Genet, and attended by honest Grizzle, richly caparisoned, bridl'd and saddl'd like a Horse of State; upon whom Sancho ever and anon looked back, so well satisfied with his own and Grizzle's Pomp, that he would not have changed Fortunes with the Emperour of Germany. Taking leave of the Duke and the duchess he kissed their Hands, and then ran to embrace his Masters Knees, who gave Poor Sancho, whimpring at his Feet; his Benediction with Tears in his Eyes.  
Thus let the Noble governor go in Peace; and now expect a Bushel of Laughter when ye come to hear how he behaved himself in his Employment. In the mean time it will not be amiss to understand how Don Quixote spent the Night after he had partend with his faithful Squire. At which, they that cannot laugh out-right, may be pleased to draw the Curtains of their Lips like Monkeys and show their Teeth; for I must tell ye the famous achievements of Don Quixote, are to be recounted either with Admiration, or as provocatives to Laughter.  
The Story relates, that after Sancho's departure, so soon as Don Quixote was alone by himself; he would fain have recalled him, to the depriving him of his Government, had it been possible. But the duchess discovering him to look like a Dog that had lost his Tail, why so Melancholy my Lord Don Quixote? quo she. If it be for the loss of your Squire, I have Squires and Damsels enough, that will serve ye with all the respect and diligence imaginable. I confess, Madam, replied Don Quixote, I do miss my Companion, poor Sancho, already; but that is not all that wrings me under the Withers; and therefore as your favours have been hitherto beyond measure, so I beseech your Ladyship to permit me that in my own Chamber I may enjoy my Soliloquies, and Contemplations alone by myself. By no means, quo the duchess, I have four Damsels that shall attend ye, as fresh as May Flowers. Such Flowers, Madam, replied Don Quixote, will be but as thorns i' my Soul, and therefore Madam, I beseech ye, let me be troubled with no such Flowers nor Flower-pots i' my Chamber: I will rather lie i' my clothes, then suffer any of your flowery Damsels to see me Naked. I'll only lock the Chamber Door, and that shall serve me for a Barricado between my Desires and my Chastity.  
'tis enough, replied the duchess, since you will not have it so, there's not so much as a fly shall enter your Chamber if I can help it: I would not willingly transgress the Laws of Civility; especially considering that among all the rest of your virtues, there is none in which you pride yourself as in your Modesty. Therefore dress and undress, as you please yourself— only you shall have all things necessary carried up into your Chamber, that you may not be forced to rise in your Shirt to call for the least Trifle. And may the Peerless Dulcinea live a thousand Ages, and may her famed be spread over all the Earth, since she has the happiness to be beloved by such a Chast and Loyal Knight: and Heaven incline our governor Sancho Pancha's Heart to put a speedy end to his Penance, that the World may no longer be deprived of so much Beauty. 'tis your Pencil, Madam, replied Don Quixote, that gives the last Touches to Dulcinea's Merit— For being praised by those Charming Lips of yours, she must needs become more known, and more esteemed in the World, then if all the Orators i' the Earth had employed all their rhetoric in her Commendations. I cannot speak too much, replied the duchess; and indeed what Language can suffice to praise a Creature so Celestial, whose virtues are above all Imitation?— But Supper stays, and 'tis but reason you should refresh yourself, since you cannot but be very weary after your tedious Journey to Candaya. I protest, Madam, replied Don Quixote, I feel no such thing, and I can safely swear to your Excellency, that in my Life, I never rid a more easy going Nag then gentle Screw-Peg. I wonder i' my Heart what came into Malambrunes Pate, to lend out such a pleasant Beast, and then to split him in pieces when he had done. I am apt to believe, quo the duchess, some qualm of Repentance came over his Conscience for having injured the Countess of Three-Skirts, and the rest of her Companions; and for many other villainies he had committed as a Necromancer; and therefore he resolved to destroy all the Instruments of his illegal Arts, especially Screw-Peg, that gave him so many opportunities of doing Mischief; or else perhaps not deeming him worthy to carry any other Person, after his having been bestrid by the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha.  
Don Quixote a second time return'd the duchess thanks, and after Supper retired to his Chamber, not suffering any living Soul to attend him, so timorous he was of giving the least Crack to that Fidelity which he had wholly dedicated to his Mistress Dulcinea, taking for his Rule of Imitation the Constancy and Fidelity of the Great Amadis de gall, the mirror of all Knights-Errant.  
He locked the Door therefore, and made himself unready by the light of two searing Candles, that were set up in his Chamber. But oh! the dismal Misfortune that befell him in pulling off his Breeches, nere before observed to have ever befallen a Knight of his Quality. For straining to pull off one of his stockings, he tore a great hole i' the Seam behind, above a Quarter of a yard long. And then it was that he took most impatiently the Absence of his Squire, and would have given all the Shoes in his Shop for a Skain of Green Silk.  
Here Benengeli could not forbear exclaiming, O Poverty, Poverty! which makes me wonder at that same Gooscap of a Water-Poet that called thee a Sacred Present. I have learned indeed from the Christians, that Holiness consists in Humility, in Faith, in Obedience, in Charity and Poverty. All which I aclowledge for Truth: But I am apt to believe that this same Poverty which is numbered among the virtues, is only that Poorness in Spirit, by which we are taught to make use of our Riches as if we had 'em not, and not that indigency of every thing, which every Hour causes us to feel necessity. Cruel Necessity! Why dost thou trouble the repose of Men of Honour? Why dost thou constrain 'em to their Shifts, and to set the best Foot forward? Why dost thou enforce a Knight to mend the only stockings that he has i' the World, without being able to buy another pair? Contemptible Poverty, what is Honour in Rags? How silly does a Knight of the Sun look, when you may discover a League off the Darns of his Hose, the Patches upon his Cloak, the Sweat of his forehead soaked through his Rusty Castor, and the very hunger of his famished Stomach?  
These Reflections entered Don Quixote's thoughts, when he tore his stocking, and he must have lain a-bed the next day like a Gentleman of Furnival's Inn, had not Sancho left him a pair of Riding Boots, which he resolved to put on, to conceal his Disaster.  
At length full of unquiet and troublesome thoughts, he composed himself to rest; but Sancho's Absence, and the Heat of the Weather would not permit him. Up he got therefore walked about the Room in his Shirt, and then to let in the cool Air he opened a Window that looked into the Garden, where he overheard two Females talking together. Says one to the other, why d' ye desire me to sing, who ever since this Stranger came to the Castle, have had more cause to weep, then to be chanting of Carols? Besides, thou knowst, my Lady is very wakeful, and I would not for all the Gold i' the World she should find us here. But grant she should sleep as fast as a Dormouse, what would my Singing avail me, if this same Dangerous Eneas, that is come to trouble my repose, should be snoring at the same time, and not hear the sound of my Complaints, nor the sad occasion of my disturbances. Never let such idle thoughts as these put a Cork i' thy Windpipe, my dear Joan Tomboy, replied Mistress Gilian a Croyden( for so were the two Damsels called) I'll warrant thee for a Graves-End-Toast, that all the rest of the House are fast i' their Nests, but only the Lord of thy Heart: for, if I mistake not, I heard him open his Window. Therefore never be afraid to sing, my dear Sister; it may be thy sweet Voice and thy Lute together may charm his Adamant Soul, and bring him to thy Lure. Oh! my dear Gilian a Croyden, replied Joan Tomboy, there is something more i' the Case then thou dreamst of— for I'm afraid lest my Complaints should discover the thoughts of my Heart, and then they that know not the force of Love will take me for a light and indiscreet hussy. But it behoves me to gratify thy humour, tho it cost me a little shane to seek the remedy of my tormenting Pains. And so saying she took her Lute and touched it to a wonder.  
Don Quixote was ravished with what he had heard, and at the same Moment called to mind all that he had red of such like Adventures, and presently fancied that some one of the Dutchesses Damsels was fallen in Love with him; but fearing the danger his Fidelity was in, he prepared to resist all manner of Temptation; and so recommending himself to his Peerless Dulcinea, he thought himself sufficiently guarded, and resolved to hear the music. To which purpose, as he stood, he feigned a kind of Sneeze, to let 'em understand he was awake; which was Nuts to the Ladies, who desired nothing more: And then Mrs. Tomboy thus began.  

THou that from Ten to Ten sleepst on,  
With Legs stretched out 'twixt Holland Sheets;  
Regardless of my Doleful moan,  
And likelihood to lose my Wits.   

So Sweet, so Gentle, mildred and Calm,  
Renowned Knight in Mancha born,  
A perk of Gold and Quart of balm  
I'de squander, to buy off thy Scorn.   

Oh hear the shrill and woeful Cries  
Of Lady drowned all in Tears;  
With thy Alluring Boar-pig's Eyes  
In Love, in Love up to the Ears.   

Whilst Thou runnest rambling up and down,  
o'er Mountains, Forrests, Hills and Dales;  
Thy Rigour at a distance wounds,  
For which, no Remedy but failes.   

Tell me, O tell me, Heart of Oak  
What Savage Monster brought thee forth?  
Didst thou descend from Scorpions Womb,  
The prodigy of Lybian Earth?   

Or were't thou licked by Greenland Bear?  
Or else begot by Dragon Father?  
No, no, some Serpent suckled thee  
Or Panther of the Desert, rather.   

Oh Dulcinea, what didst Thou  
To vanquish this same Savage Tiger?  
The secrets tell; I'll try 'em all,  
Were they Ten thousand Millions, by Gar.   

Well may'st thou boast thy charming Eyes,  
That such a Conquest hast obtained;  
For such a dangerous Beast as this  
Was never by Knight-Errant tamed.   

Surrender but thy Right to Me,  
I'll fairly give thee in Exchange  
My best embroidered Petticoat,  
Or t'other with a Golden Fringe.   

Genteel and Lovely Son of Mars,  
How happy should I be to kiss  
Thy Velvet Nerves, and Skin that smells  
Like Album-Graecum-Ambergreece.   

But stay fond Heart, whether so fast?  
Thou art too hasty by my Truth;  
For such a Morsel so divine  
Was never made to please thy Tooth.   

Wouldst thou but spare my dear Adonis  
Thy longing Captive one Nights Lodging,  
I have a hundred Curious Toys  
Which I would give thee without dodging.   

A fine white Beaver and a Feather,  
A Silver Sword and Scarlet Cloak;  
A Watch and Pendents for thy Ears,  
And Guinies always i' thy Poak.   

I'll look thy Head and comb thy Hair,  
And come and sit upon thy Knee;  
Thou shalt be my mark Antony;  
Thy Cleopatra I will be.   

Alas, in vain I make my Moans  
To one that pity's not my smart;  
The Cruel Nero laughs to see  
The Conflagration of my Heart.   

And yet my Years might pity move,  
For I am young and very fair;  
A Maid upon my Honour too;  
And not above Eighteen, I'll swear.   

No Bulrush straighter then myself,  
Nor any slenderer in the Waste;  
And for my Hair, more bright then Gold,  
It hangs an Ell below my breast.   

No glittering Topaz e're out-shind  
The dazzle of my sparkling Eyes;  
Then knowing what the Proverb says,  
Guess by the Proverb at my Thighs.   

Besides, if thou hast heard my Voice,  
I need not tell thee how I sing;  
Thou must conclude it better far  
Then any Nightingales in Spring.   

I have a thousand other Gifts,  
Which I omit for want of Time;  
And therefore if thy Heart be good,  
Say but the word, Joan Tomboy's thine.   
Thus the enamoured Madam Tomboy having put up her Pipes, the Indifferent Knight, after he had fetched a profound Sigh, what squint-eyed Constellation scowld upon me at my Birth, said he, that no dansel can look upon me but she must fall in Love? And thou transcendent, yet unfortunate Dulcinea deal Toboso, how hast thou offended Heaven that will not let thee enjoy my Constancy in Peace? Why should Empresses persecute her? And why should Damsels of Fifteen thus study to disturb her? Oh— leave her to enjoy to her self the Present which Love has made her, in subduing to her alone, my Heart and Soul. Avaunt Impertinent Crew, for I declare 'tis only for her sake I live; for her alone my Heart is altogether Marchpane and Sugar-Plums, but to all Womankind beside mere Flint and Brass— To her I am Honey, to others bitter Aloes. In Dulcinea only there is Beauty, Discretion, Debonairness, Modesty and Nobility of Birth. All other Women are to me deformed, Foolish, mere Town-Cracks, and meanly descended. Let Mrs. Joan Tomboy sing or weep; let her Heart harbour vain desires, live in hopes or die in despair; let all those Ladies, the Causes of my former Torments, arm in their Enchanted Castles, all the Powers of Hell in their Revenge, I live for Dulcinea's sake alone, and her Adorer will I die, maugre all the Sorceries and enchantments i' the World. And having thus offered this Oblation of his Soul to his Mistress, he clapped to the Window, and flung himself into his Bed with so much Indignation, as if he had received some terrible Affront. Where we must leave him a while to his Meditations, in regard the Great Sancho Pancha calls us now to be Witnesses of the happy Commencement of his Reign.   

CHAP. XII.  
How the Famous Sancho Pancha took possession of his iceland, and how he behaved himself in his Government.  
O Thou perpetual Surveyour of the Antipodes, Torch to the World, and Eye of Heaven; Here Timbrius called, there Phoebus, in one place an Archer, in another a Physician, Father of poesy, and Inventor of music: Thou that art always in Motion, never at rest, thee I implore, O Sun, by whose assistance Men beget Men to the end of the Chapter; thee I beseech to inspire me, and quicken my dull Brains, that so I may be able to give a just and faithful account of the Great Sancho's Actions, who rather deserves a Homer, a Virgil, a Tasso, or an Ariosto, to celebrate his famed, &c.  
Sancho had not travelled long with his Train and his Equipage aformention'd, before he arrived at a small Town, containing about a thousand Inhabitants; being one of the best within the Dukes Territories. This they presently  told him was called the iceland of Barattaria or Cheap-side, and had therefore this Name given it, because his Government cost him so little. So soon as he came to the Gates the Inhabitants were drawn up in Arms to receive him; the People shouted, the Bells rang, the Conduits pissed Wine, and the new governor was hois'd up like a relic upon a stout Wine-Porters Shoulders, and so attended to the Great Church, where after the performance of some Ridiculous Ceremonies, the Keys of the Gates were presented him, and so he was sworn perpetual governor of the iceland of Barataria or Cheap-side.  
In the mean time the Air, the mien, the thick Beard, the Tunbelly'd, Crumpshoulder'd shape of the new governor, strangely surprised all those that knew nothing of the Contrivance, insomuch that they who were acquainted with it could hardly believe their own Eyes.  
From Church they carried him to the Court of Justice; where so soon as he had taken his Seat, the Steward making him a low obeisance; Sir, said he, 'tis an ancient Custom, that when ever any governor takes possession of an iceland, he is bound to unriddle some difficult Questions that is propounded to him, to the end that by his Answer, the People may judge of his Abilities, and whether they have reason to rejoice or be sorry for his coming. All the while the Steward was Speaking, Sancho's Eyes were fixed upon a Writing upon the Wall over against his Seat in great Letters, which because he could not red, he asked the next that stood by him, what was the meaning of those Pictures upon the Wall? Sir, said they, 'tis only a Memorandum to let Posterity know when you took Possession of this iceland.  This day being such a day of the Month, in such a Year, The Lord Don Sancho Pancha took Possession of this iceland: May he enjoy it many Years in all Prosperity. 
Pray who is he, cried Sancho, whom they call Don Sancho Pancha? Your Lordship, my Lord, replied the Steward, for never any other Pancha then yourself sate where you sit, before. Pray friend, take notice, quo Sancho, that I' disown the name of Don; my Name is Sancho Pancha, quick and short. My Fathers Name was Sancho, and my Grandfathers Name was Sancho, without any Addition of Dons, or Tons, or Cons— See the Vanity of Men; I'll warrant ye there are in this iceland as many Dons as Stones— But God hears me, so God help me, let me but Govern the iceland four days, If I don't clear the iceland of these Dons, more offensive then so many Flesh-flies, I'll give ye my Mother for a Maid. And now Mr. Steward, let 'em ask me what Question they please, I'll answer 'em as well as I can; nor shall it trouble me whether the People be glad or sorry.  
At the same Instant two Men came puffing and blowing into Court, the one clad like a Country Fellow, the other seemed to be a tailor, both by his Aporn, and his soldiers, which he carried in his Hand. My Lord, cried the tailor, I beseech your Lordship do me Justice; yesterday this Countryman came to my Shop; for under your Worships Correction, I am a sworn tailor, and by the permission of Heaven free of my Company; whereof, he delivered me a piece of Cloath, which he said was enough to make him a Cloak. Whereof, I looked upon the Cloath, and answered him, an't please your Worship, so it would. Now an't like your Worship, he thought, as I am apt to believe, and perhaps he thought true, that I had a mind to steal some of his Cloath, grounding his Conjecture upon the bad Opinion which the World generally has of us Taylours. Whereof, he bid me look again, and see whether there were not enough to make two? I smelled, an't like your Worship, what the old Fox driven at, whereof, I answered him, yes, there was. Whereof, he pursuing still his first design, asked me again, whether 'twould make no more? Whereof, being still willing to humour my Customer, I answered him all along, yes, and it would, till at length we agreed that the Cloath would make five Cloaks. Whereof, I made five Cloaks, and now the Cloaks are made, and I desire my Money, he will have me to pay him for his Cloath, or return it him again.  
Is this true, honest Friend? quo Sancho; yes an't please ye my Lord, replied the Countryman— But pray my Lord, let him produce the Cloaks which he pretends he has made. With all my Heart, replied the tailor; and so saying, he pulled his Hand from under his Coat, and held up five leetle Cloaks, as if they had been for so many Fairies, hanging as upon so many Pins upon his Thumb and four Fingers; and before Heaven and upon my Conscience, quo the tailor, I have not wronged him of an Inch of his Cloath, and let any Workman be judge. Upon which there was such a Shout i' the Court, as if it had been at a bawdy trial.  
Sancho having pondered a while, Methinks, said he, this Complaint requires not so much examination— and therefore the judgement of the Court is, that the tailor shall lose his making, the Countryman his Cloath, and that the Cloaks be divided among the poor Prisoners. Upon which, there was as loud a Shout as before, and so the Sentence was put in Execution.  
After this there appeared two very old Men, the one with a great Cane in his Hand, upon which he restend himself; and the other presently addressing himself to Sancho, My Lord governor, quo he, it is now some Months ago that I lent this Man in his Necessity Ten Crowns in Gold, upon condition that he would pay me again when I asked him. I let him alone above a Year, because I believed he had it not; but when I found that he never took any notice of the Debt, I asked him several times for my Money; But then he not only refused to pay me, but denied he owed me any; or if I had lent him any, that he had paid me already. Now because I have no Witnesses of the Loan, nor he of the Payment, I beg your Lordship to put him to his Oath, and if he will swear he has paid me, I am contented to forgive him before God and all the World.  
What say you to this, Grandfather? quo Sancho. Sir, replied the Old Man, I confess this Man did lend me Ten Crowns in Gold, and since he refers himself to my Oath, I am ready to swear that I have truly and faithfully repaid' em. Presently the governor ordered him to lay his Hand upon the Book; at what time the Old Man giving his Cane to one of his Friends that stood next him, as if it had encumber'd him, laid his Hand upon the Bible, and swore that he had borrowed the Ten Crowns, 'twas true; but that he had delivered 'em into the hands of that honest Man; which was the reason that his Creditor being paid by another, had forgot the repayment of the Money. Presently the governor asked the Creditor what he had to reply? Who made answer, that since the old Man had sworn it, he was bound to believe him as he was a Christian, and ready to drop into his Grave, but that for certain he could not remember that ever he was paid. Thereupon the Debtor took his Cane again, and after he had made a low obeisance to the judge, was trudging as fast as he could out of the Hall. But Sancho observing the fellow's hast, and his taking care of his Cane, and admiring the Patience of the Creditor, after he had studied a while with his Fore-finger upon his Nose, of a sudden he ordered the Old Man to be fetched back again; to whom, so soon as he return'd, Prithee friend, said he, let me see thy Cane a little? There 'tis, at your Service, an't please your Worship. Sancho took the Cane, and at the same time giving it the other Old Man, There, said he, honest friend, you are now paid, or I'me mistaken. How so, my Lord, replied the Old Man, d' ye think this Cane to be worth Ten Crowns in Gold? Or else, quo the governor, I am the greatest fool alive; and now you shall see whether I understand how to govern or no: Let the Cane be broken, added he. Presently the Cane was broken, and out dropped the Ten Crowns. Which so surprised all the Beholders, that they looked upon Sancho as another Solon of Greece, and asked him how he knew the Ten Crowns were in the Cane? Because, said he, I perceived the owner had put it into his Friends hands while he swore, when he had no occasion so to do; and when he had sworn presently took it again, which made me believe he would never have sworn with so much Confidence, a thing that the other so positively denied, had he not been upon sure Grounds. Thus the two old Men were dispatched, the one to his full satisfaction, the other with that shane and ignominy that attended him to his Grave. Insomuch that the Register knew not what to think or what to do, believing it a great piece of Absurdity to Register so Wise a Person for a Fool.  
By and by comes a Woman with all her force, haling along into Court a Man that looked like a Farmer pretty well to pass. Justice, My Lord governor, Justice, cried she, and if I can't have it on Earth, I'll have it from Heaven— This wicked Fellow met me i' the Middle of a Field, and has had the full use of my Body; he has handled me worse then a Dish-clout, and unfortunate as I am, has robbed me of that which for above these three and twenty Years I have defended against Jews and Christians, Natives and foreigners: No Rock was ever so Constant as I; nor Salamander i' the Fire ever so Chast, till this same Fornicator with his nasty bawdy Fists first mumbl'd the posy which I had so long preserved. Woman, Woman, quo Sancho, 'tis no matter whether your Gallant's Hands were nasty or clean— And then casting a scowling look upon the Farmer, he asked him what he had to say to the Womans Complaint. My Lord, replied the Countryman, looking all the while as if the Hangman had been at his Elbow, I am a poor Shepherd, that keep a Flock of Sheep hard by, and this Morning I went, under your Lordships Correction be it spoken, to sell four Hogs, to pay my Taxes. As I was coming home again, I met this Woman, and presently the Devil entered my Codpeice. Truly my Lord, his Temptations were so strong, that he forced us to yoke together, and I think I gave her that which would ha' given any reasonable Woman content: Nevertheless this Strong-dockt Beldame would never leave hawling and tugging me till she brought me into Court; and now she says I ravished her with a Pox to her, but by my Mothers Virginity she lies like a Quean as she is. And this, as I hope for your Worships Compassion, is the whole Truth of the Story.  
Hast thou any Money about thee honest Friend? quo Sancho. Yes, an't like your Worship, about Twenty Crowns in a little Purse, and that's all— Give it the Woman, Money and all, quo Sancho. The Fellow did so, but with a heavy Heart God wot. On the other side, the Woman having got the Purse in her Clutches, fell upon her Marrow-bones, and powred forth a thousand Prayers for the present Felicity and future Happiness of Mr. Governours Body and Soul, who took such pity upon distressed Orphans and Widows; and straightway tripped out of Court. But then it was that Sancho commanded the Shepherd, who looked like death to see the Departure of his Purse, to follow the Woman, take the Purse from her again by main force, and bring it into Court. Nor was the Shepherd to be twice bid; away he flew like Lightning, and while all the People were gazing to see what would be the Event of this judgement, the Woman and the Shepherd return'd, she tugging and he pulling, she with her Petticoat tucked up, and holding the Purse fast between her Legs, and he using all the strength he had to wrest it from her. But the Woman defended her prise so well, that all the Shepherds Manhood little availed. At length the Woman setting up her Throat, cried out, Justice, Justice, My Lord; see this Impudent Varlet, that in the Face of the Court would rob me of the Purse which your Worship gave me. And hast got it honest Friend? quo Sancho. Got it! quo the Woman, I'll first lose all my Bowels and my Life to boot— Got it! not ten such Chitterlings as he, poor Peel garlic as he is, shall get it from me— Pincers, Mallets, Fire nor Flames shall make me let go my hold; no not the Claws of a lion, tho they tore all the Flesh from my Bones.  
The Devil helps her, My Lord, I think, quo the Shepherd, the Jade's too strong for me, and at the same time he let her go. Presently, let me see the Purse, good Woman, cried the governor; which the Woman had no sooner reached him, but he return'd it to the Shepherd, saying withal to the Woman, Mistress, Mistress, had you guarded yourself this Morning from this Man, with half the strength and courage as you defended your Purse, not twenty Men together could have been able to have forced a Chastity so well fortified. Hence Harlot, hence, and let me find thee no more within six Leagues compass of this iceland, under the Penalty of two hundred good Bridewell Lashes; and let me hear no more. At which words away sneaked the Woman with a flay in her Ear. Sancho also bid the Shepherd get him home with his Money, advising him withal, to take care another time of sporting with such Strumpets as these, unless he intended to lose not only his Purse, but something else to boot. The Countryman thanked him in the best Terms he could; and all the People stood in Admiration of their new Governours Judgments, which his Register failed not to sand Post to the Duke, who expected their coming with no less impatience. And now let us see what becomes of Don Quixote, whose thoughts were all in a ferment, ever since he had heard the Amorous Complaint of Mrs. Joan Tomboy.   

CHAP. XIII.  
Of the strange Accident that befell Don Quixote while he was pondering upon Madam Joan Tomboy.  
WE left the Great Don Quixote, as you have heard, not a little troubled in mind, perceiving himself so affectionately beloved by the young and tender Madam Joan Tomboy. He had thrown himself into his Bed, with the same Indignation as if he had received some affront at her Hands, so that the Misfortune of his torn stocking adding to his affliction, it was impossible for him to take a wink of rest. In the mean time the Sun having with his usual swiftness visited the other hemisphere, was now return'd again to our Horizon, at what time Don Quixote bounce out of his Bed, put on his clothes, and drew on his riding Boots to conceal the want of his Hose. About his Shoulders he botton'd his Scarlet Cloak, and covered his Valiant Head with his Hat turned up a one side, and edged with a Silver Parchment Lace; not forgetting his broad Belt, nor to fasten his Rosary about his Wrist, which he always carried about him: and thus accouter'd, away he marched with his usual Gravity toward the Parlour, where the Duke and the duchess were ready prepared to receive him.  
But as he passed through a Gallery, he met the Beautiful Mrs. Joan Tomboy and her friend, who waited for his coming in the passage. So soon as Madam Joan perceived the Knight, the gipsy presently dissembled a swooning fit, and let her self fall into the Arms of her Companion, who presently fell to unlacing her Stays, seemingly to give her Air. At the same time Don Quixote approached, and without showing the least Commotion, this signifies little, said he, I understand from whence such Accidents as these proceed. You know more then I do, replied the other Lady, for of all the Virgins in the World, I never knew any i' my Life that had her Health better then this Mrs. Joan; nor did I ever know her Finger ache before. The Curse of Curses light upon all Knighs-Errants in the World for me, if they are all so Ingrateful, and Discourteous as I imagine 'em to be. I beseech ye my Lord Don Quixote withdraw from hence, for this poor Lady will never come to her self so long as you are in presence. I beseech ye, Madam, replied Don Quixote, let there be a Lute left in my Chamber at Night, that I may endeavour the Consolation of this Afflicted Lady; for in the beginning of an Amour, the most sovereign remedy is to discover the abuse and vanity of that idle Passion. And so saying he made hast away, for fear of being found in that place alone with two young Damsels. So soon as he was gone, Mrs. Joan forsooth immediately came to her self, and bid her Companion be sure to leave a Lute in Don Quixote's Room, for that without doubt they should have strange music and rare Sport; and at the same time they went and  told the duchess what they had done, who overjoyed at the occasion, immediately plotted with the Duke a new Contrivance to make themselves merry with their Guest. The same day also they sent away a page. with Sancho's Letter to his Wife; and the Bundle which he had left behind, charging him to take peculiar notice of all that passed, and to bring back a faithful account. All that day the Duke and duchess kept Don Quixote Company, extremely pleased with his Conversation. But at length the Clock having struck Eleven at Night, Don Quixote retired to his Chamber, where finding a Lute upon his Table, he tuned it, opened the Window, and perceiving there was some body in the Garden, fell a tickling the Lower Strings, and with a hoarse woollen Voice, much after the rate of a Ten-pound a Year Songster in a Cathedral, he Sung, the following Song, which he had composed himself the same day.  

LOve is a dangerous Disease  
To every lazy idle Slut;  
They that have nothing else to do  
Are still for going all to Put.   

But let 'em at the Wash-bowl toil,  
Or for their Livings rub and spin;  
Love raps at Door, and goes his way,  
There's no body to let him in.   

'tis only sloth and Ease prevails  
o'er pampered Ramps, that live at ease;  
Where Love excites the bestial part,  
inflamed by reading bawdy Plays.   

But if a Husband 'tis you want,  
Madam, the World is wide and spacious;  
enough would lick their Lips at You;  
In truth I am not so salacious.   

For we Knights-Errant never care  
With Fliperous Titifists to couple;  
Much more refined are our Amours;  
Discretion only makes us suppling.   

Hot Loves soon could, the Proverb says,  
Like Flames that on dry Bavins feed:  
And you may quench your Parching heat  
With Vinegar and Lettice-seed.   

One Picture on another drawn  
Will scarce appear, at least but dull;  
Then seek some Empty-hearted Man,  
For I protest, my Heart is full.   

Fair Dulcinea has my Heart,  
There you may see her Face engraved:  
I courted her, and my blessed Fate  
Kindly bequeathed me what I craved.   

Shall I then break Piecorner-Law,  
And prove a false Inconstant Knave?  
'T shall nere be said Don Quixote went  
A faithless Lover to his Grave.   
Don Quixote had no sooner concluded his Madrigal, to which the Duke, the duchess, Madam Joan, and a great number of other Ladies, full of Curiosity, had listened with most attentive Ears, but of a sudden the Disdainful Champion heard the tinkling of a hundred little Bells over his Head; and by and by down came a whole Legion of Cats poured out of a Sack into the Balcony before his Window, with little Bells tied to their Tails. The Miewing of those affrighted Animals, and the jingling of the Bells made such a confused noise, that they who were privy to the Contrivance were not a little scared for the present themselves. On the other side Don Quixote thought Hell had been broken lose, and stood like Mum-budget in a Trance; at what time, as ill luck would have it, four of the poor terrified Cats leaped into his Chamber; where seeking which way to get out again, they ran like so many Sprights from one end of the Room to the other; flew against the Hangings; put out the Candle; threw down the Candle-stick; down came the Lute; never Hobgoblin made such a Confusion in a Brew-house, while the Cats still flew about the Room affrighted at the jingling which they made themselves. At length D. Quixote unsheathing his Sword began to lay about him back-stroak and fore-stroak like a Devil with two sticks, crying out ever and anon, as loud as he could bawl, Hence Villain Necromancers, hence Infernal Scoundrels— Devils, you have mistook your Man y' faith; 'tis I Don Quixote de la Mancha, who fears not you, nor all your ineffectual Charms. And then running after the Cats, whom he followed by the Glimmering of their Eyes, he attacked 'em so furiously, and pursued 'em with that Vigour, that he driven three out again at the Window; but the fourth remaining behind, and so hard put to't, that she could not escape, or else perhaps being wounded, flew directly at Don Quixote's Face, and seizing his Leathern Jaws with her Claws and her Teeth, made such deep Impressions in his Skin, that the Champion began to roar out, like a Man tortured with the Strangury. Presently the Duke, conjecturing the cause of Don Quixote's distress by the hideous noise he made, ran to his assistance with Lights and several of his Servants; and indeed the Duke guessed right, for no sooner were they entered the Chamber, but there they saw the enraged Mouse-catcher and poor Don Quixote striving for the Mastery, while the Cat held her hold, and the Champion used all his Art and strength to make her let go. Thereupon the Duke proffered to assist him, but Don Quixote scorning all manner of succour, let me alone, I beseech ye, quo he, hand to hand with this evil daemon, this Pagan Necromancer, this Son of a Whore Enchanter, I'll warrant ye I'll teach him another time to know Don Quixote de la Mancha from Tom-Bell. Nevertheless the Cat, little regarding these Vainglorious Threats, growld and held fast her Prey, till at length the Duke caused her to be unhook'd from the Knights Jaws and thrown out at Window. All this while the Blood ran down Don Quixote's Doublet from his mangled Cheeks; but nothing madded him so much, as that they had rescued out of his Hands that Hell-hound of a Necromancer, and prevented him from Triumphing o'er an Incarnate Enemy. In the mean time there was great care taken of his Wounds; for Madam Joan Tomboy her self with her own lily white Hands applied a plaster to his Soars, and whispering him i' the Ear as she was dressing him, Cruel and Ingrateful Knight, said she, this Misfortune is but the just punishment of your disdain and contempt of Ladies; and I wish with all my Heart, your Squire may forget to Lash himself, that you may nere enjoy the Embraces of your dear Dulcinea, at least so long as I, th' Adorer of your Shadow live. To all which Don Quixote made no other answer then with a profound Sigh, and so prepared for his Bed, after he had teturn'd Thanks, not so much for his deliverance from that rabble of Necromantick Rat-catchers, which he feared no more then so many Snails, but for the Kindness and Civility of their proffered Assistance. Thereupon the Duke and the duchess retired, and left him to his Repose, not a little troubled at the ill success of a Jest, that cost poor Don Quixote no less then six days keeping his Chamber. During which Interval there befell him another Accident much more pleasant, which we must refer till another time, it behoving us now to return and find out Sancho, no less careful then affable and courteous in his Government.   

CHAP. XIV.  
Containing a Continuation of Sancho's Government.  
SO soon as the Court rose Sancho was conducted to a Magnificent Palace, where he found the Cloth laid in a Dining-Room richly and sumptuously furnished. When he was entered the Room, the Wind music played all the while Dinner was serving up; and four Pages brought him a basin of Water, where he washed himself, as reverently I'll warrant ye, as if he had been five Years learning to take State upon him.  
And now the music ceasing, Sancho sate down to Dinner all alone by himself, at what time a certain Person, who was afterwards known to be a Physician, came and stood at his Elbow with a Whale-bone Wand in his Hand. So soon as the Almoner had said Grace, a page. brought Sancho a Napkin edged about with a Point Lace, and the Steward set before him a Plate of Musk Melon. But Sancho had hardly put one Bit into his Mouth before the Physician touched it with his Wand, and then it was presently taken away. Presently the Steward supplied the Vacancy with another full Plate, but the Doctor laying his Wand upon it, it was as soon whiskt away as the former. Sancho was not a little surprised at the oddness of the Ceremony, and looking about him upon the standards by, demanded the meaning of it, and whether it were the Fashion in that iceland to feed with their Eyes, and dine upon Hei pass and be gone? Sir, replied the Physician, it is not the Custom to eat in this iceland, as they do in other Islands where there are Governours. I am a Doctor of physic, an like your Worship, and I receive a Salary from the Islanders to wait upon the governor. 'tis therefore my Duty to take care of his Health much more then of my own, and to make it my study day and night to understand the Composition and Temper of his Body, that I may be able to know what to do when he falls Sick; and for this reason it is that I always attend him at his Meals, to prevent his eating what I know to be prejudicial to his Health. To that purpose I ordered the Melon to be taken away, as being too moist; and the other Plate to be removed, as being too hot and over seasoned with Spices, which are corroding and cause drought; for he that drinks much consumes the radical Moisture, which is the Principal of Life.  
At this rate, replied Sancho, you'll tell me I must not eat none of these roasted Partridges, because they'll do me hurt— By no means, Sir, replied the Physician— God forbid, and let me never live to suffer it— Why so? cried Sancho. Because our Great Master Hippocrates, said the Physician, the North Star and Luminary of physic, in one of his Aphorisms says, All repletion is bad, especially that of Partridges. If it be so, cried Sancho, prithee take a view of the Meat upon the Table, and tell me what I may eat and what not, without playing the fool with your Wand; for I'me so hungry I could eat a piece of a Horse.  
Why truly, an like your Excellency, I would have these roasted Coneys taken away, as being a Terrene and Melancholy sort of diet; nor can I approve this Veal, unless it were better boiled, besides that the Cook has forgot Green sauce. Prithee Doctor, quo Sancho, what think ye of that Dish yonder that smokes so, which I take to be a kind of a French pottage; and therefore being a Mish-mash of several sorts, certainly I may meet with something there that may be wholesome enough— Not for a World cried the Physician; there is not a more dangerous sort of Diet, then these Mish-mashes, under the Sun. They are fit for none but Countrey-Attorneys, poor Singing-men, and at Thrashers Weddings, that will digest Iron: but Governours must be served with more delicate Viands, and not so fiercely seasoned. For always simplo Medicines are better then those that are compounded of many Ingredients: for that one Drug alters the Quality of the other. And therefore after all, I think the best thing your Excellency can eat at present, for the support and preservation of your Health, is about a hundred Caraway-Comfits, and some two or three small slices of Marmaled, which are good for the stomach, and easy of digestion.  
Sancho having heard the Doctor's Opinion, turned himself in his Chair, and fixing his Eye earnestly upon him, asked him very seriously what his Name was, and where he had taken his Degrees. Sir, replied the Physician, they call me signor Pedro Puncinello, a Native of Ditto in Pomerania; from whence I travelled all over Germany, Moravia, Silesia, Poland, Muscovy, Candaya, Lapland, China, Danemark, Abyssinia, Nova Zembla, and most parts of America, for Experience; and being as full as a Bee, I went and took my Degrees at Padua in Italy. Mr. Doctor Pedro Puncinello, quo Sancho, Native of Ditto in Pomerania, you that travelled over Germany, Poland, Muscovy, Candaya, Lapland, and I know not where myself: Few words to the wise; in short, Sir, avoid the Room forthwith, or by the Life of Pharaoh, I will immediately slit that venomous Wind-pipe of thine, and all the rest of your Post-daubing Mountebanks that I find within this iceland: for as for Learned and approved Physicians, I both esteem and honour' em. Once more therefore I say, avoid Satan, and let me eat as I please; or else by the Body of Caesar, I'll cap thee a-new with this Elbow-Chair, and sand thee to set up thy Stage in the other World; and let them that are offended turn the Buckles of their Girdles behind' em. For my part, I think I shall do God good Service in ridding the World of such a Homicide Doctor; such a Pest and Plague of the Common-weal. S'life— let me eat, or let 'em take their Government again— for a Doctor that will not let his Master eat, is not worth two Horse-beans.  
The Physician thus terrified at the Governours dismal Menaces, and ready to be-foul himself for fear, was making all the nimble speed he could to the Door, when of a sudden they heard the sound of a Post-horn i' the street; and presently looking out at Window, they understood there was a courier arrived from the Duke. Immediately the Post entered sweeting and puffing, and pulling a packet out of his Pocket, delivered it to the governor, who gave it the Steward, ordering him to red the Direction; which was thus:  
For Don Sancho Pancha, governor of the iceland of Barataria, to be delivered either to his own, or the hands of his Secretary.  
Who is my Secretary? cried Sancho. 'tis I, my Lord, replied a certain young Lad; for besides that I can writ and red, I am a Biscayner at your Service. With such a Train of Characters thou mayst be Secretary to the Emperor, quo Sancho— Open the Letter then, and red the Contents: which the young man having done,  told the governor, that it was business both of importance and privacy. Thereupon Sancho ordered the Room to be cleared, and none to stay but the Steward and the Master of the House; and then the Secretary red as follows:  
I Have received Intelligence, Don Sancho Pancha, that certain Enemies of yours and mine, have laid a Plot to surprise your Person within these few Nights. Therefore it behoves ye to be watchful, and to stand upon your Guard, lest you be taken unprovided. I am also farther informed by faithful Spies, that there are Four Men got into your iceland, in disguise, with a design to assassinate the governor, as being afraid of your Courage and your Conduct. Keep strict Guards, be careful who you speak with, and eat nothing that they bring to your Table, for fear of Treachery. I will take care to sand you speedy Assistance, if there be occasion. I leave the success of this Affair to your Prudence: and so farewell.  
16th of August, at Four in the Morning. Your Friend, The DUKE.  
Sancho was strangely astonished at the News, as the rest of his Council seemed to be; but at length turning to the Steward; that which is first to be done, said he, in this case, and that speedily too, is to lay that same Doctor Puncinello by the heels; manacle, and fetter him, and thrust him into the Dungeon of the Common Goal; and there let him feed upon Caraway-Comfits and Marmalade with a Pox to him. For if any body be in this Plot, upon my Life it must be he; since you see, he was going about already to have starved me. 'tis my Opinion, Sir, replied the Master of the House, that you forbear to eat any of the Meat that stands here before ye: for it was most of it sent in by the jesuits; and they use to say, the Devil stands behind the across. I am apt to believe, Master, quo Sancho, you give me good advice. However, let me have a Groat-Loaf, and four Pound of Reasons; there can be no poison in them: For in short, 'tis impossible I should subsist without eating; especially since we must be preparing for action. 'tis never to be imagined we can fight, and not feed: for 'tis the Belly supports the Heart, and not the Heart the Belly. In the mean time, Secretary, do you return an Answer to the Duke, and let him know, that all his Commands shall be punctually observed. Present my Humble Service likewise to Madam the duchess, and begs of her in my Name, to be mindful to sand away an Express with my Letter and the Bundle, to Teresa Pancha my Wife; and tell her withal, that as soon as my Business is over, I intend to sand her a parcel of High Lines, becoming a governor, under my own hand. Moreover, crowd in among the rest, the Choicest of my Commendations to my Lord Don Quixote de la Mancha, that he may see I am neither forgetful nor ingrateful: The rest I leave to your judgement, to writ as an expert Secretary. In the mean time, let 'em take away these victuals, and give me something to eat, and then they shall see how little I care for all the Spies, or Bravo's, or Enchanters i' the World.  
At the same time a page. entering the Room, My Lord, said he, here is a country man desires to speak with your Honour about Business of Importance. By the Lord Harry, quo Sancho, these Men of Business are so troublesone. Is it possible that Men should be such Sots, as not to understand, that this is not a time for Business? Certainly, they think that we Governours and Distributers of Justice, are made of Iron or Marble; and that we have no need of Rest and Repose, like other Men. Before Heaven and upon my Conscience, if I continue i' this Government( as I don't believe I shall) I shall cause the bare Shoulders of some of these Men of Business to be well Curry-comb'd. Well— for once let the Country Fellow come in; but first let him be well searched— he may be one of those Fellows, for ought I know, that threaten my Life. O, Sir, for that, replied the page., my Life for yours; this Fellow, God help him, looks as if he had no more Soul then an Oyster. I dare say he's as Innocent as the Child unborn. But d' ye hear, quo Sancho, Master of the House, now Doctor Puncinello's gone, might not I eat something that has some substance in it, tho it were but a Luncheon of Bread and an Onion? Sir, quo the Master of the House, never fear, Supper shall make amends I warrant ye for the loss of your Dinner, and that amply to your satisfaction. I wish it may, quo Sancho, I don't love these baukings of my Stomach.  
At the same time the Countryman entered the Room, and seemed by his looks to be a harmless silly poor fellow. As soon as he came in, he asked which was the governor? Who but he that sits yonder i' the Elbow Chair, replied the Secretary. I beg your pardon, cried the Countryman, and presently throwing himself at the Governours Feet, he desired to kiss his Hands: Which Sancho refuss'd to do, but bid him rise, and tell him briefly what he had to say. Thereupon the Countryman rising up, and addressing himself to the governor, Sir, said he, I am a Native of Monks-Zeal twelve Leagues from Charity bridge. What more Ditto's in Pomerania? quo Sancho— well go on Friend— I know Monks-Zeal very well— for I don't live far from it myself.  
Then, quo the Countryman, pursuing his discourse, my business is this, I was married, through Gods Mercy, in the face of the Holy Roman, catholic and apostolic Church, I ha' two children at the University, the one a Student and the other a bachelor of Art. I am a Widower, because my Wife is dead, or to say more truly, killed by a cursed Mountebank, that with permission be it spoken, gave her a Purge when she was big with Child. Had she lived and been brought to Bed of a Boy, 'twas my Intention to have made him a Doctor, that he might have no cause to envy his Brothers. So then, quo the governor, had not your Wife died, or been killed by the Mountebank, you had not been a Widower. Very right, Sir, quo the Countryman. Go too honest Friend, quo Sancho, I find we have the full length of the Ell. But prithee dispatch— 'tis more then time to go to sleep then to talk of Business. Now, Sir, I say, continued the Country Fellow, that one of my Sons, the bachelor of Art, fell in Love with a Maid in our Village, whose name was Clara Singlestone, the Daughter of Andrew Singlestone: And indeed she might well be called Singlestone; for she was a Diamond for Beauty, especially if you stood on her Right side and viewed her; for I must confess if you took a prospect of her from the other hand, she was not altogether so handsome, for that the Small Pox had deprived her of her left Eye; besides that that same Devil of a Disease had walked with his Hobnails over all the rest of her Face; but they tell me that's nothing, in regard those Pits are but the sepulchres to bury Lovers Hearts. She is so cleanly, that because she will not have her Nose drop upon her Lips, she has turned up the ends of her Nostrils toward her Forehead, that you would swear they had taken a disgust at her Mouth, which is very wide; and were it not for some ten or a dozen Teeth which she wants, she would be one of the most absolute Beauties i' the Country. As for her Lips I cannot commend 'em too much, for they are so thin and so soft, that were it the Fashion to wind Lips as they do Silk, they would make a Skain of I know not what to call it. Besides, they are of the strangest Colour that ever was seen, as being of a speckl'd Jasper Colour, Blew, Green and Violet. And I most humbly beg your Pardon my Lord governor, for being so particular and punctual in the description of her Beauties, who is to be my Daughter, in regard it is merely out of the transports of my affection for her.  
Prithee paint on, quo Sancho, as long as thou wilt: I am mightily pleased with these kind of Sketches; and had I but dined, I would not desire a better Banquet then the Portraiture which thou hast drawn me. Both myself and the Portraiture, my Lord, are at your Service; or at least if now we are not, the time will come when we may be. But alas, Sir, this is nothing, could I depaint to the Life, her Gate, and the Proportions of her Stature, you would be wrapped up in wonder and delight. But that's impossible for me to do, for that she is so bowed and crumpl'd up together, that her Knees and her Chin meet; but it is apparent that if she could but unbend her self and stand upright, she would touch the Sealing with her Head. And she had certainly before now given her Hand to my Son, the bachelor of Art, had she been able to stretch it forth, which she cannot do by reason her Sinews are quiter shrunk up; and yet by her broad chamfur'd Nails you may see she has a Hand like a Countess.  
'tis very well hitherto, honest friend, replied Sancho, but suppose you should have drawn her from the Crown of the Head to the Soles of the Feet, prithee what is that thou wouldst have? come to the point Man, without so many windings and turnings, so many circumlocutions, and going about the hedge.  
With submission to your Honour, replied the Countryman, I would humbly desire and entreat that your Excellency would be graciously pleased to favour me with a Letter to the Father of my Daughter in Law, signifying to him, that it is your pleasure he should no longer delay the Marriage, seeing there can be no objections made against the equality of both our Fortunes, nor the Person of my Son. For not to conceal a Mite of Truth from your Lordship, my Son is possessed; yesterday the Evil Spirit tormented him three or four times, and at length threw him i' the Fire, which is the reason that the Skin of his Face is shrivell'd up like a piece of Parchment, and that his Eyes water as if he had a spring in his Brains. Nevertheless he is one of the best natured Men i' the World; and were it not but that he lies wallowing upon the Ground, and tearing and thumping himself, you would take him to be an Angel.  
Have ye any thing more to say? quo Sancho; yes an't please your Lordship, I have one request more, but I am afraid to give it vent, for fear of your Honours displeasure; yet it lies rolling at my Tongues end; and therefore fall back fall edge, I must out with it. An't like your Lordship, I would beg of your Honour to bestow upon your poor Servant Six hundred Crowns toward the Marriage of my Son, to put him into a Convenient Equipage; not that he wants household stuff, but to buy him Good Books at the next Divinity Auction, for the improvement of his Studies; for which if you think well of it, he shall every time he goes into the Pulpit pray for your Honours long Life and Prosperity, as in duty bound.  
If you have any thing farther to ask, quo Sancho, do it, honest friend, and let not your Bashfulness do ye any prejudice. I have nothing more, this is all an't like your Honour, replied the Countryman. Thereupon Sancho finding that the Countryman had shut up his Lips, starting up briskly upon his Legs, and snatching up his Chair with both Hands, ye Slabber-chapt Wither-fac'd sneaking old Son of a Whore, cried he, all in a fury, get thee out of my Presence, or else by the Body of St. George and all the Seven Champions, I'll ding out thy pestiferous Brains.— Hast thou been all this while painting out beelzeebub and his Triggremate, and comest to ask me for Six hundred Crowns! perpetual Ragamuffin! where dost think I should have' em? Impudent Vagabond. And therefore be gone, I say, or by the Life of the Duke, my Lord and Master, I'll be as good as my word— Thou art no Inhabitant of Monks-Zeal, but some Imp of the Devil sent from Hell to tempt me. 'tis now not above twenty four Hours that I have been governor of this iceland, and thou wouldst have me give thee Six hundred Crowns. Death of my Life! if I could not find i' my heart to dance upon thy Belly and tread out thy Bowels.  
Presently the Steward made a sign to the Countryman to withdraw, who retired with an humble and submissive Bow, shaking and shivering, and pretending a panic fear lest Sancho should pursue him; for the Rogue acted his part incomparably. As for Sancho, they had much ado to appease his Wrath; for the Countryman's tedious discourse and his Impertinent Petition had put him into a dreadful fume. But we must leave him to champ upon his Bridle, and return to Don Quixote who lay wrapped up in plasters, like a Post bedaub'd with Mountebanks Bills. During which time there befell him what we shall tell ye in the next Chapter; for Benengeli would not relate it in this.   

CHAP. XV.  
What befell Don Quixote with Madam Doroty the Dutchesses Waiting-Woman, with other Accidents worthy Eternal Memory.  
THE poor distressed Knight sad and melancholy to see himself so despitefully used, upon every occasion where there was so little honour to be got, kept his Chamber six whole days and nights together; but at length one Evening when it was grown dark, as he lay reflecting upon his Misfortunes, and the Importunities of Mrs. Tomboy, he heard the Door open; and believing it to be the Amorous dansel that came to make an Assault upon his Chastity, and shake that Loyalty which he had solemnly devoted to his Chimera, Madam Dulcinea; No, no, cried he, loud enough to be heard, no, no, not all the Beauty upon Earth can deface from my Heart that Fidelity which Love has there so deeply engraven. No, no, most amiable Object of my Vows, and Sovereign Mistress of my Thoughts, whatever may be thy Condition; whether transformed into a Country Hoyden, put to winnow Wheat, or serve the Swine; or whether Merlin or Montesinos detain thee still concealed from my sight; whether enchanted or at Liberty, my Constancy is still unalterable: Absent or present, thou art always before my Eyes, and my Heart is always with thee. And so saying, he rose from the side of the Bed, wrapped up in a Coverlet of yellow satin, his Stocking serving him for a Night-Cap, his Face all bepatch'd with plasters, and his Mustachio's half clawed off; so that in short, he looked like a Hobgoblin in a mask.  
In this Condition fixing his Eyes toward the Door, instead of the Sorrowful Mrs. Joan Tomboy whom he expected, he beholded a venerable Matron, with a white veil all in folds, and so long that it covered all her Body from Top to to. In her left Hand she carried about half a Candle lighted; and held her Right Hand before her Face to keep the blaze of the Candle from her Eyes, upon which she wore a large pair of Spectacles, and all the way she moved as if she had trod upon Thorns. Don Quixote watched her like a Sentinel, and observing her slow place, her silence, and her Habit of a Priestess, took her for some Inchantress that came to put her Charms in Execution; and presently had recourse to his usual Christian Remedy. All this while the Female advanced toward the Knights Bed, to which approaching near, she lifted up her Eyes, and saw Don Quixote in that forlorn Condition making a thousand Crosses upon his Breast. But if the Knight were astonished to see such a Ghost-like Figure of a Woman, the Woman was no less surprised to behold the Knight with his long slender Shanks, so pale and bepatch'd, with his stocking upon his Head. So that giving a loud Scream, Holy Virgin, cried she, what Raw Head and Bloody Bones is this? In this affright, the Candle dropping out of her Hand, went out, and she her self, thinking to run away, while the length of her veil entangled her Feet, fell down at her full extent upon the Floor. The noise that she made, and the darkness of the Night, redoubled Don Quixote's fears, so that in great Confusion, he cried out, I conjure thee phantom, to tell me what thou art, and what thy Errand is from the Infernal Shades? If thou art a Soul in Torment, tell me, and thou shalt not want the Consolation of what Assistance I can give thee. For I am a catholic Christian, and one that makes it my business to do good to all Mankind: for which reason I took upon me the Order of Knight-Errantry, the Benefit of which Profession extends itself even to the succour of Souls in Purgatory.  
The poor Lady hearing Don Quixote Conjure at that rate, guessed by her own fears at his affrightment, and therefore with a low and mournful Voice, My Lord Don Quixote; said she, at least if it be you, I am neither Vision nor phantom, nor Soul in Purgatory; I am Mrs. Doroty, Waiting Gentlewoman to my Lady duchess; who came hither to desire of you the remedy of an Affliction, which it is in your power to afford me. First, Mrs. Doroty, quo Don Quixote, be free with me, and tell me; are you not come upon some Amorous embassy? If you are, you lose your time; for Madam Dulcinea's Beauty is so imprinted in my Soul, that I am deaf and insensible to all Importunities of this Nature. In a word Madam Doroty, provided it be no Love Message, you may go light your Candle and return, and when we understand your Distemper we'll endeavour to apply the safest Remedies we can; but no Provocatives, no tempting Glances, I beseech ye, Madam. Who I, Sir Knight, procure for others? You know me not I find, cried Madam Doroty; I am neither so old, nor so deformed, to be trading in that venerable Mystery yet; I am still in health, Heaven be praised, and have all my Teeth i' my Head, except some few that I spoiled with eating of Sweet Meats. But stay a little, I'll go light my Candle, and then I'll tell my grievances to the only Physician of the Mind this day i' the World; and having so said away she tripped.  
In the mean time Don Quixote ruminating upon this Adventure, of which he could not imagine the Reason, entertained so many strange Conundrum's in his Fancy, that he could not think himself secure, maugre all his Resolution, and the reservedness which he might well expect from Mrs. Doroties Years. Sinner as I am, cried he, who knows, who knows I say, but that the Enemy of human Race is now plotting for my destruction; and whether by these dangerous Addresses I may not be entangled with this Governante to my Ruin. What an Ignominy would it be to me, and what an affront to Dulcinea's Honour? if this same Toothless Matron should Triumph at length over that Fidelity which neither Princesses, nor Queens, nor Empresses, nor all the most accomplished Beauties under the Sun, could ever so much as move an Inch. Yet who knows but this same Solitude, this Opportunity, this silence, may waken my sleepy desires, and cause me i' my old Age to fall, where I never stumbl'd before? And therefore in such cases 'tis better to vanquish by flight, then to make Head against the Enemy. On the other side, why am I thus unjust to injure Madam D●roties Discretion? Is there any Probability that so venerable a Matron, with so long a veil, a whither'd Face and Spectacles, can harbour in her Heart immodest and lascivious thoughts, and lay contrivances so opposite to virtue? There may be one Governante i' the World that may perhaps be honest; but I must tell ye she must be a phoenix; 'tis the most unsanctify'd and unprofitable Rabble of Smother-Farts that ever were admitted into human Society. How is that Lady to be commended, that only set up two Governantes in effigy in her Chamber, hard at their Needles with their Spectacles upon their Noses, and by virtue of that aweful Representative kept all her Damsels in orderly decorum. And so saying, he started up from the Bed with an Intention to have locked the Chamber Door, and shut out Madam Doroty. But she had already set one Foot over the Threshold with her Candle lighted; at what time perceiving Don Quixote bedizon'd as we have already described him, as if her former fears had return'd, she stepped back, and with a timorous utterance, Is there no danger, my Lord, said she, for I don't like your standing up so brisk upon your Legs, as if you had some unlucky design? I ask you the same Question, Madam Doroty, replied Don Quixote; for I am weak and feeble, and would not willingly be forced against my own Nature. Who do you take for such a Masculine Rampscuttle? replied Mrs. Doroty. Even your own self, Madam, quo Don Quixote; for in short, as I am Flesh and Blood, so I deem you to be of the same Mould; and besides, this is a suspicious hour of the Night, especially in a Chamber so far remote from Company, and no less private then the Den where that perfidious Eneas taking the Advantage of unfortunate Dido's imbecility, enjoyed her Beauty. Nevertheless, give me your Hand, Madam; for I rely upon those Marks of honour which you wear about ye, and desire no other Assurance then my own Fidelity and Discretion. And at the same time he offered Madam Doroty his Hand, who gave him likewise her own with all the Ceremony of a Courtly Lady.  
Here Cid Hamet swears by Mahomet he would ha' given all the Shoes in his Shop-to ha' beholded the Amorous Countenances of the Knight and the Lady, and the Charming Air with which they walked hand in hand from the Chamber Door to the Bed side. Don Quixote laid himself down again upon the Bed, and covered all his Face; but Madam Doroty took a Chair and sate by the Bed side, with her Spectacles still upon her Nose, and her Candle in her hand: and after they had both continued in that Posture for some time without speaking a word, at length Don Quixote breaking silence, you may now, Madam, said he, freely unburd'n your Heart, and tell me the cause of your Annoiance; I shall listen attentively to your Complaints you may be sure, and afterwards you shall have all the Assistance from me, that can be expected from a Generous and Charitable Knight. I was convinced of that before, replied Madam Doroty, and therefore expected no other then such a Christian-like Answer from an Air so full of courtesy and Nobleness as yours. And now, Sir Knight, altho you see me sitting here in this Chair in the habit of an unfortunate Servant under Contempt, yet am I a native of Oviedo, and descended from one of the most noble Families in that Province; but my Father and Mother by their feasting, and junketing, and ill Husbandry, reduced themselves betimes to a mean Condition, and carried me to Madrid; where, because they could do no better, they placed me with a Lady of Quality to be her Dressing maid, and to work Point. And that you may know, Sir Knight, how I improved my time, I believe there is not a Maid i' the Country that can wash and starch fine linen better then I can. After this my Father and Mother died and went to Paradise; for tho they lay a-bed all day, and sate up at Cards all night from years end to years end, Sundays and all, yet they were very good Christians. Then was I left an Orphan, without any thing more to maintain Me, then the short Wages usually given to persons in my Condition; and at the same time the Gentleman-Usher fell in love with me before I ever dreamed, Heaven knows, of any such thing. He was a person well advanced in years, but comely, and of a good Figure, and as free as a Lord; for he was descended from the Race of St. Taffie. However our Amours could not be kept so private, but that they were discovered to my Mistress, who to prevent impertinent Stories abroad, caused us to be married in the face of our Holy Mother the catholic Church; and this Matrimony produced a Daughter to accomplish our Misfortunes: not that I died in Child-bed, for I had an experienced Midwife, and an extraordinary good Labour; but because my Husband, God rest his Soul, died not long after of a certain Fright which he took, the particulars of which would now be too tedious to recount.  
Here. the tender-hearted Madam Doroty letting fall a shower of Tears, Pardon me, Sir Knight, said she, I am not Mistress of my Eyes, nor can I ever mention this Misfortune of mine, but it costs me a Pail-full of Salt-water. Good God! with what a comely Grace he road before my Mistress, that sate behind him upon a lovely pacing mere, as black as Jet. For then there were no Sedans, nor Coaches and six horses, but the Ladies of best Quality road behind their Gentlemen-Ushers; and here I find I must be forced to tell your Worship the whole Story now my Tongue's in, that you may see what a complete, well-bred man my Husband was, and how exact in every thing.  
One day as my Husband was entering, with my Mistress behind him, into St. James's Street in Madrid, he met the City-Marshal riding out of Town, with two of his Men attending him. Whereupon, my Husband out of Civility to so great an Officer, turned about his mere with an intention to have waited on him to the Town's end: But my Mistress, whispering him i' the Ear, What dost do, Fool-atum, quo she, hast forgot thy way? Upon that the Provost Marshal, in return of his Civility, stoping his Horse, your humble Servant Sir, said he, by no means— it becomes me rather to wait upon Madam Cussilda,( for that was my Mistress's Name) then that she should wait upon me. Nevertheless my Husband, with his Hat in his hand, persisted in his genteel Resolutions. But oh, the fatal Consequence of these mutual compliments! For my Mistress being enraged at my Husband, and fearing to lose her Visit, took a great Pin from her Stomacher, or rather, as I am apt to believe, a long Bodkin, out of her Tweezers, and thrust it into my Husband's Neck; upon which my Husband giving a loud groan, fell from his Horse, and pulled my Mistress after him. Presently her two Lacques ran, and the Provost Marshal alighted to help her up again; the Lacques were soon at their Masters heels, and all the Gate, I mean the People about the Gate, were immediately in a Hubbub. To be short, my Mistress return'd home a-foot, and my Husband went to a Surgeon, complaining that all his Bowels were skewer'd together. And now all the Coffee-houses rang of my Husband's Civility, and the Women and Children flocked to see such a Mirror of Courtship. Nevertheless, because he was a little pur-blind, my Mistress dismissed him her Service; and this it was that grieved him so, that he quiter pined away and died.  
And now no sooner was he dead but I became a Widow, abandoned and forlorn, and left with a Daughter, whose Beauty was the Wonder of all that beholded her. At length, having the Reputation of being a most admirable Needle-woman, my Lady duchess being newly married to his Grace, took me home along with her, and my Daughter likewise. In process of time my Daughter grew to Maturity, displaying the most charming Qualities in the World; she sings like a Wood-Lark, dances like a Fairy, jumps like a wild Colt, writes like an Angel, and casts account like a Banquer. I say nothing of her Neatness; for certainly the purest Spring-water that runs, is not so cleanly: and she is now, if I mistake not, just seventeen years five Months and three days old.  
Now with this pretty Creature did the Son of a rich Farmer fall in love. Verily I can't tell how he managed his business, but he so turned her and twisted her about, that upon an absolute Promise of Marriage, he got his Will of the poor silly Creature, and now refuses to be as good as his word. And tho my Lord Duke has been acquainted with the whole business, for the Farmer is one of his tenants; tho I have made my Complaint to him, and besought him so to use his Authority, that the young Man may mary my Daughter, he turns his deaf Ear to me, and will hardly endure that I should speak to him i' my Daughter's behalf, because the Farmer is rich, and lends him Money, and is bound for him upon all Occasions.  
Now, Sir Knight, my Request to you, is, That you would be pleased to undertake my Daughter's Quarrel, and either by Mediation, or by force of Arms procure the Reparation of her Honour; in regard, that as it is the general Discourse in these Parts, Heaven has sent you into this World to revenge the Injuries done the innocent, and to succour the distressed; be pleased to cast your compassionate Eyes upon the Orphan State of my Daughter, upon her Youth, her Gentility, and all her other amiable Endowments; for upon my Honour, and upon my Conscience, of all the Damsels that attend my Lady duchess, there is not one to compare with her: Nay, that same Mrs. Malapert, Madam Tomboy, that pretends to so much quaintness, and so much complaisance above all the rest, upon my faith is a mere Hoyden and a Dowdy to her. For do but consider, Sir, and you will find, all is not Gold that glisters; you will find, I say, that this Mrs. Riggle-tail is a Hoity-Toity, that has more of Vanity in her then Beauty; and has all the behaviour rather of a ranting Town-Crack, then of a Virgin fit to make a Wife of; not to tell ye that she is now none of the soundest neither; for her Breath is so strong, and such a Hogo steams from her Armpits, that there is no standing within a Coit's cast of her; and altho my Lady duchess— but I must say no more, because, as they say, the Walls have Ears.  
Prithee what was that you were going to say about Madam duchess, quo Don Quixote? I conjure ye by the first Pleasures of your Nuptial Bed to tell me, dear Mrs. Doroty. O, Sir, quo Madam Doroty, that Charm has forced open my Lips— Know then, Sir Knight, said she, as for that Beauty of Madam duchess, that same glistning Complexion that shines like the Blade of a new Sword; those Cheeks all Milk and vermilion, and the air of her Gate while she treads, as if she disdained to touch the ground, and shows a Constitution as merely as Mother Eve's; for all this, I say she may thank two Issues in both Arms, and two Blisters in her Legs, which she always keeps open to convey all the ill Humours out of her Body. Good God, what News you tell me, quo Don Quixote! can such a thing be possible? Is it possible that Madam duchess should have such Water-courses as those? In verity I should never ha' believed it, but from your Lips, tho all the Franciscans i' the Kingdom had sworn it: tho I am persuaded that those Fountains that have their Springs in such parts as those, must rather flow with liquid Amber, then such Humours as you speak of; but for all this I can never be persuaded, but that these sort of Issues are pernicious to Health.  
Don Quixote had no sooner said those words, but of a sudden the Chamber-door flew open with such a Thunder-clap, that Madam Doroty, being seized with a panic Fear, let fall her Candle; and while they were thus all in the dark, Mrs. Doroty felt some body squeeze her Wind-pipe so hard, that she could scarcely take her Breath; and after another had pulled up all her Coats, a third laid on so unmercifully upon her bare Buttocks as if she had renounced Compassion. As for Don Quixote, as charitable as he pretended to be, he never stirred from the Bed, but there lay pondering what the meaning of this Combustion should be, fearing also at the same time the Tempest that poured upon Mrs. Doroty's Posteriors; nor were his Fears without good ground. For after the invisible Fantomes had tired themselves in blistering Mrs. Governante's blind Cheeks, who durst not cry out for her Ears, they off with Don Quixote's Coverlet, and fell a pinching and pulling him by the Nose so fast, and so cruelly, that he could not forbear employing his Fists, se defendendo, till at length after the Combat had lasted almost half an hour, and that with an extraordinary silence, the Fantomes disappeared. And then it was that Mrs. Doroty got up again upon her Legs, and dolefully bewailing her misfortune, departed the Room without speaking a word to Don Quixote. As for the Knight, he still kept himself upon his Bed, pensive and melancholy, and so tired, that he was hardly able to stir his Bones; yet eagerly thirsting to know who this Necromancer should be, that had put him into such a Condition. But we shall hear more of that another time; now let us return to see what becomes of our noble governor, as the order of our History requires.   

CHAP. XVI.  
What befell Sancho in his Progress round the iceland.  
WE left our noble governor most highly incensed, as you know, against that same Impostor of a Countryman, who according to the Instructions he had received, had put that ungracious Trick upon him, which you have heard related. Yet as thick Scull'd as he was, he made a shift to make his party good with 'em all; nor did he seem much to regard what they did; but turning himself to those that were in the Chamber, among whom was Monsieur Puncinello; By what has happened, said he, I understand now that Governours and Judges ought to be made of Brass to resist the Importunities of those that pretend Business, who come at all Hours, and at all Seasons for Audience and Dispatch, considering no bodies Interest but their own. And let what will come of the rest, provided they have their Desires; they care not a Straw. On the other side, if a poor Judge do not hear 'em presently, or dispatch 'em with Expedition, either because he is at Dinner, or perhaps at mine Unkle's House, or other ways busy, they presently give him their Benedictions backward, and curse him and all his Generation. But wi' your leave, good Mr. Impertinent, kind Mr. To-and-agen, you are too hasty, pray be not so urgent, but observe your Measures as ye ought to do. There is a time for business, and yet neither when a man is at Dinner, nor asleep. We are Flesh and Blood as well as other People; and we must allow to Nature as well as others, what Nature requires. Tho for my own part, I think I have not over pampered my own Nature, thanks be to God, and my Friend Dr. Puncinello of Ditto in Pomerania yonder. He would fain starve me, and then swears 'tis for my Health; God sand him the same Sauce, and all such Doctors as he is.  
All that knew Sancho wondered to hear him talk so rationally, and began to think that places of Honour and Profit infused Understanding and Parts into some, as they stupefied and confounded other Men. However, Dr. Puncinello to regain his Favour, promised him he should sup that Night to his Heart's content, tho he sinned against all the Aphorisms of Hipocrates, which begot a perfect Reconciliation between him and Sancho.  
The Evening being now come, which in Sancho's Opinion had been so long a coming, that he thought Time's Wings had been clipped, they served him up a Giggot of Veal, with half a dozen St. Omers Onions handsomely peeled, and two Calves Feet of a more then ordinary size. The well-minded governor beholded his Commons with a smerking Eye, and fell on with such a vigorous Appetite, as if they had been the choicest Dainties at a City Feast: and after he had pretty well allayed the Passion of his Stomach, turning to Dr. Puncinello, You see now, Mr. Doctor, you need not torment your Brains to seek for Dainties and Curiosities to please my Appetite, for that would be to unhinge my Stomach that has been accustomed to other Diet; that can very well bear with Beef, Bacon, turnips, and Onions; or if by chance you tempt it with more courtly Dishes, may sometimes perhaps entertain 'em with a Gusto, but at other times loathe the very scent of their spicy Hogo's. Not but that if the Master of the House take a fancy sometimes to change his Bills of Fare, he may set before me one of those Olla Podrida's, as they call 'em, which the more tainted, the better they are; and there he may make a Jumblement of all to mall, of whatever he thinks convenient, provided the Ingredients be eatable; I shall take it kindly, and pay him for it at one time or other. But let no body think to play the fool with me, for either we are or we are not: come, come, let us eat and drink quietly and sociably together; for when God sent his light, he sent it to all Mankind; as for my own part, I shall endeavour to govern this iceland without doing wrong to the least Worm that crawls in it, and without taking a hair from any Man's head. On the other side, I do not intend to lose any thing of my own Right, for we must all live i' this World. Only let us have our Brains about us, and every man look to his own business, or else the Devil will be among the Cows; they that anger me a' my word will find me a across Piece; they that won't believe it, let 'em try, and they shall find what Mettle I am made of.  
Sir, quo the Master of the House, your Worship speaks like an Oracle, and I will undertake for all the Inhabitants of this iceland, that they shall punctually obey and observe your Commands, with Love and Respect. I am apt to believe it, replied Sancho, and they would be a company of Fools if they should do otherwise: and so give me leave to tell ye, 'tis my pleasure, you take care of me and my Grizzle, that we may have our Food in due season: that done, I hope we shall live merrily and happily together. In the mean time pray tell me when it will be proper for me to walk my Rounds, for I am resolved to purge the iceland of all Vagabonds and idle Persons. For you know, my good Friends, that your slothful, lazy Lusks and Street-walkers, are like your Drones among Bees, that waste and consume what the other had painfully gathered together. I am for protecting the industrious and the laborious among the meaner sort, and for preserving the privileges of the Nobility; but above all things to be tender of the public Religion, and careful that the zealous Ministers of the Church be not injured of their Rights. What say ye, my good Friends, do I say well or ill?  
You speak so piously, and so nobly, my Lord governor, replied the Steward, that I am altogether astonished, I profess, to hear that a man so illiterate, for I believe you never made it your business to study, should utter such uncontrollable Truths, and in every word a Sentence; And I dare say, far from what they who sent you hither, and they who are here present ever expected from your mean Capacity; which makes me believe Miracles are not yet ceased.  
The governor had no sooner supped with Puncinello's leave, but he prepared to walk his Round, and presently set forward, attended by the Steward, the Secretary, the Master of the House, the Register, who recorded all his Acts, several Halbardiers and others, enough to make a good Guard, while he himself marched in the middle with his Staff of Authority in his Hand. But hardly had they walked above two Streets before they heard the clashing of Swords, which made 'em hast'n to the noise. When they came to the place, they saw two men a fighting, who gave over, perceiving so much Company; at what time one of the two cried out, What a' God's Name, cannot a Man pass quietly along, but he must be robbed i' the middle of the Street? Hold Friend, come hither, quo Sancho, and let me know the occasion of this Quarrel, for I am now governor. An't please ye my Lord governor, I'll tell ye in two words. This Gentleman, my Lord, has been at play in a game Academy. hard by, and has won above fifty broad Pieces; I stood by all the while, and God knows how many false Casts I judged for him, quiter against my Conscience. At length when he had won all the Man's Money, he went away with his Winnings: and when I expected he would ha' given me a piece or two( as it is a Claim among us Bully-rocks from Gentlemen that win for wishing well o' their sides, and preventing the Box and Dice from flying about their Ears, as many times they do in such Places) nevertheless he took no notice of my Kindness, but like an ungrateful Hedghog as he was, went away without giving me a across. Thereupon I ran after him, and very civilly desired him to consider that I was his Friend, that he knew me to be a Gentleman, tho run to decay, and without employment, and therefore to give me two or three pieces to drink for his sake; but he was still at his old lock, not a Doit for all my Kindness. And now, my Lord, I'll refer it to your Lordship, whether this Mr. Pinch-penny have dealt by me like one that had ever been born with a Conscience? But y' faith, had not your Lordship come just i' the neck, I had torn it out of his Throat, and taught him to put the Dice upon a Man of Honour.  
What say you to this, cried Sancho, to the t'other? who made answer, that all that his Adversary had said was very true, only thus far, that he had proffered him four Crown-pieces and he would not take 'em; besides, that he was a Common Mumper at Ordinaries, and that he had frequently given him Money. And then again, said he, methinks my Lord that beggars should not be choosers, but be thankful for what is given 'em, without haggling with those that have won, unless they have been privy to the Cheat; now to show that I am no Topper nor Paumer, no Low or High-fullum Man, needs no other proof then my refusal to give him any thing; for your common Cheats are always tributary to these Bully-Rocks who know the Cheat and connive at it.  
That's very true, replied the Steward; and therefore what's your Excellencies Pleasure shall be done with these two Men? Why then, quo Sancho, I know nothing more to be done then this: You that are the winner, whether by fair or foul play, that's no matter, give your Adversary five Pieces, and Thirty more to the Poor Prisners: And you Mr. Bully-Rock, that have neither Office nor bnfice, nor any Employment, but go sharking up and down from Place to Place, take your five Pieces, and to morrow Morning depart this iceland, and come no more here in ten Years, unless you are weary of your Life before. For by the Life of Pharaoh, if I catch thee here again, I will hang thee up i' the Sun, were there no more Men Living, or the Hangman shall do it for me.  
Accordingly this Sentence was put in Execution, and then Sancho, continuing his discourse, either I'll want of my will, said he, or I'll sand all these Gaming-Ordinaries to the Devil; for it shall nere be said that ever I permitted any disorderly Houses while I was a governor. As for this same Academy, Sir, said the Register, it will be a hard matter to suppress it; for he is a Person of great Quality keeps it, tho it is certain he loses much more in a Year then he gets. But, an't like your Lordship, you may exercise your Authority over a number of other meaner Tippling Houses, that are open to all Comers and Goers, where there are a thousand Merchants and Citizens Prentices undone, and where numbers of Silk-Throwsters, joiners, Shoemakers and Journy-men Printers, sit carding and dicing all Night long, while their Wives and Children want Bread at Home, and at length are stripped to their Naked Skins themselves; for your Cheats and Bullies never dare to practise their Leigerdumain where Persons of Quality haunt, but in such Sinks of Iniquity as these. These are Disorders indeed, replied Sancho, that cry loud for Reformation; nor shall they scape our Consideration so soon as we have leisure.  
Immediately after this, a Watchman came hawling a Young Man along, and bringing him before the governor; My Lord, said he, this young Slip-string was coming this way, but perceiving it was the Round, the Rogue rubbed off, and fell a running as fast as his Legs could carry him; a certain sign of his being no better then he should be; which made me run after him, tho had he not fallen, I had never overtaken him. What made you run so fast, honest friend, quo Sancho. Sir, quo the young Man, because I had no mind to be catechized by the Constable— What Trade are ye, Sirrah? A Weaver— and what d' ye wove? Steel Heads for launces, an't like your Worship: Cuds niggers Daggers, quo Sancho, a very pleasant Strippling, I am very glad to find ye so merry. Pray whether are you Scaperloytring at this time a night? To take the Air, an't please ye— And where do they take the Air i' this iceland. Where it blows— Very well answered, quo Sancho, of a young Crackrope, a my word, I find you ha' been well bread. But now Mr. Nimble Chaps, suppose I should be the Wind that should blow i' your Tail, and sand ye to Bridewell? Here— Officer, take him and carry him away; he may chance to catch could by lying abroad all Night. Gad, Mr. governor, you can as soon make me a Duke as sand me to Bridewell. Why ye Insolent Varlet, is't not in my power to sand thee to Bridewell, and sand for thee out again, as I please myself? I' good faith, Sir, had ye a hundred times more authority then you have, you shan't make me sleep in Bridewell. How, quo Sancho! does the rascal mock me? Drag him away presently to the Jail, and let him see with his own Eyes whose Master he or I. You are pleased to make yourself Merry, replied young Graceless, for I defy all the Men i' the World to make me sleep this Night in Prison, tho they flay me alive. What art the Devil, quo Sancho, in a Passion, or hast thou any Familiar that will take off thy Irons and open the Prison Locks? Why look ye, Sir, worthy Mr. governor, let us talk reason and come to the point; suppose your Worship should sand me to Prison, lay me i' the Dungeon and load me with Irons, and set a Guard upon me besides; yet if I have a mind to keep myself waking all Night, 'tis not you nor all the Power you have can make me sleep. That's very true, quo the Secretary, an't like your Lordship, the young Fellow talks sense. However I hope it is not in opposition to my Will that you keep yourself awake, quo Sancho, but only as a Man may choose to sleep if he will himself. I never meant no otherwise an't like your Worship, quo the Boy. Why then prithee get thee home and sleep, and God sand thee good Rest, but have a care another time of sporting with Justice, for a my word you may meet with a Company of Peevish Cupshotten Constables that will not take half what I ha' done at your hands.  
By and by, by that time Sancho was got a little farther, came two more Watchmen bringing along with 'em another young Youth, very handsome and very well appareled. Sir, said one of the Watchmen, we have brought before ye here a dansel in disguise. Thereupon they viewed her by the light of their lanterns, and found her to be a young Virgin about sixteen years of Age. She had her Hair put up in a Net-work cawl of Gold and Green Silk, and appeared very amiable. They surveyed her from Head to Foot, and found her to be clad in Cap of Tissue upon a Green Ground, with a Coat of the same Stuff; under which she wore a Doublet of Cloth of Gold upon a White Ground: Her Breeches were of Carnation Silk; and her Garters of White Taffaty, fringed with Gold and Pearls; and her Shoes were of white Leather made like Mens: she had no Sword, but only a rich Dagger, and several Rings of value upon her Fingers. In a word, she seemed Lovely to all that beholded her, but there was no body that knew her. The Inhabitants of the iceland could not imagine who she was; and they that were Privy to all the Tricks that were to be put upon Sancho, were more confounded then any of the rest, as knowing nothing of this Adventure, and were therefore in great expectation of the Event. Sancho surprised at the Beauty. of the Virgin, upon whom he kept his Eyes fixed all the while, asked her who she was, whither she was going, and why she had put her self into such a Disguise? To whom the Virgin, fixing her Eyes upon the Ground with a modest Bashfulness, made answer, That the secret which concerned her was of great Importance, but that she was ashamed to discover it before so many People. Only, said she, I do assure your Lordship that I am no Bulker nor House-breaker, nor have any evil designs, but an unfortunate dansel, whom jealousy has constrained to break the Laws of Modesty and Maiden Decency. Which when the Steward heard, My Lord governor, quo he, to Sancho, command your Retinue to retire, to the end the Lady may more freely speak her Mind. Thereupon all the Company removed at a distance, except the Steward, the Master of the House; and the Secretary, at what time the dansel thus proceeded.  
I am the Daughter of Pedro Perez Mazorca, Farmer of the Customs of wool in this City, who frequently comes to my Fathers House. How! Madam, quo the Steward, you contradict yourself in every thing you say. I know senior Perez very well, and I am certain he has no Children at all. Besides, that after you had  told us you were his Daughter, you said with the same Breath, that he frequently came to your Fathers House, which is nonsense. I observed the very same mistake, quo Sancho. I beg your pardon, Gentlemen, I am so troubled in mind, that I know not what I say▪ But the Truth is, I am the Daughter of Diego de Lana, otherwise Mr. James Woollman, a Person known to all your Worships. I know senior Diego de Lana very well: I know him also to be a good Gentleman and very Rich, and that he has a Son and a Daughter. But since he happened to be a Widower, there is no Person in this City that can say they ever saw his Daughter, he keeps her so charily locked up; tho indeed the general Report is, that she is extremely Beautiful. You say very true, Sir, replied the dansel, I am that very Daughter of my Father; and whether Report have belied me or no, you are now the Judges who have seen me. And having so said, the Poor young Lady fell a weeping like a tipsy Nurse over Burnt Claret. Sancho condoled her the best he could, and desired her not to be afraid, but to discover her Misfortunes to her Friends, who would not be wanting in any thing that might procure her satisfaction.  
Then the dansel proceeding; It is now Ten years ago since my Mother died, and that my Father has kept me his Prisoner, not suffering me so much as to stir, tho hooded masked and scarf'd, to Morning Prayers. During which time I never saw any Man breathing but my Father, my Brother, and that Pedro whom I called Father, that I might conceal my true Parents Name. This same strict retirement, and severe Injunction upon me not to stir abroad, grieved me to the highest degree, and made me stark mad to see the World, or at least the Place of my Nativity, which I thought no unlawful desire. When I heard 'em talk of Masques, and Shows, and Plays, I asked my Brother, who was a year younger then myself, what they meant? who  told me as well as he could, and that set me agog to be gadding. In short, I desired my Brother, I wish to God I had never made him the Request— And here she began again to moisten her Cheeks, at that rate, that she drew Compassion from all that beholded her. Come, come, Madam, quo the Steward, there's no such harm done yet— pray go on, and rely for once upon the Governours Generosity. I have little more to say, replied the dansel, but I have great reason to bewail my Imprudence and Curiosity.  
The Master of the House who was smitten of a sudden with her Beauty, surveyed and viewed her, and looked upon her not with Eyes of indifferency, but with earnest wishes to Heaven, that the cause of her Grief might not prove to be so great as she seemed to testify by her Sighs and Tears. On the other side the governor was mad in his Mind, to find her hang so long upon her Story, and therefore desired her to make hast, and consider his time. Whereupon the Distressed dansel, with languishing utterance intermixed with Tears and Sighs, continuing her Relation, I desired my Brother, said she, to lend me his clothes, and that we might take a walk together about the City, while my Father was asleep. And such was my importunity, that my Brother lent me his clothes, and he took mine, which fit him to a Hair, so that you would take him for one of the prettiest Moppets about the Town. 'tis not above an Hour since we left the House, but after we had walked about and seen as much as we could, as we were returning home, we heard a great number of People trampling i' the Street; whereupon, said my Brother, This is certainly the Watch; follow me and let us make our escape as fast as we can, for if it should chance to be the Constable of Bow, he'll sand us to the Counter as sure as a Gun. Thereupon he fell a running so fast, that they cried out, stop Thief; I fell a running too, but alack a-day, I was so frighted that I fell down in the middle of my Flight. And at the same time the Watchman overtook me that brought me hither▪ to my shane and utter disgrace, among so many People. And has nothing else befallen ye but this, quo Sancho? If I mistake not, you talked at first of certain Jealousies that had constrained ye to break your Chains. Nothing else indeed, an't please your Worship, has befallen me but what I tell ye, quo the dansel, nor did I venture out with any other design then only to see the Streets of the City, which I had never seen before i' my Life. All which was afterwards confirmed by her Brother, whom the Watchmen brought as soon as they could overtake him. He was clad in Womans Apparel, a Simar, and over that a Blew Damask Mantle, with a Gold Fringe. However he had nothing about his Head, but his own Hair that hung down, Flaxen white and naturally curling: So that he appeared no less beautiful then his Sister had bespoke him.  
Thereupon the governor, the Steward, and the Master of the House took him aside, and after they had examined him apart, what he did in that disguise, he gave the same answer as his Sister had done, and with the same native Modesty and Simplicity; which infinitely satisfied the Master of the House, who was extremely concerned for the young dansel.  
All in good time, quo Sancho to the young Man and his Sister, Here's a little piece of Youthful Extravagance— what need all these Tears and bitter Lamentation to relate a Childish piece of Folly? Could not you have said we were such and such Persons, and that we have a mind to play the Night walkers for an Hour or two, not out of any Evil design, but only out of a frolic to satisfy a little Curiosity! alas, Sir, quo the young dansel, I was frighted an please your Worship; and in that Condition I was in, I thought 'twere the least I could do to cry as all Children cry when they think they shall be whipped. Go too, quo Sancho, there's no harm done, go along with us and we'll return ye to your Fathers House; perhaps you may not yet be missed. But the next time have a care of being so desirous to see Fashions; a young Virgin ought to have one Leg broken. A Hen and a Woman lose themselves by gadding; and that Woman that longs to see, longs also to be seen.  
The young Lad return'd the governor thanks for his Civility and his good advice; and so Don Sancho marching forward brought the two Night-walkers home; where the young Lad throwing a ston against the Window, was presently heard and let in by a Servant that stayed up on purpose. After which Don Sancho continued his Rounds, talking all the way he went of the Genteel Carriage of the Brother and the Sister, and the great desire those poor Children had to see Fashions i' the Night. In the mean time the Master of the House was so charmed with the Beauty of the young dansel, that he resolved to go the next day and demand her of her Father in Marriage, believing he could not have a denial, as being one of the Dukes Principal domestic Servants. On the other side Sancho had a design to treat with Don Diego for a Match between Sancha and the young Damsels Brother, believing no Husband could think himself too good for a Governours Daughter. But Sancho having thus gone his Rounds, and losing his Government within two days, all his Designs and Contrivances were overturned and came to nothing.   

CHAP. XVII.  
Who they were that whipped Madam Doroty and clawed Don Quixote; with the success of the page. that carried Sancho's Letter to his Wife.  
TO clear this Mystery, you must understand, that when Mrs. Doroty rose out of her Bed to visit Don Quixote, one of her Companions that lay next her, heard her make a bustle; and as all your Governantes are violently inquisitive, and eagerly desirous to pry into every thing, this same Mrs. busy-body followed her softly and close at her Heels, and seeing her enter into the Knights Apartment, according to the Custom of Governantes, that love to carry News, away she flew to tell the duchess that Mrs. Doroty was gone to Don Quixot's Chamber. Presently the duchess  told the Duke, and begged of him that she and her Woman Mrs. Riggle-tail might go and listen; for she was with Child to hear the issue of such a Night Visit. To that end they made hast you may be sure; and such was the spite which the Devil owed Mrs. Doroty, that she talked so loud that the duchess and Mrs. Riggle-tail heard every word they said: So that when Mrs. Doroty came to make that Fatal Discovery of the Dutchess's Issues, and Mrs. Riggle-tailes stinking Breath,' Slife, the Protector might as well have held in his Coach Horses, as ha' prevented the enraged Females from thundering open the Door, and revenging themselves as they did both upon Mrs. Doroty and her Champion. Where after they had satisfied their unruly Passions, away went the duchess to give the Duke an account of so memorable a Transaction, and after they had tired their Spleens with laughter at what was past, they were all for new Plots and Contrivances to make themselves merry with the Poor Adventurer.  
At the same time, a page. was dispatched away to Teresa Pancha, Sancho's Wife, with a Letter from her Husband and another from the duchess, and a Necklace of Coral, of which the duchess made the good-Woman a Present. To this purpose they made choice of the same lackey, as the Story says, that had acted Dulcinea in the enchanted Chariot. Who departed without delay with his Lesson by heart, for he was a well tutored page., a pickled Youth that could mark his Cards, and carried his own Dice in his Pocket.  
When he came near the Village, he asked certain Women that were washing at the Brook, whether they knew a Woman that lived in the Town, whose Name was Mrs. Teresa Pancha, Wife to one Sancho Pancha, Squire to a certain Knight called Don Quixote de la Mancha. The Lad had no sooner asked the Question, but a young girl that was rincing among the rest, looking up and staring the Boy i' the Face, Yes Sir, said she, Teresa Pancha is my Mother, and that same Gaffer Sancho is my Father, and the Knight you speak of is our Master. Very good, quo the page., prithee go along with me, my pretty Sweet-heart, and bring me to her, for I have a Letter and a Token here to deliver her from your Father. With that the Girl throwing aside her Clouts, and leaving her Shoes behind her for hast, run before the Pages Horse like a gipsy upon the Road, and ever and anon looking back, Come, Sir, quo she, come along, our house is hard by, and my Mother's at home, but full of Sorrow, God knows, to think what was become of my Father. Well— well—, quo the page., I bring those Tidings that will cheer her Heart, I warrant her. And now being come to the House, before she opened the Gate next the Common, Mother, Mother, cried the young Girl with a shrill Voice, come out Mother, here's a Mon has brought Letters and fine Things from my father. Presently Mistress Teresa came forth with her Reel and her Spindle in a read Petticoat so short, that it hardly reached to the Calves of her Legs, and her waistcoat hanging loose about her Hips, discovered her Smock that was none of the cleanest. Take her otherwise she was about forty, strong dockt, active, and of a good jolly Humour.  
What's the matter, Girl, quo she, to her Daughter, what Gentleman is that? An humble Servant of yours, Madam Teresa, quo the page.; and at the same time alighting and falling upon one Knee before Madam Teresa; Permit me the Honour to kiss your fair Hand, thrice honoured Lady, quo he, as the only legitimate Wife of my Lord D. Sancho Pancha, governor of the iceland of Barattaria. God's my life, what's all this for, quo Teresa? I beseech ye rise, Sir, I am no Lady, but a poor Country Dowdy, the Daughter of a Logg-cleaver, the Wife indeed of a Squire-Errant, but no governor, I beseech ye. Your Ladyship, replied the page., is the deserving Wife of a most worthy governor; and for Proof of what I say, pray Madam be pleased to red this Letter, and receive this Present. And at the same time he delivered her the Letter and the Coral-Bracelet, the Beads of which were set in Gold: Telling her withal, that the Letter was from his Honour the governor, but that the Present was from her Grace the Lady duchess.  
Never was Teresa so surprised, nor her Daughter so overjoyed. I'll lay my Virginity to a Harry Groat, quo the young Titmouse, my Master Don Quixote hath given my Father the iceland which I have heard him so much talk of. You say very true, pretty Miss, quo the page., for it is for the sake of my Lord Don Quixote that the honourable Don Sancho is now governor of Barattaria. red me the Letter then, I pray, young Gentleman; for tho che con spin, che cannot red Letters: By my Truly nor I neither, quo young Sancha. But I'll run and fetch our Curate, he con red I'm zure on't, and he'll be glad to hear the good News. 'tis no matter for troubling any body, quo the page.; for tho I can't spin, I can red and writ too, God be thanked. And so saying, he red the same that Sancho shew'd the duchess, which therefore we thought not fit to repeat any more. And having so done, he pulled out the Dutchess's Letter to Teresa, where he red as follows.  
Friend Teresa,  
YOur Husband Sancho's rare Endowments and his pregnant Wit obliged me to desire the Duke to bestow upon him a vacant Government of one of his Islands: Where I understand he so behaves himself, as if he had been a governor from his Cradle. For which I am as glad as if any man had given me forty good Shillings; and my Lord Duke is so pleased with his Choice, that he swears he'll not change him for all the Governours he has. For you must know, Teresa, 'tis a difficult thing to meet with a good governor in this World. I have sent thee, my dearest Delight, a Neck-lace of Coral; I could wish they were every one Oriental Pearls, for thy sake; but she that gives thee Fire, does not desire to see thee dead: The time will come when we shall be better acquainted. Commend me to little Sancha thy Daughter, and bid her not be too hasty, for I intend to mary her to a great Lord that I have i' my Eye, when she least dreams of it. They say you have in your Parts a rare sort of Acorns, pray sand me about two dozen; I shall take it kindly, and endeavour to requited your Civility. In the mean time let me hear from you every Week, and if you stand in need of any thing wherein I can serve ye, 'tis but ask and have. Your Friend that loves you dearly,  
The duchess.  
Heav'ns bless me, quo Teresa, what a good Lady's this! how humble and familiar she is? God sand me to be buried with such Ladies as these, and not with such Madam Squeamishes as we have in our Village; who, because they are Ladies, forsooth, think the Wind must not blow upon 'em; and come flaunting to Church i' their embroidered Petticoats, as if they were Queens. They think it scorn to look upon a poor Chair-woman, and yet here's my Lady duchess that calls me her Friend, and writes to me as if I were her Companion. May Heaven advance her Grace, and sand her to be as high as the highest Bell in Mancha Steeple. As for the Acorns she sends for, tell my Lady, I'll sand her half a Bushel, and pick 'em myself. And law now, Sancha, pull off the Gentleman's Boots, and take as much care of his Horse, as thou wouldst of thyself: Run to the Barn, and see for some Eggs; take down the Bacon, and get a good Fire; and let the young Gentleman eat like a Prince: Good News deserves good victuals at any time. I' the mean while I must among my Neighbours, I can't hold; 'tis in, and it must out. The Curate and the Barber are thy Father's Friends, and when I ha'  told 'em the News, my Heart will be at rest. I dare say, 'twill be twonty Pence to night in poor Mr. Nichlas's way. Ay, do Mother do, quo Sancha; but as she was going, stay Mother, quo she, shan't I have half of the Neck-lace? For I don't take my Lady duchess to be so ill bread as to sand it all to you. No, no, Chicken, 'tis all thine own; but let me wear it, and look like a Lady for two or three days, thou canst not think how it rejoices my Heart. You will rejoice more by and by, quo the page., when you see what I ha' got in my Portmantle, a new green suit which the governor wore a hunting but one day, and has here sent it his Daughter pretty Mistress Sancha. Now the Lord love my good Father, cried little Sancha, and the fine Gentleman that brought me the Present.  
Presently Teresa scuttl'd away with the Neck lace about her Neck, and the Letters in her Hand, and meeting the Curate and the Student Carrasco by chance, she fell a frisking and jogging her Tail like a Milk-maid upon a May-day. I' faith now the time's come, quo she, that no body shall twit us with our poor Kindred— for we have our share i' the World as well as other People— And now let the best Lady i' the Town fling up her Nose at me, and I'll fling up my Nose at her again— I'll make 'em know their distance— How now, Teresa, quo the Curate, has Midsummer Moon infected thy Noddle too? What Extasie's this? What Papers are those?— No, no, Mr. Curate, quo Teresa, the Case is altered, quo Plowden; these are the Governour's and the Dutchess's Letters; this is my Coral Neck-lace, and here's Mrs. Governess. Why these are all Riddles to us, quo the Student Carrasco. They will be easily unfolded by and by, quo Teresa; but first red these Letters. Thereupon the Curate having red the Epistles with an audible Voice, both Samson and he were more in a Mist then before. Carrasco asked her who brought the Letters? Come home and see, quo Teresa, the prettiest young Smock-face that ever you saw. The Curate took the Neck-lace in his Hand, viewed it, and viewed it three or four times over, and finding it was a thing of Value, his Imagination was quiter confounded. By the Habit I wear, quo the Curate, I cannot comprehend this Mystery— yet the Present is worth accepting— Nay, quo Carrasco, there's something in't you may be sure, and therefore lets go see the Messenger. Thereupon they went home with Teresa, where they found the page. sifting Oats for his Horse, and young Sancha slivering the Gammon to make a Bacon phrase. They liked the Page's Aspect and his Habit, so that after the usual compliments, Carrasco asked him what was become of Don Quixote and Sancho? telling him withal, That they could make neither Head nor Tail of the Letters they had red; nor could they imagine how Sancho should come by a Government, especially of an iceland, well knowing that all the Islands thereabouts were the Kings. Gentlemen, replied the page., there's nothing so true as that my Lord Sancho is a governor, but whether of an iceland, or a By-land, or a Dry-land, I cannot be so particular as to inform' em. But this I am sure of, he lords it over a City that has above a thousand good Scot and Lot Men in it. And as for the Dutchess's sending to a Country Gentlewoman for a few Acorns, that's no such Wonder; I have seen her borrow a Comb of one of her Neighbours. For you must know, our Country Ladies never stand upon their Formalities and Punctilio's, like your City Dames, but as their Garb is plain, so is their Conversation easy and familiar.  
While they were thus discoursing little Sancha came with her Eggs in her Petticoat, and at the same time turning to the page., Pray Sir, quo she, does my Father truss up his Breeches with Hooks and Eyes now he's a governor? I never observed it, quo the page., but no question, little Mistress, 'tis just as you say— Good God! quo Sancha, what would I give to see my Father all of a piece, with his Breeches and Doublet tite about his Waste— I have always begged it in my Prayers, ever since I was an Infant. Never fear it, quo the page., you will have him here shortly; and if his Government holds but two Months, you will see him ride in his Glass Sedan.  
The Curate and the Student plainly perceived that the page. did but laugh at the Mother and the Daughter; yet for all that, they could not tell what to think of the Neck-lace and the Hunting-Sute, which by this time they had well considered. And tho the Daughter had made 'em smile at her Simplicity already, the Mother made 'em ten times merrier; who after she had fetched a frisk about the Room, quo she to the Curate, Pray inquire whether any of our Neighbours are going to the City— I'de have 'em to buy me a Manteau Gown i' the fashion— for I intend to honour my Husband's Government; and then I'll go to Court and ride i' my Coach, as all Governours Wives do, 'tis a silly Government won't maintain a Coach— O law Mother, quo Sancha, I would to God 'twere to night before to morrow— Perhaps they would cry when they saw me sitting by my Lady Mother— Hoy-day! whose here? Marry-gap! What! the Hog-driver's Daughter! how she flaunts it, and taunts it like a little Pope Joan! But what would I care; let 'em jeer and flout on, so I ride at my ease— Don't I speak reason, Mother? Yes by my Truly, Chicken, replied Teresa: besides thy Father has often  told me, we should one day see better times, and that Fortune would never forsake me till she had made me a Countess: And now 'tis a coming to come. But there must be a beginning of all things, as thy Father was wont to say, who knows more Proverbs then a Doctor. When they give thee a Cow, run and fetch a Halter; when they give thee a Government, take it; when they proffer thee an Earldom, embrace it. That which is good to give, is good to take. Cry Sus, Sus, and the Dog never refuses to lap. When Fortune knocks be sure to open the Door. Let 'em talk on and cry, the Hare has picked up her crumbs, I knew when her Belly was lanker. Ay, ay, Mother, let 'em jeer on a God's Name, provided my Belly be full; the old Woman that saw the Monkeys in good clothes, took 'em for the Gentleman's Children.  
In truth, quo the Curate, hearing the Mother and the Daughter talk at that rate, I think the whole Race of the Pancha's came into the World with their Guts stuffed with Proverbs; I never knew one of the Name, but threw out a dozen at a time. I think so too, quo the page., for the governor thunders 'em out by hook or by crook, nor is there any Man that makes the Duke and the duchess more merry. But Sir, quo Carrasco to the page., pray tell us seriously, for our Understandings are so entangled, that we can find no way to untie the Knot; and therefore I say, pray tell us seriously what's the meaning of this Government Sancho has got, and who this duchess should be that sends these gay Presents and Letters to a poor Corn-weeder; for we cannot otherwise but look upon 'em as the strange Effects of some Enchantment that has happened to Don Quixote. For my part, Gentlemen, replied the page., I can say no more, but that I was seriously, and in good earnest sent with these Letters and Presents hither: That my Lord Sancho Pancha is actually a governor, where he does Wonders; and that my Lord Duke bestowed the Government upon him. If there be any Enchantment in it, do you examine that: this is all I have to say. All this may be, replied Carrasco, but you will give me leave to say, St. Austin may doubt. For that you may do as you please, replied the page., you are Master of your own Thoughts. But I tell ye the truth: Don't think I swim upon a lie, like Oil upon Water— Operibus credite, non verbis— go along with me, and you shall see with your Eyes what your Ears will not believe.  
Who I! quo Sancha, with all my Heart, take me but up behind ye, Sir— I long to see my Father. No, Madam, Governours Daughters must not travail alone, but in their Coaches, or their Litters, and then well attended too. Law ye now, Sir, quo Sancha, I can ride a Horse-back as well as in a Coach— I am none o' your tender Dillings, not I by my Truly. Peace, Girl, peace, quo Teresa to her Daughter, thou dost not know what thou sayst, the Gentlemon is i' the right. There are Times and Times; when 'twas plain Sancho, 'twas plain Sancha; but now he's a governor 'tis Madam Sancha, remember thyself. Madam Teresa speaks truth, replied the page.. But now, said he, give me a Mouth-ful to eat, that I may be gone; for I hope to be back this Evening, Presently the Curate invited him to a short Commons at his House; for that Madam Teresa was more willing then able to provide for a Person of his Quality. To which the page. consented, as believing it would be much for the better; nor was the person less glad of his Company, in hopes to understand the whole Truth concerning Sancho and Don Quixote. Carrasco proffered Teresa to writ her Answer, but she knowing him to be a Droll, would not permit him to be of her counsel sell. And so she gave a Penny white-Loaf and two Eggs to a young Querister to be her Secretary, who wrote her two Letters, one to the duchess, the other to Sancho, perhaps not the worst Pieces in this long History.   

CHAP. XVI.  
Containing the Continuation of Sancho's Government.  
THE Master of the House, as we said before, was so deeply in love with Diego de Lana's Daughter, that he could take no rest all that Night, his Thoughts were so taken up in musing and pondering on the bewitching Beauty of that young Lady. On the other side, the Steward spent his time in writing to the Duke D. Sancho's admirable Sentences, and wonderful Actions, of which he admired the strange and unexpected intermixture. In the Morning the governor rose, and by that time he was ready, they brought him, by Dr. Puncinello's Order, a small Plate of Preserves, and a Glass of fair Water, which he would have exchanged with all his Heart for a cut round a Peck-brown-Loaf, and half a Frail of blew Reasons. However, being obliged to Hobson's Choice, he seemed to be content. The Doctor  told him, 'twas highly expedient for those that were in great Employments to eat but little, and that which was dainty, and easy of Digestion; for that such a sort of Diet only revived the Spirits and quickened the Wit. Arguments that only served to famish Sancho, who as hungry as a Kite, and cursed in his Heart both the Government and him that had given it him. However, he failed not to give Audience that day; and the first that came was a Stranger, who proposed this Question.  
Sir, said he, not far off there is a great River which parts the Lands of the same Lord. I beg your Honour to hear me with Attention, for 'tis a matter of great weight and difficulty. Upon this River there is a Bridge, at one end of which there stands a Gibbet, and not far from thence a little House, where four Judges are appointed to sit for the Execution of a certain Law, which is peculiar to the Lord of the Soil, and runs thus:  
He that intends to pass this Bridge from one end to the other, must upon his Oath declare from whence he came, and whither he goes. If he swear truth, he shall pass freely without Interruption; but if he swear false, he shall be hanged forthwith, without mercy upon this Gibbet.  
Now this Law being known over all the Kingdom, whoever they are that pass this Bridge, they are examined, and if they swear true, there's nothing more said to' em. It happened one day that a certain Passenger after he had taken his Oath, upon his Examination made answer, That he partend from such a place, and that he was come to die upon that Gallows. Thereupon the Judges laying their Heads together, quo they, if we let this Man pass, he swears a false Oath, and according to the Law he must die; if we hang him, he swears Truth, and then by the same Law we must let him pass. Now I humbly beg your Opinion, my Lord, what the Judges ought to do with this Man i' this Case? For they are at a Non-plus at present, not knowing what to determine; but understanding by common famed your great Abilities in resolving difficult Questions, they sent me hither to crave your judgement in such a knotty Point.  
To tell you truth, replied Sancho, the Judges that sent you hither, might as well have spared you the Labour: For I am not so cunning as they take me to be; many times a Man that outwardly seems a Man, may be a Beast withinside. However let me hear your Question once more, and I'll endeavour to understand it, perhaps I may at length hit the Nail i' the Head. Thereupon the Stranger propounded the Question again. To whom, when he had done, Sancho having paws'd a while, This Question in my opinion may be easily answered in two Words, as thus: You say, the Man swore he came to die upon the Gibbet: If he dyes, he swears true, now if he swears true, the Law must let him pass; and if they do not hang him, he swears false, and therefore he ought to be hanged: is this true? You take it right, my Lord, replied the Stranger. Why then, quo Sancho, let 'em pass that part of the Man that swore true, and hang the other part of the Man that swore false; and so the Law will be fully satisfied.  
But then my Lord, quo the Sranger, the Man must be divided into two halves; which not being to be done without killing him, the Question remains still undecided.  
Hark ye me, Sir, replied Sancho, This same Stranger you talk of, either I am a Faggot Stick, or there is as much reason to discharge him as to put him to death; for if the lie condemn him, the Truth saves him; and therefore I would have ye tell the Judges, that sent ye, sincee there is as much reason to absolve as to condemn him, that they let him go. For where the balance is even between Mercy and Rigour, the mildred judge is to be preferred before the severe and cruel. And this is that which I would give ye under my Hand, if I knew how to writ: Nor do I speak this of my own Head, but I remember it as being a particular Precept, which my Lord Don Quixote gave me among others, the night before I came to govern this iceland; and this occasion has brought it to my Remembrance. Sir, said the Steward, your Sentence is so just and equitable, that Lycurgus himself, who gave Laws to the Lacedemonians, could never have given a better then the great Sancho Pancha has done. And now, Sir, I think you have sate long enough for this Morning; be pleased to Adjourn the Court, while I go and look after Dinner. That's well said, quo Sancho; feed me well, and let 'em ask me as many Questions as a Horse will carry; if I don't snuff 'em as bright as a Candle, I'me a Ragamuffin. Nor was the Steward worse then his word, as one that made a Conscience of famishing so worthy a governor, and such a perspicatious judge; besides that he had a desire the next night to conclude the last Act, which he had prepared for Sancho, by the Dukes Instructions.  
And now had Sancho dined to his full Content, in spite of all the Aphorisms of Doctor Ditto in Pomerania, when a courier entering the Hall, delivered him a Letter from Don Quixote. Which when the Secretary by Sancho's order had red to himself, he  told his Master, that it might not only be publicly red, but that it deserved to be engraved in Letters of Gold; and then proceeded to red as follows.  
Don Quixote de la Mancha to Sancho Pancha governor of the iceland of Barattaria.  
WHen I was afraid to have news of thy Negligence and Fooleries, all the Country rings of thy Prudence and Diligence; for which I return Thanks to Heaven. However because I know there are some relics of thy former Meanness that hang about thee, I would have thee know how to raise thyself above the Vulgar, for the better support of thy Authority. Let thy Apparel be clean, fashionable and neat, not laid with Laces and Embroideries like a Courtier, but grave and decent like a judge. Gain the Hearts of thy People by dealing uprightly with all the World; and be sure to preserve Plenty in thy iceland. For nothing hurries the Mobile sooner to Tumult and revolt, then scarcity and Poverty.  
Never make many new Laws; but see that such as are wholesome and good be exactly observed: For Laws that are not obeyed are no Laws; but like the Log that was given to rule the Frogs, which they feared at first, but scorned and contem'd when they perceived it without force or courage.  
Reward virtue and punish 'vice; Visit the Prisons, the Shambles and the public Markets. For there particularly the Eye of a governor is necessary to prevent Extortion, and regulate the Enormities of Weights and Measures, and the general Dishonesty of Traders. And let thy Exemplary punishments render thee formidable to all deceitful and fraudulent Dealers.  
Avoid what thou wert alway naturally inclined to; Covetousness, Ambition, and irregular Love of Women: For snares will then be certainly laid for thee, and thy Passion will be thy Ruin.  
red over and over Morning and Night the Admonitions which I gave thee in writing; of which thou wilt find the Benefit upon all difficult occasions. writ to thy Masters, and lose no opportunity of making thy acknowledgements; for Ingratitude is the worst of all Vices.  
Some Persons that pared not their Nails were very sharp upon my Nose and my Cheeks within these few nights; but I am now pretty well recovered again: For tho there are some Necromancers that hate me, I have others that are my Friends. sand me word whether thou thinkest the Steward were he that acted Madam Three-Skirts, as thou wert once of Opinion. For I am engaged in a Business, which I am afraid will cause me to Break with the Duke. 'tis true I owe him much for his Civilities, but I owe more to my Profession, Amicus Plato, said magis Amica veritas. I sent thee this same scrap of Latin in hopes thou mayst have in some measure learnt the Language since thou camest to be a governor. So Heaven defend thee from all Misfortunes.  
Thy Friend Don Quixote de la Mancha, Knight of the lions.  
This Letter was highly applauded, both for sense and Integrity, while every body that heard it, judged Don Quixote to be an honest worthy well meaning Gentleman. And such was Sancho's Zeal to answer it, that rising from his Chair, he went and locked himself up in his Chamber with his Secretary, whom he ordered to writ as follows, without adding or diminishing.  
MY Employment finds me so much business, that I have no time so much as either to scratch my Head or pair my Nails; which is the reason they are now so long that I could scratch my Grannam out of her Grave. I tell you this, that you may know the reason why I have not wrote to ye all this while, to let you understand how things go.  
The Duke sent to me two days since, to inform me of certain Spies that were come disguised into the iceland to kill me. But as yet they have done me no harm that I know of. Only here's a damned Hell hound of a Doctor, hired as he says by the Islanders, and I think so too, to kill all the Governours that ever come near it. They call him Dr. Pedro Puncinello of Ditto in Pomerania; and I tell ye his Name that you may be sure never to give him a Fee. This Doctor says himself, he can never cure those that are sick already, only 'tis his business to prevent Diseases; and the physic he prescribes is a diet, or rather no diet, that in time will leave a Man no Flesh upon his Bones, as if want of Flesh were not as bad as a Fever. For my part I am almost starved to death, and it makes me mad, that when I thought as a governor to eat roasted Larks by the Bushel, to drink brisk Wine by the Gallon, and recreate my Bones between Holland Sheets and upon Down Pillows, I should be constrained to do Penance like a hermit; which because I do against my will, I am afraid the Devil will take his Opportunity, and carry me a Skeleton to Hell.  
I have as yet not so much as fingered either Salary or Duties, and I cannot imagine the meaning of it; for I was  told that the Inhabitants were wont either to give or lend their Governours Money before they entered into the iceland.  
Last night going my Rounds I met with a delicate young Miskin i'faith, in Boys Apparel, and her Brother in Womans Habit. My Landlord presently fell in Love with the girl, and they say intends to be at her; For my part I design the Boy for my Son in Law. This day my Landlord and I are to discourse the Father, one Diego de Lana, a Gentleman and a notable old Toper I warrant him.  
I visited the Markets according to your advice, and yesterday— stay— Yes, 'twas yesterday— I met with an old Woman selling a Nuts— She pretended to sell new Filberds, but I found she had mixed a whole Bushel of old Nuts among 'em— presently I confiscated all her Ware, and sent 'em to the Blewcoat-Boys to mend their Voices, and forbid the Woman to appear i' the Market in fifteen days; and they said I did well. To tell ye truth, I never met with such a Rascally saucy Foulmouth'd Generation of People then these Market-folks— they make nothing to call Gentlewomen Whores that will not give 'em their price— but I sent some of 'em to the Whipping-Post for their Civility.  
I am glad my Lady duchess has writ to Teresa, and sent her the Present you mean: By the Grace a' God I'll endeavour to requited her kindness when my leisure serves me. Present my Service to her, and tell her she has not strewed her Favours upon the Water.  
I wish you had no occasion to fall out with the Duke, for if you two quarrel, 'tis I shall come by the worst on't. Nor do you follow the Precepts you give others, in showing yourself ingrateful to those who have been so kind to you.  
As for these Pharisee's with long Nails, I can say little to't, only I find you are still haunted after the old rate. I would ha' sent you a Token, but I could not tell what to imagine worth your acceptance, unless it were half a dozen Glister-Pipes, which they have the Art of making here to a Miracle, with the Bladders belonging to 'em, and which they are very curious at setting on i' this iceland. But if I stay, I'll endeavour to sand ye a new Knife and Fork. If Teresa writes me an Answer, pray pay the Carrier, and sand me the Letter as soon as you can; for I long to hear how she does. Heaven preserve you from the Malice of Enchanters, and sand me safe and sound out of this Government, which I am much afraid of, as Doctor Ditto diets me.  
Your Worships most humble Servant Sancho Pancha governor. From my iceland the same day that I wrote.  
The Letter being thus written, the Secretary sealed it, and dispatched away the courier. In the mean time they that played the Dukes Game resolved to put an end to Sancho's Government. But he that meant no harm was studying new Laws for the Regulation of abuses in his iceland. To which purpose he suppressed all the public Taverns; however he would not stop the Importation of Wine from any Part whatever, provided they  told him whence it came, to the end it might be ranted according to its Goodness, ordering withal, that they who should mix Water with their Wine, or any other way adulterate it, or sell it in Flasks or small Bottles, should suffer death as common Cheats and poys'ners of human Bodies. He brought down the Price of Shoes, which to him seemed excessive. He set a rate upon Servants Wages; deeming it unsufferable that Maid Servants should ask so much and do so little as now adays they did, and be at no command neither: And he also forbid Kitchen-wenches to wear Silk Gowns and Petticoats. He laid great Penalties upon Lampooners and Ballad-singers, and forbid the carrying about of all Penny Divinity Books, and all Vagabonds the reading of Godly Exhortations through the Nose i' the Streets. He also made a Peculiar Officer or Beadle to clear the City of those shoals of Raw-Heads and Bloody-Bones, that pestered the Streets with their sore Legs and mangy skulls, and hung about Church Doors like Bees to suck the Honey of Peoples ignorant and irregular Charity, believing nothing more ignominious to a well Regulated Common-wealth, then the sufferance of such swarms of idle and lazy Vagabonds, that endured more hardship to be Idle, then they that took pains for their Living. And upon complaint of some that cursed because they missed an Alms, or were rebuked, he ordered 'em forthwith to the Whipping-Post. With several other wholesome Constitutions, which are observed to this day, under the Title of The Constitutions of the Great and Prudent governor Sancho Pancha.   

CHAP. XIX.  
The Adventure of the Second Madam Sorrowful, otherwise Mistress Doroty.  
CId Hamet relates, that Don Quixote being cured of his Nail-marks, and growing weary of the lazy Life which he lead in the Castle, so contrary to the Orders of his Profession, determined to take leave of the Duke and depart for Saragosa, where he thought to purchase Immortal honour at the approaching Festivals. But as he was sitting at Table with the Duke, with a resolution to reveal his Intention, a new Accident entangled, and for a time delayed his laudable Purposes. For just as he was ushering in his design with a graceful and studied compliment, behold two Women entered the Room, clad in Mourning from Head to Foot. At what time, one of the two, throwing her self at Don Quixote's Feet, and kissing his Shoes, fetched such profound and doleful Sighs, as if she would have breathed out her Soul at the Champions Toes. All the Company were astonished at the Spectacle; and tho the Duke and the duchess imagined it to be some new Project upon D. Quixote, yet there appeared a sorrow so natural and unfeigned in the Women, that he knew not what to think; till Don Quixote raising her from the Ground, and with much Importunity having prevailed with her to lift up her veil, she discovered a Countenance all overflown with Tears, and what they least suspected, exposed to view all the Lineaments of Mrs. Doroties Face, Mother of the Maids to the duchess, and found her to be the same. And at the same time they likewise perceived, that the young Lady that attended her was her Daughter, that had been so lately bauk'd by the Farmers Son. A Spectacle so unlooked for redoubled the Astonishment of all the Company, especially of the Duke and duchess; for tho they hnew her to be as silly as Simplicity itself could make her, a kind of an Image of Rye-dough, yet they never took her to be a mad Woman. But at length Mrs. Doroty addressing her self to the Duke and the duchess, after she had dropped 'em a Midwifes Curchie, I beseech your Excellencies, quo she, permit me to discourse this Knight a few Minutes, who is the only Person that can help me out at a dead Lift, dishonoured as I am by the treacherous Insolence of a debaush'd young Country Bumkin. Good leave have ye, quo the Duke, and I make no doubt but my Lord Don Quixote's Ears are open to your Complaint. Then Mrs. Doroty, turning to Don Quixote,  
Some few days ago, quo she, Most Valiant Champion, I gave your Worship an account how basely and perfidiously an ungracious Villain of a Farmers Son had used my Daughter, this unfortunate Virgin which here you see before your Eyes, and then you promised to undertake my Quarrel, and revenge the Injury done me. But this day I understand you are about to leave this Castle in search of new Adventures, which I beseech Heaven may redound to your Everlasting honour. Nevertheless I have one Boon to beg of your Worship, that before you go, you would be pleased to challenge this Lourdain of a Clown, and compel him to mary my Daughter according to his Promise, before she vouchsafe d him her last Favours. For as for my Lord Duke, I can expect no justice from him for the Reasons I have already  told ye. And this performed, the Prosperity of Heaven attend ye the Remainder of your days.  
Dry up your Tears dear Lady, quo Don Quixote, and make a Truce with your Sighs. I am bound to do your Daughter Reason, tho doubtless she had done much better, had she not given such unwary Credit to the Protestations of Lovers, who are lavish of their Vows, but rarely keep their words. But in short, the Jobb's done; and now the Matter is, how to solder up the Crack again. To which purpose I promise ye, with my Lord Duke's permission, to find out this young Hedgbird: Nay, I will find him out if he be above ground, I will challenge him, and give ye a satisfactory account of your business. And if he be so audacious as not to stand to his Bargain, I will deliver him into your hands to dismember him, if you please. For the chief end of my Profession is to pardon the submissive, and chastise the stubborn. There will be no such need, Sir Knight, replied the Duke, for you to run after this same Country Lad, so dreadfully complained of by this Lady; for I will undertake myself, he shall accept your Challenge, and come here in Person to answer it; and I'll secure ye besides, a fair Stage, observing the Laws, and Conditions customary upon such Occasions; and doing Justice to both Sides, as Princes are obliged to do, that admit of single Combats within their Territories. Upon this Assurance which your Highness gives me, replied Don Quixote, I renounce all my Punctilio's of Gentility and Knight-Errantry, and condescend to equal myself with my Antagonist: I yield myself to be as mean as he, and him to be as noble as myself, that he may be qualified to measure launces with me. And so, let him be absent or present, I defy him as a traitor, that has abused this Poor Lady, and robbed her of her Honour, or else to die in her defence. And at the same time, pulling off his Glove, he flung it into the middle of the Room; which the Duke immediately took up, declaring that he accepted the Challenge in the name of his Vassal, and assigned the day for Combat to be the Sixth ensuing, and the place to be the Castle Court, with Lance, Buckler and armor of proof, according to the Custom of Knights, without Fraud or Treachery, or Enchantments, after search made by the Judges of the Field. On the other side, quo the Duke, this Lady and her distressed Daughter must deposit the Justice of their Quarrel in the hands of their Champion, Don Quixote de la Mancha, for otherwise the Challenge is ipso facto, voided in Law. That I do withal my Soul, cried Mrs. Doroty, and so do I, quo the Daughter, weeping and holding her Fingers before her Eyes, like a ravished Maid giving Evidence at the Bar. All things thus concluded upon, the duchess ordered that the Mother and the Daughter should no longer be looked upon as her domestic Servants, but as Lady-Errants, that came to demand Justice in her Castle. To which purpose there was a peculiar Apartment appointed for 'em, where they were served and attended as Strangers, to the Amazement of all that understood not the Mystery of Mistress Doroties rashness and indiscretion.  
Toward the conclusion of Dinner, as it were for the last Course, in came the page. that had carried the Present to the Governours Wife. You may be sure the Duke was eager to know the Success of his Journey; to whom the page. made answer, that he had many things to tell his Grace, but in regard they were such as required Secrecy, he desired that he might deliver his Relation in private. Thereupon the Duke having ordered the greatest part of his Attendants to withdraw, the page. presented the duchess with two Letters; the one directed to her self, and the other to Sancho, with this Superscription.  For my Husband Sancho Pancha, governor of the iceland of Barattaria, whose Life God prolong. 
The duchess had not patience to stay a Moment, but presently opened her own Epistle, and finding there was nothing of secrecy in it, she red it thus aloud.  
Teresa Pancha's Letter to the duchess.  
Madam,  
THE Letter which your Greatness sent me, was like a Cordial to my Heart, and i' good feth law, you could not have better pleased me. The Necklace is a wonderful pretty Thing, and the Green Hunting svit was as welcome to me as my Wedding Smock. Our Village have rung the Bells for joy, that you made my Husband a governor, and some of 'em were tipsy last night with drinking your Health; more especially our Curate, Mr. Nicholas the Barber, and the young Schollard Carrasco. They would not believe it a good while, but what care I whether they believe it or no, as long as I am sure on't. Truly I would not ha' believed it neither but for the Necklace and the Hunting svit. For all our Neighbours take my Husband for an Honest Man; yet they wonder that a Man who never governed any thing but Goats and Sheep, should be able to Govern Cities. But they whom God assists, are well aided. I must tell ye dear Madam, that I intend within these few days to go to Court i' my Coach, tho it be but to spite some of our Twittering Ladies. And therefore I desire ye to bid my Husband sand me good store of Money; for the Court's a chargeable Place; where a Loaf of Bread costs Sixpence, and a little Dish of Meat, as they dress it, comes to a Crown; therefore let him sand to me quickly, for my Tail itches to be jogging. Besides, that my Neighbours tell me if I carry myself and my Daughter to Court, hoity toity alamode in a Lacker Coach, I shall be known by my Husband, and my Husband by me; while the People cry what Ladies are those, and my Coachman makes answer, The governor of Barattaria, Sancho Pancha's Wife and Daughter. And thus shall my Husband be known, and I shall be honoured by every Body as far as Rome itself.  
You cannot think how I am troubled that our People have gathered no Acorns as yet; but I will sand you half a Bushel of my own which I picked up i' the Woods myself: nor is it my fault if they be not as big as turkey Egs.  
Pray do not forget your Promise of writing to me, which I shall be sure to retaliate with an Answer, and to sand you all the news in our Village. My Son Sancho, and Sancha my Daughter, present their humble Service to your Greatness.  
She that more desires your acquaintance then to writ to ye, Your Affectionate Servant Teresa Pancha, The governor Sancho's Wife.  
This Letter was very acceptable to all that heard it: But the Dutchesses Curiosity was not yet satisfied, and therefore having obtained Don Quixote's permission to open the Letter directed to Sancho, she could not forbear reading it as follows.  
DEar Honey Sancho,  
I received thy Letter, and I vow and protest to thee upon the Faith of a catholic Christian, that I was within two Fingers breadth of running mad for joy. I was so transported, my Chuck, to hear thou wert made a governor, that I thought I should ha' given the Crow a Pudding. For thou knowst, my dear Chuck, that sometimes sudden Joy as well as violent Sorrow kills. And as for thy Daughter Sancha, she was so ravished with delight, that she went Figet, Figet, about the House as if her Tail had been stung with Cowitch. I saw the svit before my Eyes, had the Dutchesses Necklace about my Neck, held the Letters i' my hands, and talked with the Messenger, and yet I thought myself in a Dream. For who could ha' thought that a Goat-keeper should ever have been governor of Barattaria? But what said thy old Grandmother, and she was a wise Woman, God rest her Soul, Little knows the Wife that sits by the Fire, how the Wind blows in Hurly Burly swire. I speak this because I hope to see thee one day a Farmer of the Customs or the Excise; for tho they be Offices that sand many to the Devil, yet they bring Grice to the Mill. My Lady duchess will tell thee, that I have a desire to go to Court; pray sand me word whether thou thinkest it proper or no; for I intend to go i' my Coach, because I would not dishonour thee. The Curate, the Barber, nor the scholar, nay the very Sexton neither will believe thou art a governor, but say 'tis some of thy Masters Dreams or one of his frantic Enchantments; and the scholar threatens to come and tear the Government from thy Shoulders, and cut thy Master of the Simples. For my part I laugh at 'em, when I look upon my Necklace, and the svit which I am about to fit for thy Daughter. I am to sand my Lady duchess some Acorns, and I wish they were of Gold; do thou sand me some Pearl, enough to make another Necklace, if there be any grow i' thy iceland.  
The news here is that Gaffer Barrueca has married his Daughter to a Sign-Post-Painter, who came to our Town to paint all he met with. The Churchwardens have ordered him to paint the King s Arms over their Pew in our Church, for which they offered him an Angel in yellow Gold. He was eight days about it, but could make nothing of it; since that, he has taken a Spade upon his Shoulders, and goes a digging i' the turnip Gardens. Peter Lobo the Crier of Carrots is turned Priest and wears a Cassock; but young Minsa the Chandlers Daughter sues him in the Arches upon a promise of Marriage; they say she is with Child by him; but she stiffly denies it. T'other day there marched a Company of Soldiers through this Village; however they staid long enough to pick up three of our Town girls, and carried 'em away along with' em. I dare not name the girls, because it may be, they may return when the Soldiers ha' done with' em. We have had few Olives this Year, neither is there any Vinegar to be got for Love or Money. Sancha makes Cabbidg-Nets, and gets her Sixpence a day, which she lays up for her Portion, only a little she spends in apple and Ginger-bread; but now she's a Governours Daughter she intends to go to the Dancing-School. Yesterday a violent clap of Thunder broken down the Gallows, I wish it had stood a little longer for some bodies sake. I expect thy Answer about my going to Court. So God sand thee a long Life and a merry; and the same I wish to myself; for I would not willingly leave thee behind me.  
Thy Wife Teresa Pancha.  
These Letters were a pleasant Divertisement, solemnized and admired by the Duke and all the rest of the Company. And to complete their Mirth, at the same time the courier entered, that brought Sancho's Letter to Don Quixote, which was red publicly, and indeed startled all the Hearers who took the governor for a Fool. To whom we are now to return, as being the flower and mirror of all Mankind that ever governed Islands.    

THE FOURTH BOOK Of the Ingenious KNIGHT Don Quixote DE LA MANCHA. PART II.  

CHAP. I.  
Containing the toilsome Conclusion of Sancho Pancha's Government.  
THere is nothing certain in this World, cried Cid Hamet, the Mahometan Philosopher: The Seasons devour one another; Time passes away; Day swallows Night; and Night the Day; yet all things in their order still appear again: Only the Life of man runs headlong to its end, and labours under short Vicissitudes, not able to call any thing his own, nor Master of his present Enjoyments. But this same Moral Reflection of our Author is not here to be supposed as meant by him in its full and universal extent, it being plain, that he intended it only to show the Instability of Sancho's Fortune, cropp'd in the Bud of his Preferment, and thrown from the Pinnacle of his Honour to the mean degree from whence he rose, ere he had time to look about him; so that his Government so happily begun, seemed only to be a Dream; and that he waked out of his Sleep when he return'd to his former Condition.  
For it was now but the seventh Night of his Rule, when the careful governor had betaken himself, tho late, to his Rest, with his Belly more full of dispatch of Business then victuals, either sumptuous or homely; and more tired with labouring the Reformation of Abuses, and studying the good of the People under his Care, then with the nocturnal Toils of drinking and game. And now he thought to have refreshed his animal Spirits with Sleep, and was beginning to close his Eyes, when of a sudden he heard most dreadful Out-cries, the Bells rung backward, and the confused noises of Tmuult and Uproar at once invaded his Ears, as if his iceland had been sinking to the bottom of the Ocean. Presently he started upon his Breech, and listened like a Hare in her Form, as attentive as an old Woman at a Lecture, and full of Meditation how far this Hurly Burly might concern him. But while he was thus musing, without the Gift of Divination, the Drums and Trumpets gave a fresh Alarum; and what with the Bawling and Cries of the People i' the Street, what with the hideous Jangling of the Bells, there was such a Doom's day Clutter, that the Bolts of Sancho's back side were ready to fly open. Up he leaped out of his Bed, and opening the Chamber-door in his Shirt, he saw above twenty of his Subjects making with all speed toward him through a long Gallery, with their Flambeaus lighted in one Hand, and their Swords glittering in the other, crying out, Arm, arm, my Lord governor, the Enemy is already i' the iceland, and we are all undone and lost for ever, unless assisted by your Valour and Prudence. In this panic Consternation approaching the governor, one cried out, Arm, for Heavens sake, arm, Sir, or certain Bondage attends both you and all your Subjects.  
What would ye have Me arm for, quo Sancho, who know nothing what belongs to Arms?— If your danger be so great, sand for Don Quixote my Master, he'll dispatch your Enemies in the twinkling of an Eye. For as I'm a Sinner to Heaven, I understand not what belongs to these things. Oh, my Lord governor! what a cowardly Excuse is this? Arm, Sir, for the love of Mercy, arm; will you abandon us in our necessity, we that bring you Arms offensive and defensive?— show yourself a governor, you that are our Captain and governor. Why then arm me with a Vengeance, quo Sancho, since I must be armed. With that they brought him two long Bucklers as he stood in his Shirt, and tied the one behind upon his Back, and the other before upon his Breast, leaving out both his Arms, and fastening the Shields to his Body as hard as well they could bind 'em with tough Leathern Thongs. So that the poor governor was closed up like a Heater in a Smoothing-Iron, not able so much as to bend his Knees. And now having thus cased him, they besought him to led 'em on, and head 'em against the Enemies, telling him withal, that they were assured of Victory, having him for their Commander. Well! but how d' ye think I am able to go now, thus squeezed as I am, like a Bag of sweet Almonds in a Potecary's Press? You must' een carry me to the Place where you would have me to stand, and I'll defend that single Spot either with my Lance, or my Iron Body— that's all I can do, that I know of. No, no,— my Lord governor, 'tis your fear, not the weight of your armor that stiffens your Legs— Move Sir, move, the Alarum grows hotter and hotter, the Enemy's at hand, and delay redoubles our danger. Poor Sancho thus taunted and upbraided, endeavoured to put on, but the first step he took threw him to the ground at his full length, where he gave over all his Bones for Broken. Nor was it possible for him to rise again, but there he lay like a massy Tortoise, or like a great Boat overturned upon the Sands, with the Keel upward. Nor had those drolling Cannibals the Compassion of Hangmen upon him as he lay; but on the other side, they put out their Lights, and making a hideous Hurly burly and clattering with their Swords, as if it had been the battle of Lepanto, they trampled to and again upon the poor Governours body, and by and by laying on upon his Buckler, like Farriers making Horse-shoes, they put the disconsolate and helpless governor into such a Fright, that he lay sweeting like a piece of Beef in an Oven, and praying for Deliverance from the cursed Trade of governing of Islands. Some kicked him, some fell upon him for the nonce; and one ungracious Hang-dog jumped full upon him, and there stood for some time, like a General encouraging his Souldiers, and giving Orders, crying out, There Boys, there, stop that Gap, make good that Ground, down with those Scaling-Ladders, bring more melted Pitch, more Bombs, more Granado's, fly Boys, fly, and fetch more scalding Tallow. In short, he bawled out for all the dismal Trinkets, and killing Instruments of Murder he could think of, and poured out so thick, and so fast such a thundering Peal of hard Names, that Sancho lay in his Shell half murdered with the sound of the words; and near expiring with Fear, quo he to himself, Would to God this iceland were taken once, and I either well i' my Grave, or else delivered from this unsufferable Torment.  
At length Heaven heard his soft Ejaculations, and when he least expected it, he heard 'em cry Victory, Victory; courage Mr. governor, the Enemy's put to flight: Rise, my Lord, cried another, rise, my Lord, and come and share with us the Fruits of our Conquest. Help me up, cried Sancho in a doleful and lamentable Tone. And when they had set him upon his Legs; The Enemy that I ha' killed, quo he, let him come and drive a Nail i' my Forehead; and therefore divide the Spoils among yourselves, I ha' nothing to say to' em. But if I have any one Friend here, let him give me a Gill of Brandy, for I am ready to faint; and for Heaven's sake let me have a Towel, for I am all over in a Water. Thereupon they gave him a draft of Sack, wiped him dry, and uncas'd him; at what time finding himself at Liberty, and going to rest himself upon his Bed, what with the Fright, and what with his being violently teaz'd and harassed, he fell into a Swoon: Insomuch that they who had acted the Droll, began to repent that they had carried their Pastime so high. But that pious Qualm was soon over, when they saw him revive again, which he did in a little time.  
No sooner was he come to himself, but he asked what 'twas a clock? They answered, just break of day. Upon that, without saying a word more, he dressed himself with all the speed imaginable; the Company admiring all the while both at his hast and his silence. But he having dressed himself, not without some Member-twitches ye may be sure, observing his first reserv'dness, and taking no notice of any body, trudged toward the Stable, followed however by all the Company, and coming within a hairs breadth of his Grizzle, he embraced the dumb Beast, kissed his Forehead, and with Tears in his Eyes, Come hither, my Joy, said he, the faithful Companion and Consolation of my Miseries. When thee and I lived together, and had a right understanding one of another, then all my Cares were only to get victuals for thee, and look after thy Pack-saddle; happy were my Days, my Months, and Years. But when I forsook thee, and clambered up the Towers of Pride and Ambition, a thousand Hardships, carking Thoughts and Tribulations have harassed my very Soul, and plunged me over head and ears in misery. At the same time he saddl'd his Ass, and got upon her Back; and then addressing himself to the Steward, the Doctor, and the rest of the Company, Open the Gate, said he, and let me return to my former Liberty, suffer me good now, to seek my old Course of Life, that I may rise again from that same death that buries me here alive. I find I am not born to be a governor, nor to defend Islands against Fools and Knaves: I better understand how to go to Plough and Cart, and fill a Dung-pot, then to make Laws, and govern Cities and Provinces. St. Peter lives at Rome, that is to say, let every Man mind the Employment he was bread to. A Spade does better in my Hand, then a Marshal's Truncheon: And I had rather have a Sop in a Mess of Onion-Broth, then lye at the Mercy of a Son of a Whore mountebank, that would starve me to death before he can find what's proper for me to eat. I can sleep as well under an Oak i' the Summer, and i' the Winter nuzzl'd up in an Irish Rugg, as in the best Holland Sheets that ever were spun. Give me a good warm Kentish Cloth, and the Devil take your Foins and your Furs for me. Once more, Gentlemen, farewell, and tell my Lord Duke from me, that naked I came, and naked I return; I have neither won nor lost; without a Farthing I came into the iceland, and without a Farthing I leave it, quiter contrary, I am sure, to the Custom of other Governours. Good night and good morrow, Gentlemen, and so let me pass, and go seek out a Surgeon, for i' my Conscience all my Bones are broken; God reward my Enemies that stamped upon my Back like so many Fencers.  
You will not be thus unkind, I hope, good my Lord governor, replied the Doctor, I will give you a balsam to drink, that shall ease all your Pains, and restore ye to your former Vigour. And then for your Diet, you shall eat what you please, and as long as you please.  
'tis too late, Mr. Doctor, replied Sancho; I thank ye for your balsams, but you shall as soon make me turn Turk as stop me. By the Lord Harry, if ever ye catch me panting after Governments again, I'll give ye leave to make a Whistle o' my Tail. No, no, Mr. Glister-pipe, I find you don't know the Pancha's; for when they say 'tis odd, it shall be odd, in spite of all the World. Go too then, let's begon, and leave behind us those Flies Wings that would ha' been mounting me up i' the Air to eat Swallows. Now fair and softly; when pinkt Cordovan Pumps fail us, good Neats-Leather will carry us through thick and thin. Every Sheep to her Mate; and let us not be more Beasts than the Wolf that devours us. And so let me go; 'tis late.  
My Lord governor, quo the Steward, Heaven forbid that we should stop your Lordship; yet we cannot but let you know how much it grieves us to part with such a person, whose Merit and Chirstian Behaviour has so highly obliged us. But you know that every governor when he knows his Employment, is bound to give an Account of his Administration. Be pleased therefore to give an Account of yours, and we shall detain ye no longer. No body has power to call me to an Account, replied Sancho, unless it be the Duke himself, and to him it is that I am going; tho it may well be thought, that a Man that goes away penniless, as I do, has had no great Bargain of his Administration. Before George, cried the Doctor, the Great Sancho is in the Right, and therefore we ought to let him go; besides that I know that the Duke has a great desire to see him. Thereupon they all agreed to let him pass, proffering withal to attend him, and furnish him with what he wanted for his Journey. Sancho thanked 'em for their Civility, but  told 'em that all he desired, was a little Barley for his Ass, and a piece of Bread and Cheese for himself. With that they embraced him, and took their leaves; and then Sancho gave them his Benediction, and set forward, leaving the Company in Admiration of his rational Discourses, and his sudden Resolution.   

CHAP. II.  
Containing several things that tend to the Illustration of this History, and no other.  
THE Duke and the duchess who desired nothing more then to divertise themselves, resolved that Don Quixot's Challenge should not sleep. And tho the Country Lad were fled into Flanders, for fear of being Madam Doroty's Son-in-law, they made choice of a Gascoyn lackey to supply his Room, whose Name was Tosillos; to whom they gave Instructions before hand how to play his Game. The Duke also  told Don Quixote, that within two days his Antagonist would return, and four days after that, would meet him armed at all Points to maintain, that the young dansel was a Strumpet, and lied, to say that he had ever promis d her Marriage. Don Quixote was over joyed at the News, as one that longed for an opportunity to show the Extent of his Courage, and the Strength of his Arm in such good Company; and therefore waited as impatienly for the end of these four days, as a Lover for the appointed hour of an Assignation.  
Now therefore while Don Quixote lies idle, let us see what becomes of poor Sancho, who was now upon the Road, better satisfied to find himself upon the Back of his faithful Grizzle, then afflicted for the loss of his Government. Nor was he got far from his iceland, or City, or Village, for we could never yet tell what it was, before he met six Pilgrims, with their Staves, of that merry sort, that beg singing, like your Sweet Singers of Israel. So soon as they drew near him, they divided themselves, and surrounding his Ass, fell a singing all together, but in such a kind of peddlers French, that Sancho could not understand a word they said, but only the Word Alms; by which he conjectured, that 'twas Money they wanted. Thereupon, being a very charitable person, as Cid Hamet reports him, he pulled out half his Bread and Cheese, and gave it 'em, making signs withal, that he had nothing else to give' em. They gladly received his kindness, but still not so satisfied, they still cried out, Guelt, Guelt. Friends, quo Sancho, y' good faith I do not understand this Gibberish of yours. Thereupon one of the Gang pulled out a Purse out of his bosom, and shew'd it to Sancho, shaking it as he held it in his Hand. But he putting his Thumb to his Throat, and extending his four fingers toward his Mouth, made a sign that he had not a Farthing; and so was riding on as fast as he could: at what time one of the Pilgrims calling him to remembrance, made him stop; and clipping him about the middle, Good God! said he, Who's this? What, my old Friend Sancho? 'tis he I'm sure, for I am not yet drunk. Sancho was strangely surprised to hear himself called by his Name, and to see himself so lovingly hugged by the Pilgrim, that he fixed his Eyes upon him for some time without speaking a word; but for all his looking and gaping, he could not, for the life of him, tell who he was. So that the Pilgrim beholding Sancho's Amazement, What, said he, don't you know your old Acquaintance, Ricot the Moor, that sold Hogs Cheeks and Chitterlings i' your Town? Then Sancho calling him to mind, and hugging him about the Neck, as he sate upon his Ass— Who the Devil, quo he, could ever ha' known Ricot the Moor in this same strange Disguise? Why how durst thou return into Spain?— y' good faith I would not be i' thy Coat, shouldst thou be discovered. If thou dost not betray me, Sancho, quo the Pilgrim, no Man living can know me i' this Habit. But let us get out of the Road, and retire to yonder Wood, where the rest of my Comrades are resolved to repose themselves: there thou shalt dine with us too; for they are choice Lads, I'll assure thee, and such as will please thy Humour; and there I shall have leisure to tell thee how I have spent my time since I was forced to leave the Village. And so saying, he return'd to his Company; with whom after he had jabber'd a while, they went all together to the Wood, where, after they had laid by their Pilgrims Staves, and their Shoulder-Blankets, they were almost naked. They were a Knot of brisk young Gusmans, notable Tongue Pads, loved ease and a merry life, but cared not how they came by what they had. Onely Ricot was somewhat strike in years, and by consequence Master of Misrule. Every one carried his Wallet, and that well furnished too. They wanted not their good Bits, nor their Shoeing horns to draw down good liquour, especially Bolony Sawcidges and Caveer: special Saints where the Devil wore the across.  
Nature had furnished 'em with a Table-cloth, which was the green Grass; so that the Cloth being laid, every one clubbing according to what Fortune had sent him, presently there was a comfortable appearance of Bread, Salt, Knives, Nuts, half Cheeses; and some Bones on which there were still some good pickings left, together with several Pots of Caveer: Olives they had also good store, tho none of the moistest. But the chief Glory of the Feast, was six Bottles of Wine, every one contributing his share; and Ricot, who was now transformed from a Moor to a Dutchman, pretended above all the rest, to have a choice piece of the Pipe next the Wall. To be short, to't they went tooth and nail, for they were too sharp set to make use of their Knives; and then finding drought stealing upon 'em, all at once they lifted up their Arms, and turning the bottoms of their Bottles up i' the Air, with their Eyes devoutly fixed upon the Skies, they suffered the precious liquour to stream down their Throats, moving their heads all the while like Puppets in a Show, to signify the Raptures they were in. Nor could you say they were Jades, for they drew after the manner of Men, with Deliberation, not like Horses. Sancho admired this harmonious fashion of Drinking; and to show he was able to bear his part in such a Consort, and that when he was at Rome, he could do as they did at Rome, he desired Ricot to lend him his Bottle; and when he had it at his Mouth, he gave 'em to understand, that he wanted neither Method nor Breath. At what time one of the Pilgrims giving Sancho his right hand, God a mercy Spaniard, well done Dutchman, quo he, the Bottle makes good Companions I see— As good as ever wet Whistle, quo Sancho, Ho— ho— ho— and then holding his fat Sides, he fell a showing his two rows of broad Teeth for half an hour together, no more concerned for the loss of his Government, then for the loss of a Scape, that will away. Four times they rang the same Peal, but 'twas impossible to ring the fifth; for by that time they had not left a Supernaculum drop to drown a Nit, which turned their Mirth into Sorrow. However, as their Bellies were full, their Bones desired to be at rest; and so five of the seven fell fast asleep. Only Sancho and Ricot having weighty Concerns to discourse of, betook themselves under the covert of a Hedge, where Ricot having changed his Language, thus began:  
Sancho, said Ricot, thou well knowst how I was compelled to fly the Kingdom upon the King's severe Proclamation. I do confess, I cannot blame His Majesty; for to my Knowledge my Countrymen had very dangerous Designs against him; and therefore I think he was inspired by Heaven to expel those Snakes out of the Bosom of his Kingdom. For my part I was in nothing their Confederate, as being a good Christian and no Moor. But finding myself wrapped up in the same danger with the rest of my Countrymen, I thought it not safe to abide where there was no security for me. For that reason it was, as thou knowst, that I left our Town, and went into France, with some other of my acquaintance, where after I had stayed while, having a running Pate of my own, I travelled into Italy, and from thence into Germany; where me-thought I liked the humour of the People, as not being so inquisitive and prying into their Neighbours affairs, and living with more freedom, and more sociably one with another; besides, that every one enjoys the Liberty of his own Conscience. This made me make sure of a Dwelling in a Village near Auspurgh, where I met with these Pilgrims, who make it their Business frequently to visit the Shrines of the Spanish Saints, which they look upon as their Mines of Peru, as being certain to be no losers by their Journey. For which purpose they ramble all the Kingdom over, not missing a Village, where they are sure to meet with some good Prog or other, and many times ready Silver with the Kings Picture fairly engraven. And they husband their business so well, that at the end of their Travels they are able to muster up a hundred Crowns in a bright heap, which they change into Gold and crowd into the hollow of their Staves, or quilt into their Mantles; and are so industrious as to scape all searches at their going out of the Kingdom.  
Now my design in returning hither is to fetch a certain parcel of Money that I butted upon my departure out of the Realm; which I may the better do, in regard it is in a place quiter out of the Town. And having done that, I intend to go and fetch my Wife and my Daughter out of Barbary, and return into Germany again. For I am sure my Wife and my Daughter are as good catholics and as true Christians as myself. Only I wonder, Sancho, that my Wife should rather choose to go for Barbary then into France, where she knew she might live like a Christian.  
That was none of thy Wives fault, quo Sancho, for her Brother-in-Law to my knowledge took her along with him, and she made him her Companion the rather, believing he could best provide for her, as being a rank Moor. But Neighbour, my fears are that thou goest in vain to look after thy hidden Treasure: Alas— alas— the bide's flown. For the report was hot among us, that they had seized a great Quantity of Pearls and Gold which thy Wife and thy Brother-in-Law were privately conveying away. That may be Sancho, replied Ricot, but I am sure they have not met with my hoard, for I never  told so much as my Wife where I had hide my concerns for fear of the worst. And therefore if thou wilt go along with me and help me to carry off this Money, I will give thee two hundred Crowns, and that will be better to Thee, then a flap with a Fox Tail.  
I would do it withal my Heart, replied Sancho, but I am not covetous; for if I had loved Money, I would nere ha' quitted an Employment, as I did this Morning, wherein I might ha' got enough to ha' til'd my House with Gold if I would ha' staid, and before six Months had been at an end, might ha' fed my Horses in Silver Mangers. And therefore because I believe it would be a piece of Treason to the King, to serve his Enemies, I would not go with thee, tho thou wouldst double the Sum, and pay it me down in ready Cash. What Employment prithee Sancho, is this which thou hast so Self-denyingly left? quo Ricot.  
Why, I have left the Government of an iceland; and such an iceland that there is not the like of it again i' the World; 'tis above a quarter of a League in Compass. Where does this iceland lie? quo Ricot. Where does it lie? quo Sancho, about two Leagues off, and it is called the iceland of Cheap-side. What dost mean, Sancho? replied Ricot; be there any Islands upon the main Land? Why not? quo Sancho— I tell thee, I partend from thence this Morning; and last night I commanded it like an Emperor; yet I left it, because 'tis my judgement, that the Office of a governor is not only troubulesom, but very dangerous. And what didst get during thy Government? quo Ricot. What the cat left i' the Malt, quo Sancho— only I learnt that I was not born to be a governor, unless it were over a Flock of Sheep; and then again, I learnt that Governours get their Wealth by watching and toiling, and hunger and drought. For in Islands Governours never eat, especially if they have Physicians to take care of their Health.  
Who the Devil should this be, quo Ricot, that was such a Fool to give thee an iceland to Govern? could he find out no body to Govern his iceland but such a Gee-ho-man as thou? Certainly Sancho, thou dreamst and tak'st fool's Paradise for an iceland— Come— come— come along with me and help me away with my Money— there will be the bide i' thy hand. I ha'  told thee my Resolution already— let it suffice that I make no discoveries, and so adieu— He that will die well must live well— and he gains enough that scapes an ill offer— and Goods ill got seldom prosper. Well— Sancho, quo Ricot, I'll press thee no farther— but little dost thou know what a show thy Horse has lost— And now prithee tell me— were't thou i' the Town when my Brother carried away my Wife and my daughter? Yes I was, by the same token there was such crowding to see thy Daughter, as if it had been at a Show, and every body cried, there goes the Primrose of Spain. 'tis thought there were young Men enough that would ha' locked her up i' their Cabinets, she was such a Jewel. Among the rest, they say the young Rich bachelor Peter Gregory was mad for her— The truth is, he hath never been seen i' the Town since she went— which makes some think, that he is run a Wild-Goose chase after her. Death o' the Devil, quo Ricot, I always thought that young Whipster had a Plot upon my Daughter— but I hope the Girl's honest, or at least that she knows how to play her Game wisely— For I must tell ye, your enamoured Christians will many times play a young Virgin a Heathenish Trick, if she does not look well to her self— And so farewell honest Neighbour— farewell, quo Sancho, and good Fortune attend thee. With that Ricot return'd to his Fellow Pilgrims, who by this time had fetched out their Naps, and Sancho continued his Journey.   

CHAP. III.  
What befell Sancho upon the Road, which is all Truth.  
BUT this same Story of Father Ricot had kept Sancho so long, that before he could reach within a League of the Castle it grew dark, so that Sancho was forced to seek out for the next Summer Lodging he could find. But his unfortunate Hour being come, so it happened, that poor Grizzle, not seeing her way, tumbled of a sudden into a deep Cellar, which belonged to the Ruins of an old House that had formerly stood in that Place. Sancho perceiving himself a going, as he thought to the Center of the Earth, had all his Prayers at his Fingers end. But there was no need of so much Devotion; for by that time he had descended the depth of two Stories, dismayed Grizzle lighted upon her Feet like a Cat, and made a full stop. Presently Sancho began to consider the Condition of his Bones, held his Breath, and felt upon his Nose to try whether any Blood came, and finding himself sound in all his Members, gave thanks to Heaven in the first place for his deliverance from the Abyss. Then lighting from his Ass, he felt about to examine whether there might be any passage; but none could be found. The Walls were so steep and high, that there was no footing for a Mouse. On the other side poor Grizzle's Lamentations pierced his Ears; and not without Reason, whilst her Crickling Hams were hardly able to support the weight of her Body. Sancho therefore to comfort her in her misery, Ah, poor Soul, cried he, how many are the unfortunate and unexpected Calamities that befall us Mortals in this Vale of sorrow, called the World! Who would have thought that he who but yesterday sate in the Throne of an iceland governor, should now be found butted in a bottonles Pit without Slaves or Servants to assist him! All our Comfort is in speedy Death, thou dying of thy Hurts, and I of Mortal Hunger, or grief to see thee go before me. There is nothing but good and bad Luck i' this World— We are fallen below the hopes of succour, when Don Quixote could find a Table ready spread at the bottom of Montesinos's Dungeon. His Bed was made in a second Hell against his coming, and pleasant Visions attended him; while we are like to be Companions for none but Toads and Serpents. Unfortunate, whether will my Folly and my fond Imaginations hurry me! Had we died at home and among our Friends, we should ha' found those that would ha' closed our Eyes at the point of Death, and seen us laid in our Graves.  
Oh! my Dear Companion and Friend, how ill do I reward thee for all thy Faithful Services! But pardon me, for 'tis none of my fault— and therefore implore of Fortune the best thou canst, to deliver us out of this Plunge, and thou shalt see I will not prove Ingrateful. Thus Sancho complained, but wear she thought, the afflicted Grizzle answered not a word. Her pains were so great, that she could not study compliments in return of her Masters Kindness.  
At length the Sun appeared once more, and Sancho finding then the Impossibility of getting forth without help, he set up his Throat like a crier of Flounders; but he was far from Neighbours. So that now altogether helpless and despairing, he cast his Eyes upon Grizzle, and seeing her stretched forth upon the Ground, as he thought with Tears in her Eyes, he went to her and persuaded her to rise; which with much ado, by means of his assistance, at last she did; and then, as tender of her as of his old Bedrid Mother, he gave her for a Cordial all the Bread he had in his Wallet; telling her withal, that victuals did well in Affliction. In the height of this Disconsolation, at length he perceived a hole in the Wall of the Cellar, wide enough for a Man to pass through, which lead into a Vault, that seemed to enlarge itself the farther it extended.  
Thereupon Sancho fell to work, and being a Man of Labour, and one that knew what belonged to digging, he so well bestirred his hands and his Nails, that in a short time he had opened a passage for his Ass. Then taking her by the Halter, he lead her along fair and softly through the Vault, sometimes in the light, sometimes i' the dark; but still perplexed with a thousand fears and frightful Imaginations. Heavens defend me, said he, what a Heart of a Gudgeon have I! This were now a fit Adventure for my Master— He would fancy these Profundities and Ruins for lovely Gardens and magnificent Palaces, and expect to be lead out of these Obscurities into some Celestial Paradise. While luckless I, deprived of all my Sences, and fainting every step I take, am still afraid of every Chink I see, lest it should be some cunning Trap-door of Satan's to sand me Post to his Infernal Mansions.  
With these doleful Lamentations, and despairing Thoughts, Sancho crept on slowly about half a League; but then the Day began to come in so bright and comfortable, that he began to be somewhat refreshed, in hopes his deliverance was at hand. But here Benengeli leaves him while to return to Don Quixote, who impatiently expected the Day appointed for the Combat between him and the Dishonourer of Madam Doroties Daughter.  
In the Interim, it was his constant Course to ride out Rosinante every Morning to air and keep him in breath, that he might not fail him in his Necessity. Now to see how strangely Fortune will bring her conceits about; for it so fell out, that the same Morning that Sancho was in Lob's Pound, Rosinante being upon the Gallop, pitched both his Fore Legs upon a yielding piece of Ground, that discovered a villainous Hole by the fall of the Earth; and into which both Horse and Champion had tumbled without redemption, had not Don Quixote by his Skill and Dexterity forced Rosinante, contrary to his considerate Humour, to take a saving leap. And now Don Quixote, being out of danger, would needs satisfy his Curiosity; to which purpose, wheeling about, he road up to the Hole, which he found to be wide and large, as if it had been the Mouth of another Montesinos's Cave. But this was not all; for while he was attentively musing, and making way for a thousand Crotchets that were crowding into his Noddle, he thought he heard a Voice that uttered these words in a Mournful tone. Ah, woe is me, is there no good Christian that hears me, no Charitable Knight to take compassion of a Sinner, and Succour a dristressed governor, that knew not how to Govern the Reins of his own Beast?  
Presently Don Quixote fancied that this must be Sancho's Voice; and for his better satisfaction, with a roaring Sound, Who's that below, quo he, that makes those doleful Complaints? Who should it be, to his sorrow cried Sancho, but the most wretched of Men, Sancho Pancha, for his Sins, and the punishment of his Transgressions, made governor of the iceland of Barattaria, formerly Squire to the most Famous Don Quixote de la Mancha.  
These words redoubled Don Quixote's Amazement; for immediately it came into his Pate that Sancho was dead, and that his Soul was in Purgatory. Full of those Imaginations, I conjure thee, cried he, by all that can conjure thee, to tell me who thou art; and if thou art a Soul in Purgatory, let me know what 'tis thoud'st have me do to give thee ease. For as my Profession obliges me to succour all that are afflicted in this World, so am I bound to relieve the distresses of those that are helpless in the other World. Surely, Sir, 'twas answered from below, by the Tone of your Voice, you should be the Valiant Knight Don Quixote de la Mancha. My name is Don Quixote, replied the Knight, and my Profession it is to assist and comfort the Dead as well as the Living. Tell me then who thou art thyself? for if thou beest Sancho, and dead, provided thou art not already i' the Devils Clutches, but only detained in Purgatory, there is that Mercy still on Earth that can redeem thee from those Pains, and for my part I shall do whatever lies in my power. But tell me then sincerely and quickly, who thou art?  
Why then, replied the Voice, As one Christian may believe another, I do swear and make oath, that I am Sancho Pancha your Squire, and that I never was dead yet i' my Life. Only since I quitted my Government, for reasons now too long to tell ye, last night I fell into this Cave, where I am still because I know not how to get out, and Grizzle with me, that will not suffer me to lie; and immediately as if the Ass had understood what her Master said, she fell a Ronking so strenuously in confirmation of her Masters Affidavit, that you would ha' sworn there had been a thousand Asses braying together i' the Cavern. I need no other Testimony, replied Don Quixote, I see thou art my real Squire, Sancho— stay therefore till I gallop to the Castle and fetch more Company to help thee out. Make hast I beseech ye, Sir, quo Sancho, and come quickly again, for my Imprisonment here is very tedious, and my Guts ready to go together by the ears with my Stomach.  
Away Don Quixote posted to give the Duke and duchess an account of the Disaster that had befallen Sancho; but they were strangely surprised to hear that Sancho had deserted his Government, before they had Information of it. However they sent their Servants with Ropes and Ladders, who with much Labour and Industry, at length recovered Sancho and his Grizzle from uncomfortable Darkness to behold once more the light of the Sun.  
At what time a certain scholar standing by, that had never seen Sancho before, 'twere well, said he, that all such Governours might leave their Governments as this Shack-rag of a governor has done, half starved to death, and as I believe without a across in his Pocket. What's that you say, Mr. Coffee-board-Censurer? quo Sancho; 'tis now eight days since I entered upon this Government which they gave me, and in all that time I have nere had my Belly full but once. I have been persecuted by a Physician; my Enemies have trampled me under their Feet; so that I had not time to rob or pillage. Which being so, I think I deserved a better passage out, then through the Gates of Hell. But Man proposes, and God disposes: He knows what best suits with every Mans Condition— We must take our lot as it falls— There's no Man can say I will not drink of this Water— We count our Chickens before they be hatched— But I say no more, whatever I think—  
Nere trouble thyself, friend Sancho, quo Don Quixote, so thy Conscience be free, let the World talk at random, as it uses to do, 'tis not a Pin matter what the best of 'em prate over their Parch'd-Bean-Porridge. They that go about to tie fools Tongues, may as soon carry the City Gates to High-gate. If a governor returns Rich from his Government, then they say he has been an oppressor; if Poor, then they call him Simpleton and Ill-Husband. Truly, quo Sancho, they that call me Simpleton, I think are not much out of the way; but for a Fleecer or an oppressor, I defy all the World.  
In the midst of these and such like Discourses, with a great number of Boys and such sort of Rabble at their Heels, they at length arrived at the Castle, where the Duke and the duchess waited for their coming in one of the Galleries; but Sancho was resolved to dispense with all Ceremonies and compliments, till he had seen his Grizzle well litter'd and meated. Which done, away he went to attend their Excellencies; at what time throwing himself upon his Knees, My Lord, said he, I have been to govern your iceland of Barattaria, whether your Excellencies sent me, and which was more your kindness then my desert. Naked I entered, and naked I return. Whether I governed well or ill, there are some in this Room that can tell; and let them tell, if they please, that can tell better then I can. I unriddl'd hard Questions, I determined Differences, and all the while ready to eat my Fingers ends for hunger, thanks to Dr. Pedro Puncinello of Ditto in Pomerania, Executioner in Ordinary to the Devil. At night the Enemy fell upon me, and after they had almost trampled me to Death, the Islanders cried out, that the strength of my Arm had got 'em the Victory; and if 'twere so, Mitch queen ditch 'em with their Victory; but I desire 'em to get some body else to conquer for 'em next time. However it were, I did my utmost to perform all the Duties of a governor, but I found that my Shoulders were not strong enough to bear the burden, and that I was not cut out for a Ruler. So that I was resolved, before the Government left me, to leave the Government. And so yesterday Morning I quitted the iceland as I found it, with the same Streets and the same Houses, just covered as they were when I first entered. I borrowed of no body, nor made any Provision for rainy days— 'tis true indeed I intended to have made some wholesome Laws, but I made none, because I did not find the People disposed to keep' em. Thus as I said before, I quitted the iceland without any other Company, but only poor Grizzle and myself. At night we fell both into a Hole, where we stayed all night, and might ha' stayed till Doomsday, had not Heaven sent my Lord Don Quixote to relieve us. And now my Lord Duke and Madam duchess, here's your governor Sancho Pancha again, who by a Government of ten days has learnt to know so much of Government, that he would not give a straw for all the Governments i' the World. And so I humbly kiss your Excellencies Feet, and with your permission List myself again in the Service of my old Master, with whom I have my Belly full, tho many times I take pains for't; yet still I eat; and for my part, provided my Belly be but full, 'tis all one to me whether of Hasty Pudding or Turky-Powts.  
Thus Sancho concluded his Speech, to the great satisfaction of Don Quixote, who was afraid he would not have so well contained himself. The Duke embraced him, and  told him withal, that he was very sorry he had quitted his Government so soon, but that he would take care to find him out some other Employment that should be more beneficial and less troublesone. The duchess also was no less kind, giving order that he should want for nothing that her House would afford; which last command so comforted the Cockles of Sancho's Heart, that seized with a Courtier-like rapture, he professed their Excellencies Favours were to him more acceptable then all the Governments under the Sun.   

CHAP. IV.  
Of the strange Combat between Don Quixote and the lackey Tosilos, in vindication of Madam Doroties Daughter.  
AND now the Story says, the day was come appointed for the long expected Combat; nor had the Duke been wanting to give Tosilos all requisite Instructions how to vanquish his Enemy; and yet neither kill nor hurt him. To which purpose he ordered that the launces should be disarmed of their Steel Heads. And to pacify Don Quixote he made him sensible, that Religion, for which he had so great a Veneration, forbade propense Malice in such Combats as those; and that it was sufficient he had fair play and a clear Stage, where the Conquest would be as honourable tho won by dry Blows only, as by Murder. To which Don Quixote replied, that his Excellency had the sole disposal of all things within his own Dominions, and that it was only his duty to obey his Graces Orders.  
And now the day for wonders being come, the Duke caused a Scaffold to be erected for the Judges of the Combat, and for the injured Ladies that made the Complaint. Nor can you imagine what a noise this Combat had made all over the Country, so that the People flocked from all parts far and near to behold this terrible Conflict, the like to which had nere been heard of since the days of Amadis de gall. Costermongers with their apple, Ginger-bread Women and Brandy Booths covered all the neighbouring Fields. All the Cuckolds-point and Triple-tree Heath Fairs were nothing to this Inundation of Butchers, Weavers, Dyers, &c. and the shoals of Women and Children that crowded to behold this dreadful Encounter.  
The first that appeared within the Barriers was the Marshal of the Field, who came to survey the Ground, and see there were no Pitfalls, nor Plots upon Rosinante. After that entered the Complaining Ladies, who seated themselves in their Places, all in close Mourning, that shew'd their Grievance was not small, and that they were not so sad for nothing. By and by, at one end, entered the Formidable Skipkennel Tosilos, preceded by a great number of Trumpeters, Tantantararing before him, all enclosed in Bright shining Iron, as if he had been under the Bone-setters Cure for crooked Legs and a hunch Back, mounted on a stead as big as a Draymans Horse, but somewhat more fiery; and setting so hard, that he shook the very Earth. Afterwards appeared the Peerless Champion Don Quixote de la Mancha, whom the Duke had besought to spare his Adversaries Life, and to that purpose to be merciful in his first Career. Tosilos fetched a Compass about the Barriers, and at length making a stop right against the two Ladies, cast a leering Eye upon the young dansel that demanded him in Marriage. On the other side the Judges of the Field called to Don Quixote, and in Tosilos's presence, asked the Ladies whether they consented that Don Quixote de la Mancha should defend the Justice of their Quarrel? and whether they would stand or fall by the Fortune of their Champion? All this the Duke and duchess, to their great content beholded from a Gallery that was over the Barriers, where the number of Spectators was such, that they were almost stifled to death.  
The Conditions to which the Combatants were obliged, were these, That if Don Quizote were the Victor, his Adversary should mary Madam Doroties Daughter; and if he were overcome, then that the conqueror should be quit of his Promise; and that he should not be bound to make her any satisfaction for the kindness he had received. Then the Marshal of the Field divided equally between 'em the Advantage of the Sun; and assigned to each his place where they should start. And now both Champions seeming to be ready, the Drums rattl'd, and the Trumpets filled the Air with their marshal sounds, that echoed back the loud Signals of battle. At what time the Spectators trembled, Don Quixote in pithy Ejaculations bequeathed his Soul to Heaven and his Body to the fair Dulcinea, and all was silent of a sudden, in expectation of the Issue of the Fatal event of the first Assault.  
But Tosilos had other thoughts in his Pate. For the cunning Varlet, as I said before, having beholded the amiable Countenance of his lovely Enemy, immediately happened to be ravished with her Beauty; which that little blind Elf ye call Love no sooner perceived, but as he is one that makes it his business to improve his Triumphs over poor Mortals, he took his Advantage and shot the poor Skipkennel so smartly' i the Ball of his Eye, that he was wounded to the Heart before his Antagonist had touched him; so that now no less the slave of Beauty, then he was before his Masters Footman, he forgot what he was to do.  
On the other side, Don Quixote had no sooner heard the signal given, but clapping Spur to Rosinante, he began to thunder upon his Enemy with the swiftness of a Bomb out of a mortar Piece. At what time Sancho seeing him start, Heavens preserve, cried he, the flower and Cream of Chivalry errand, and grant thee Victory and Conquest according to thy inestimable Merits.  
Tosilos saw Don Quixote coming on with a Vengeance; but Love having strangled all his Malice, so far was he from making either defence or offence, or any Fence i' the World, that he called out three times as loud as he could to the Marshal of the Field, who riding up to him; Sir, said he, is it not the design of this Combat to constrain me to mary yonder Lady? Yes, replied the Marshal— Why then, quo Tosilos, there need no Bloodshed for the Matter— my Conscience is awake— I yield myself vanquished; for my Conscience tells me I must mary her; and I am ready to do it before all these Witnesses— This submission of Tostlos put the Marshal of the Field to such a Nonplus, that he knew not what to answer. On the other side Don Quixote stopped in the middle of his career, seeing his Opponent made no resistance. The Duke was amazed; nor could he imagine what the matter should be, till being informed by the Marshal, he bit his Lips, and called his Footman Ten thousand Sons of Whores and Cowardly Dogs, but did not think it a time convenient then to display his Indignation.  
In the mean time, Tosilos advancing where the Ladies sate, after a Reverend obeisance to the Scaffold; Madam, cried he, my Heart relents— I am ready to mary your Daughter without the trouble of Law Suits and Combats, which I dare not undertake without the hazard of my Soul. Which words Don Quixote heard, and presently riding up to the Judges; then, quo he, I am discharged of my Promise. The Knight y' good faith, has taken the safest Course; let him een mary the Lady and enjoy the Fruits of his Repentance.  
At the same time the Duke coming down, and applying himself to Tosilos; Is it true, Sir Knight, that you yield your Enemy the Conquest, and through remorse of Conscience are resolved to mary the dansel? 'tis right what your Lordship says, replied the lackey. mary and I think 'tis very well done, quo Sancho— For what says the Proverb, Give the Cat willingly what thou hast to give her and keep thyself out of trouble.  
In the mean time Tosilos made hast to unlace his Helmet, and in the Tone of a Penitent called out for Assistance to help him off with it, as being so choked up with his armor, that he could hardly breath. But then Mrs. Doroty and her Daughter knowing who he was, a Cheat, a Cheat, they cried, This is Tosilos, the Dukes Footman, suborned to counterfeit my Daughters Husband— Justice of Heaven and the King— This is a piece of Treachery not to be endured.  
Ladies, quo Don Quixote, never afflict yourselves; 'tis neither Cheat nor Treachery— or if there be, I'me sure the Duke is in no fault— But those perpetual Plagues of mine the Necromancers, they are the Traytors that have put this trick upon us, who envying the Honour I should have won by this Combat, have transformed my Antagonist into the shape of a Footman. And therefore Madam, speaking to the young dansel, take my Advice and mary the Knight; for I dare undertake 'tis the same Person you Challenge, or else I'll be bound to mary my Horse. The Duke heard all this, and tho he were so mad with his Footman, that he could ha' kicked him to the Devil, yet he could not choose but laugh, to hear how neatly Don Quixote had excused him. In truth, said he, those Accidents that every day befall the Champion of Mancha are every one so extraordinary, that I am easily induced to believe this Knight could be none of my Footman. But for our better satisfaction let us defer the Marriage for fifteen days, and in the mean while secure this Person that has put us into this Confusion; it may be by that time he may resume his former shape. For surely this inveterate Animosity of these Necromancers against my Lord Don Quixote cannot always last, especially, when they shall find that all their tricks and contrivances so little avail. Oh, Sir, quo Sancho, these Devils of Necromancers are not so soon tired, as you think for; they'l not leave my Master so easily, my Life for yours. Where my Master is concerned, they form and deform, and turn this into that, and that into t'other. By the Holy Shrove-Tuesday, 'tis not long ago that they transformed the Knight of the Looking-Glasses, whom my Master had vanquished in open Field, into the scholar Carrasco, the Schoolmaster of our Village, and our familiar Acquaintance. But for the Lady Dulcinea, our Mistress, what d' ye think they ha' done with her? They ha' changed her and chopped her, and chopped her and changed her from the fairest Princess alive, into the most deformed Trugmullion that ever was born in Kent-street; and i' good faith, either I am mistaken, or this Footman will be a Footman as long as he lives.  
Let him be what he will, replied Mrs. Doroties Daughter, if he'll have me, I'll have him; for I had rather be a lackeys Wife, then Mistress to a Knight that makes no more Conscience of cheating those he pretends to relieve.  
But at last the Conclusion of all was, that Tosilos was secured between two Walls, to see whether he would recover his former shape or no. Don Quixote was proclaimed Victor by general Consent; and the Rabble dispersed, very much dejected because the Combatants had not cut one another to pieces to make them sport; according to their wonted Custom, to be sorry when there is but one Man to be hanged, and there comes a Reprieve for him too. As for Mrs. Doroty and her Daughter, they took their disappointment a little heinously; however they were in hopes the sky would one day fall, and then they should catch Larks. Which was all the present Consolation they had.   

CHAP. V.  
How Don Quixote took his leave of the Duke, and what passed between him and the Discreet but Impudent Hoyden Madam Tomboy.  
AT length Don Quixote, quiter tired out with the lazy Life which he lead in the Castle, so averse to his Nature, and so opposite to his Profesfession, he resolved to take his leave of the Duke and be gone. The Duke seemed very unwilling to part with him; but the Champions reasons were so convincing, that his Grace was forced at last to submit to him that conquered as well with his Tongue as with his Arm.  
At the same time the duchess also gave Sancho his Wives Letter, which he had no sooner heard red, but with Tears in his Eyes, Who would have imagined, said he, that the hopes which my Wife conceived at the news of my Advancement, so soon should vanish into smoke, and that I should be reduced again to trot after my Unfortunate Master in search of hunger and broken Bones. However I am glad Teresa was so mindful of her duty as to sand your Ladyship the Acorns; which if she had not done, I should ha' looked asquint upon her as long as she had lived. And I am glad that no Man can say the Present was any Bribe that ever I received in the iceland, since it came to your Ladyships hands without my knowledge: And tho it be but small, yet it shows we are not come of an Ingrateful Generation. In short, naked I went into the iceland, and naked I return'd; and unless it be for my Teeth and my Beard, here I am, just as my Mother brought me into the World. These were Sancho's Sentences at his Departure, which I repeat for the Ponderosity of the words, which it behoves not a true Historian to omit.  
Don Quixote had taken his solemn leave of the Duke and duchess over night, and therefore he was up before the Sun the next Morning, and in a short time appeared all in armor mounted upon sober Rosinante ready to be gone, all the Galleries round the Court-yard being filled at the same time with Spectators, curious to behold the Formalities of his departure. Sancho was also got upon his Patient Grizzle with his Cloak-bag and his Wallet, much better furnished then he thought he had been, for the Steward by the Dukes order had lined it with two hundred Crowns in Gold, to defray expenses, which was more then Don Quixote knew. And now being ready to set forward in the midst of the crowd, the brazen-faced gipsy Madam Tomboy, casting a Sheeps Eye after him, with a loud, and Amorously melting Voice, breathed forth the following Madrigale.  

STay, stay, oh stay, remorceless Knight,  
And yet my only Hearts delight?  
What Nettle stings in thee Britch?  
Whither, ah, whether dost thou Spur  
That brok'n winded Hackney, which  
No Man would give Five Shillings for.  
Thou Fly'st not, Orphans brave defender,  
From an enraged Vipers sting,  
But from a Lamb more soft and tender  
Then either Swans or Thistle Down,  
A Bedfellow for any King,  
Sound Wind and Limb, and Woman grown.  
Ill luck attend a Hangman so uncivil,  
And barrabas conduct thee to the Devil.   

Monster of Men, thou'ast disappointed  
The fairest Nymph, altho I say't,  
That ever with Diana hunted,  
Or ever did on Venus wait;  
Eneas thus forsook with scorn  
The vainly Fond Phoenician Queen,  
That quenched his Heat, her self to burn;  
But thou art still more false then he,  
For I alas, made sure of thee.  
Ill luck attend a Hangman so uncivil,  
And barrabas conduct thee to the Devil.   

My Heart the Thief has stolen too,  
profanely ravished from my Breast;  
A heart too precious for a Jew,  
Tho I did love him, I protest.  
Nor did the Ruffian stick to pull  
My Garters from my Legs, and tear  
Two rich laced Night-Coifes from my Hair,  
While I am robbed to please his Trull.  
A thousand Sighs too he has got,  
No cooling Blasts, but Furnace hot;  
Enough a thousand Troys to fire,  
So fiery hot was my Desire.  
Ill luck attend a Hangman so uncivil,  
And barrabas conduct thee to Devil.   

May that same Splay-foot Squire of thine  
Forget his Vows and spare his hid;  
And cursed Enchantment still confine  
Thy tattered Harlot of a Bride.  
In Bridewell every Friday whipped,  
And to her Task severely kept;  
May she the due Chastisements feel  
To thy Obdurate Heart of Steel:  
In thy Adventures wretched prove;  
To every Tapster forced to yield;  
And may I live to see fulfilled  
The wishes of my scorned Love.  
Ill luck attend a Hangman so uncivil,  
And barrabas conduct thee to the Devil.   
After Mrs. Tomboy had thus concluded her Poetical complaint, Don Quixote, who had fixed a serious look upon her all the while, return'd her not a word of Answer good or bad, but presently turning about to Sancho, hast thou any Heart or Night-coifs, or Garters, said he, that belong to this dansel i' thy Cloak-bag? As for any Hearts or Night-Coifes, quo Sancho, no more then upon the back of my Hand— As for the Garters, I wont be so confident. The duchess altogether a stranger to this last part of the Game, could not tell what to think of it; for tho she knew Mrs. Tomboy to be Hoyden and Ramp enough, yet she did not believe her Waiting Gentlewoman would be so familiar with the Knight, as to give him those wanton Opportunities. But the Duke being pleased with the Humour, and resolved to put it forward; In truth Sir Knight, said he, this was not done like a Gentleman and a Person of Honour, as I took you to be, especially after such a civil Entertainment as you have had here i' my Castle— Therefore restore the Lady her Garters again, or else upon my word you and I must have a Career for't. To which purpose I fling ye my Glove, and let the Enchanters do their worst with their Transformations. God forbid, quo Don Quixote, that I should draw my Sword against a Person so Illustrious as you are, at whose hands I have received so many Favours and Kindnesses. As for the Garters I will cause 'em to be restored, if they are to be found, for I ever took Sancho to be honest; but for the Coifs let the dansel go look for 'em in her Night-bag, for I never saw nor heard of any such Female Toys of hers i' my Life. I am no Pilferer, my Lord, nor ever was born with that mean and narrow Soul; but this Lady you see talks like one that is in Love, and seeks her revenge because she finds me engaged to another. So that having no occasion to beg pardon either of her or your Excellency, I only beseech your Excellency to have a better Opinion of me, and to permit me to continue my Journey. farewell my Lord Don Quixote, replied the Duke, and may your good Fortune be such, that we may always be blessed with the joyful Tidings of your great achievements. Go in Peace, since your Presence does but add fresh Fuel to the Flames which you have kindled in these Ladies Breasts, and which your Absence only can cure.  
One word more I beseech ye most Valiant Champion, then cried Madam Tomboy, I beg your Pardon for laying the Felony of my Garters to your Charge, for i' my Conscience I have 'em on; but the Raptures of my Love were such, that I was like the Butcher, who looked for his Knife when he had it in his Mouth. And I hope you are so much a Gentleman as to take this acknowledgement before all this Company for full satisfaction. mary gap, quo Sancho, my Master had had a great prise indeed of this Ladys old Garters, as if he had not Money in his Pocket to buy other Princum Prancums, were it the Fashion for Horses to wear Forehead-Knots. Thus Sancho having had the last word, as was his due, Don Quixote bowed to the Pommel of his Saddle, and after he had made his obeisance to the Duke and all the Company, he turned about and took the Road for Saragosa.   

CHAP. VI.  
How Don Quixote met with Adventures upon Adventures, so thick that he knew not which way to turn himself.  
DON Quixote once again perceiving himself in the open Field, and free from Mrs. Tomboys Importunities, began to be now more Zealous then ever in the chase of Adventures and discharge of the Duty of his Profession. Liberty, said he to Sancho, is the greatest blessing that Heaven can bestow upon Mankind. Not all the Treasures concealed within the Bowels of the Earth, nor what the Sea has swallowed up within her vast Abysses, are to be compared in any measure with it. We run the hazard of our Lives for the sake of Liberty, as well as for the sake of Honour, accounting servitude the greatest Misery we can endure. Thou wert a Witness, Sancho, of that overflowing Plenty which we met with in the Castle, yet in the midst of all those exquisitely seasoned Viands, and delicious Wines as cool as Snow, my thought I suffered the extremity of Hunger, because I did not enjoy 'em with that freedom as if they had been my own. For the Obligations that lie upon us to make answerable returns for those Kindnesses, are Knots that a free Soul can never unravel. Happy the Man whom Heaven has blessed, tho but with a Morsel of Bread, for which he has no farther Obligation to any body, but only to Heaven that gave it— However, quo Sancho, interrupting his Master, I cannot but think myself obliged for the two hundred Crowns in Gold which the Dukes Steward gave me, and which I have here in a Purse, and cherish i' my Bosom, as a sacred relic against Necessity, and a Cataplasm to preserve us from all unlucky Accidents. For, for one Castle where we met with our Bellies full, we may meet with a hundred Inns where we may have our Bones and our Limbs bruised like Egg-shels.  
Thus discoursing together, the two Adventurers had not rid above a League, before they espied about a dozen People in the Habit of Countrymen, sitting at Dinner upon the Grass, and close by 'em they beholded several white Table-Cloaths spread upon the Ground that covered some thing that was underneath. Don Quixote road up to 'em, and after he had given 'em the Time of the Day, he asked 'em what they had got under those linen clothes? Sir, said one of the Company, they are certain Images that we are going to place upon a new Altar, which we have erected in our Parish Church. We carry 'em upon our Shoulders for fear they should break, and we cover 'em to keep 'em from the Air and the Dust. I would you would do me the favour to let me see 'em, replied Don Quixote, for considering the care you take of 'em, they should be Pieces of no small value— You would say so, replied the other, should we tell you what they cost; for there is nere a Figure that stands us in less then fifty Ducats— and with that, starting up upon his Legs, he took off the linen Cloth from one that happened to be a George a Horse-back, trampling a terrible Dragon under his Feet, with his Lance in the Monsters Mouth; all as they use to say, Fire new guilt with Gold. Don Quixote having viewed the Figure, this Knight, said he, was one of the Valiantest Knight-Errants that ever handled a Lance. His name was St. George, a great protector of Ladies Honour; should a Fellow ha' bragged to him of his Familiarity with a Lady that never saw her in his Life, he would ha' made him chaw'd his Tongue and spit it out again. What's the next I beseech ye?— Which being uncovered, proved to be St. Martin a Horse-back. This Knight, said he, was one of the best natured Knight-Errants, that ever put Foot in a Stirrup; for he divided his Cloak with a poor Man, and gave him half; and 'tis thought 'twas Winter-time, or else he would ha' given it him whole, he was so Charitable. That was not the reason on't, quo Sancho, but to show he understood the Proverb, He that lends his whole Breech must shit through his Ribs. Very right Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou wilt ha' thy saying— but now to the next. Which being discovered proved to be the Patron of Spain, with his Bloody Sword, mowing down the Moors like Ripe Barley. Ay mary, quo Don Quixote, this was one of the most Famous Knight-Errants that ever fought under the Standard of the across; He was called St. James, and surnamed the Scourge-Moor: I would not ha' given three Pence for any Mans Life, if he once laid his Clutches on him; he was no less Pious then Valiant, and now rests in Heaven.  
The next that appeared was the Figure of St. Paul, falling from his Horse, with all the Circumstances usually painted, upon his Conversion;— Oh, quo Don Quixote, I know him— this was once the bloodiest Persecutor, and afterwards the greatest Defender of the Christian Faith that ever was in the World— A Knight-Errant for his Course of Life, that was always in motion, but steadfast in the Faith till Death; an Indefatigable Labourer in the vineyard of Christ, and Pastor of the Gentiles, who derived his Doctrine from Heaven, while the Lord of Heaven vouchsafe d to be his Master. And now my good Friends, cried Don Quixote, I take this sight which I have seen for a prosperous Omen to my Undertakings. For these Saints and Knights followed the Profession that I do, which is that of Arms: Only that they are Saints, and fought according to the Rules of Holy Discipline; and I am a Sinner, and combat after the manner of Men. They took Heaven by force( for Heaven I must tell ye suffers Violence) but after all my travail and pains, I know not of any thing Considerable that I have won. Nevertheless, were my dear Dulcinea but once delivered from that Captivity she endures, upon the change of my Condition and the return of my Sences, I might perhaps redeem my time, and recover what I have lost. God grant it, quo Sancho, and give us Grace to forget our old Sins.  
All this while, the Country Fellows gaped and stared, like so many Bumkins in Henry the Sevenths chapel; for both his Garb and his Language were a strain too high for their Understanding. So that after they had made an end of their Dinner, they shouldered their Images, took their leaves of Don Quixote, and continued their Journey.  
And now Sancho surveyed his Master more then ever he had done before, wondering how he should come to know all these things, yet believing there was not that History or Adventure i' the World but he had it at his Fingers ends. Sir, said he, in troth Mr. Master of ours, if what has befallen us to day may be called an Adventure, it is the most quiet and pleasant one that ever we met with in all our Rambles. We are rid of it without so much as a dry basting; we have not so much as laid our Hands upon our Swords; nor has any body called us worse then our own names; we are here safe and sound, neither a dry nor a hungry. Thanks be praised, that I ha' seen all this with my own Eyes; for I should nere ha' believed it else, tho an Angel had  told it me. Thou saist well, Sancho, quo Don Quixote; but there are Seasons and Times, and Times and Seasons, but neither these Seasons nor Times are always the same. And therefore what the Vulgar admire as Forebodings and Omens, a wise Man only ought to call by the name of Happy Encounters. One of these Superstitious Bigots, going out betimes i' the Morning, met a Franciscan friar, and as if he had met St. Georges Dragon, presently run back again, and barred up his Doors. Another thought himself undone, to see the Salt-celler overturned upon the Table, as if such slight Accidents as these could be any assured prognostics of ill Fortune. He that has but a Grain of Prudence and Christianity never troubles himself to dive into the Secrets of Heaven, nor frights himself with these little Punctillio's of old Womens Divination. Scipio landing in Africa, stumbl'd and fell down; the Soldiers were aghast at the Accident, which they presently took for an ill Omen: but he embracing the Earth with both Arms, I have thee fast Africa, said he, thou shalt not scape me. And thus, friend Sancho, I take it for a good Omen to have met these Images.  
I believe it to be as you say, quo Sancho; but I would fain know, why, when the Spaniards invoke St. James the Scourge-Moor, before they engage in battle, they cry St. Jago, and close up Spain: Is it because Spain is divided like my Buttocks and wants to be closed up again? Pray what's the meaning of that Ceremony?' Slife, quo Don Quixote, what an ignorant Booby art thou? Dost thou not know that this Renowned Knight of the Vermilion across is the Protector of Spain, and more especially of the Soldiery in all the desperate Battels that have been fought against the Infidels. Therefore they invoke him in all their bloody engagements; and he has been Personally seen hacking, hewing, slashing, cutting, overturning and destroying whole Squadrons of the Enemy at a time. Sancho seemed well satisfied, and therefore changing the Discourse, I cannot but admire, quo he, at the Impudence of Madam Tomboy, my Lady Dutchesses Waiting Gentlewoman; Beshrew my Heart, that Slipstring Love, must have given her a plaguy Wound; in at the Armpits, and out at the Navel, a whole Ell long i' my Conscience. And yet I have heard say, that the Modesty and Reservedness of a young Virgin will many times blunt the Points of those amorous Darts, as if they had been shot against a Flint; But the contrary appears by Mrs. Tomboy, as if her Chastity had rather set an edge upon' em. Love, Friend Sancho, quo Don Quixote, acts without consideration or guidance of Reason. For like Death, he spares neither Prince nor Peasant; and wherever he gets Possession, the first thing he does, is to turn fear and shane quiter out of Doors. Which were no sooner strangers to Mrs. Tomboy, but you see she made nothing to discover her wanton Desires, to him that rather scorned then pitied her lose Amours. That's an inhuman piece of Cruelty, quo Sancho, an unheard of Ingratitude— had the poor dansel addressed her self to me, I dare say I should have yielded at the first word— Surely you must have a Heart of Marble and Bowels of Brass— But now I think on't, what did that poor Creature see i' your Face, to make her out-run the Constable as she did? Where the Devil was the noble Air, the sparkling Eye, or Beauty that bewitched her? I have surveyed ye a hundred times from Head to Foot, and by my Life, not to flatter ye, I never could see any thing i' your Face that was not more likely to scar then enamour a young Lady; so that either this unfortunate Virgin must be blind, or else Enchantment has a Finger i' this pie.  
Dost thou not know, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, that there are two sorts of Beauty, the one of the Soul, the other of the Body? That of the Soul appears in a Mans Wit, his virtue, his Generosity and his prudent Carriage and Demeanour; and all these Graces of the mind may happen to meet together in a Person not so accomplished in outward Features: and when a Lady fixes her Eyes upon this Beauty, the Assaults of Love are far more vigorous and surprising. For my part, quo Sancho, I know I am no Beauty, neither am I a Monster— and therefore seeing 'tis sufficient for a Man to be beloved for the Graces of his Mind, I wonder how I scape making holes in Ladies Hearts.  
In the midst of these and such like Discourses, they found themselves entering into a forest quiter out of the Road; and Don Quixote afore he knew where he was, perceived himself entangled in certain little Nets of Green Silk that were spread among the Trees. With that, Sancho, quo he, either I am deceived, or this is one of the strangest Adventures that ever I met with. Let me die now if I don't believe my Capital Enemies the Necromancers to be at work; and now their design is to entangle me in these Nets, on purpose to stop my Journey, and revenge my Contempt of Mrs. Tomboys Folly. But I'll spoil their Plots; for were these Nets as strong as those wherewith the Jealous God of Fire envelop'd once the God of War and the Goddess of Beauty, I would make no more to break 'em, then so many Spiders Webs. And so saying, he put briskly forward, with a resolution to tear the Silken Encomberments that environed him: at what time there sprung from a Thicket of Bushes two fair Shepherdesses, at least they appeared to be so by their Habits; only with this difference, that they were Richly clad in sumptuous Tissue. Their disshevel'd Locks hung dangling down about their Shoulders in a Thousand curls; enterwoven with Garlands of laurel, myrtle, and several sorts of Flowers; nor did they seem to be above fifteen or sixteen Years of Age. This Vision of Don Quixote and the Shepherdesses, so unexpected to both, equally surprised as well the one as the other, and held 'em for some time in the same suspense and silence; till at length one of the Shepherdesses opening her coral Lips, cried out, Hold Sir Knight, and do not tear those Nets, which we have only spread for our divertisement, and not to catch such Birds as you. And therefore to let ye know our design, and who we are, I shall tell ye in few words.  
Two Leagues from hence lies our Village, where live a great number of Wealthy Gentlemen; among whom the younger sort have made up a Company together all of the same humour, to come and divertise themselves in this place, which is one of the pleasantest in all these parts; to which purpose we have designed to act a New Pastoral, the young Men in the habit of Shepherds and the young Virgins in the dress of Shepherdesses. We have all got our parts by heart, some out of the Famous Garcilasso, and others culled from the works of the most Excellent Comoes, a portugese Poet. Yesterday was the first day of our Arrival, and we have set up our Tents near the Banks of a River that Waters all the Meadows round about. And last night we spread these Nets to catch such little Birds, as the noise we made should scar into the Silken Snares. Now Sir if you think fit to make one of our Society, you shall be extremely welcome; and you may be assured that the rest will be as glad as we of your good Company.  
In truth, fair Lady, replied Don Quixote, I do not believe actaeon was more surprised to see Diana bathing her self, then I was to meet your Beauty. I applaud your Innocent Mirth, and I return ye a thousand Thanks for the favour of your obliging offers. If you think me capable to serve ye, you may command the Person that will study an exact obedience to all your Impositions: For my Profession is to defy Ingratitude, and do good to all Mankind; and particularly to Persons of your Sex, your Quality, and your Merit: And let me tell ye, were these Nets spread over the Surface of the whole Earth, I would seek to find some other Passage into another World, before I would break the smallest Thread that conduces to your Pastime. Nor will you question the Truth of what I say, when you understand that he who acknowledges your Civility is Don Quixote de la Mancha, if e're his Name has reached your Ears.  
Oh, Sister, Sister, cried the other, what good Fortune have we! This worthy Person, who d' ye think he is? the honestest, best natured Knight i' the World, if the History of his Life speak truth. I ha' red it, Sister, and I'll hold an even Wager, that the Punchin that is with him is Sancho Pancha his Squire, one of the pleasantest Merry-Andrews that ever droll'd upon a Mountebanks Stage. You say very true, Madam, quo Sancho, I am that very Merry-Andrew, that Squire you speak of, and this Gentleman, My Mais the same Don Quixote de la Mancha, so famous in his History, Nay then, Sister, if it be so, we must entreat 'em to stay; the whole Company will be overjoyed to see 'em— I have already heard of his Valour and his virtue, the same thou now tell'st me— They say moreover that he is one of the most constant and amorous Persons i' the World, and that his Mistress, one Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, is the fairest Lady in all Spain. They do not talk without Book, quo Don Quixote; tho no disparagement to your Transcended Beauties neither; tho of all that ever I yet beholded, you are the only Persons capable to dispute the Advantage with her. But Ladies I beseech ye loose no time, for the Duties to which my Profession obliges me are so nice and exact, that they will not permit me to stay long in any Place.  
At the same time arrived the Brother of one of the Shepherdesses, clad like a Swayn, but in a Garb nothing inferior to the Gallantry of the young Ladies. Brother, cried his Sister, now you have the Happiness to see with your own Eyes, the Famous Don Quixote de la Mancha, and Sancho his Squire, whose Life you have so often red over with so much pleasure and delight. Thereupon the young Shepherd so highly Complemented Don Quixote, and begged his Company with that Importunity, that 'twas impossible for the Champion to deny him. At the same time they heard the hooping and hallowing of several Voices at a distance, which drove a thousand Birds of different sorts into the danger which they sought to avoid. This united all the rest of the Company, who made toward the Nets, to the number of about fifty Persons variously habited in Shepherds and Shepherdesses Weeds, and overjoyed that they had met with Don Quixote and his Squire, carried 'em to their Tents, where Dinner was ready upon the Table. Don Quixote was constrained to take the place of Honour, tho not without a great deal of modest Resistance; and all the while that Dinner lasted, there was not one that did not gaze with admiration to behold so strange an Object.  
But at length the Cloth being taken away, Don Quixote with a grave and serious Countenance lifting up his Voice, Of all the sins which Men commit, said he, in my Opinion Ingratitude is the foulest, notwithstanding the judgement of others, who affirm Pride to be a greater; and I ground my Allegation on this, that Hell is said to be stuffed with the ungrateful. Ever since I have had the use of Reason, I have always endeavoured to avoid this Crime. For tho I have not been able always to return acknowledgements answerable to the Benefits I have received, yet I repay 'em with the real intentions and desires of my Heart; and as a mark of my acknowledgement, I make 'em known to all the World: For he that proclaims the Kindnesses he has received, at the same time declares his desire to make requital, were it in his power. But the greatest part of those that receive, being inferior to those that give, it is a difficult thing for such to discharge the Obligation but in Thanks. God, who is infinitely above all the World, bestows his Favours and his Blessings upon us, so vastly more then we deserve, that all the acknowledgement which Men can make, can never hold proportion with his Goodness. Nevertheless Men are not absolutely deemed ungrateful, while they supply their want of Power with their cordial Desires, their Thanksgivings, and the Confessions of their own unworthiness.  
Gentlemen, I am in this condition in respect of yourselves; you have treated me with all the Civilities Imaginable, you have entertained me like a Prince, while I am utterly unable to make an acknowledgement equal to the Kindnesses I have received. I shall therefore contain myself within the narrow Limits of my own Abilities, and only offer ye what I have within my Power. Which is to maintain for two whole days together in the middle of the Road that leads to Saragosa, that these Ladies here disguised in the Habit of Shepherdesses, are the fairest and the civillest Ladies in the World, the Lady Dulcinea deal Toboso only excepted, sole Mistress of my Thoughts; without offence to all that hear me be it spoken.  
Here Don Quixote made a Pause; at what time Sancho believing it his Turn, before any body else could have liberty to chop in a word of answer to his Master; Is it possible, said he, that there should be any People in the World so arrogant, as to say my Master is a Fool? Pray tell me Ladies and Gentlemen, did you ever know any of your Country Parsons that pretend to talk Greek and Hebrew, that ever discoursed so Metemphisically as he does; or any of your Knight-Errants with all their Rodomontado's that ever made such a Frank and Generous offer as he has done? How! quo Don Quixote, turning toward Sancho, and beholding him with Eyes full of Fiery Indignation, ye Pewter-button'd Rakeshame, quo he, is there any Man living upon the Face of the Earth, that would take thee for any other then the merest Changeling that ever begged at a Towns end with a blew Coat and a Muckender, or at least for a saucy Impertinent Hobnail Hangdog as thou art? Who made you so bold, good Mr. Apple-Squire, to busy yourself with my Folly or Wisdom? Dog in a Doublet, make no replies, if you love your Sconce; but go and saddle Rosinante, that this noble Company may see I am no Bouncer, but one that does as he says; and as I have Right of my side, you may number those among the Dead already that deny the contrary. And so saying he flung from the Table in a dreadful Fury, to the wonder of all the Company, who were in a quandary what judgement to make of him, whether Fool or Madman. They persuaded him to lay his Challenges aside, for that they were assured of his Gratitude, without the hazard of such dangerous Demonstrations; and for his Valour they were sufficiently convinced of it, by what they had already red of his famous Exploits.. By the Body of pharaoh, quo Don Quixote, 'twas never questioned yet, nor ever shall be; and so saying he mounted Rosinante, shouldered his Target, and with his Lance couched in his Rest, maugre all persuasion to the contrary, he went and posted himself in the middle of the High-way, attended by Sancho and all the Company, who were desirous to behold the Event of such a Hairbraind Resolution. And now having taken his Ground, he rang these loud Expressions through the neighbouring Air.  
All you who e're you are, Knights-Errant, Squires, a foot or a horse-back, that pass or shall pass this Road for these two days together, know that Don Quixote de la Mancha, Knight-Errant, stays here to aver and maintain that the Nymphs which inhabit these Woods and Meadows, surpass in Beauty and Civility all the Beauties of the Earth, except the Mistress of my Soul, the Lady Dulcinea deal Toboso. And he that will uphold the contrary, let him dare venture hither, where I expect his coming. These lofty words he twice in vain repeated, for all the Knight Adventurers were deaf or else a sleep i' their Graves. But Fortune, his dear Friend, that always would be cutting him out work to make her self sport, shew'd him a jolly sight; for by and by he saw at a distance a great number of People a Horse-back, and some with launces in their Hands, all trooping together, and in great hast. The Company that were with Don Quixote, no sooner beholded such a number of Cavaliers driving the Dust before 'em, but they got out of harms way, not judging it safe to be so near danger. Only Sancho sheltered himself behind Rosinante, while Don Quixote stood like an Oak, and with an undaunted Courage daring all Extremities. At length when the Horsemen drew near, one of the foremost calling out to Don Quixote; What a Devil, cried he, does the fellow stand there for! get out of the way and be hanged, do ye intend the Bulls should gore ye to pieces.  
Scoundrels, replied Don Quixote, don't think to scar me with your Bulls or your Bears either; but acknowledge, I say acknowledge what I maintain to be Truth, or else prepare to fight me. But the Cowherd had no leisure to make him any answer; neither had Don Quixote any time to get out of the way if he would; for the Bulls came powdering on apace, and being chafed by their Drivers, bore down all before 'em, Champion and Squire, Horse and Man; and they that came after, never minding where they trod, trampled Valour, Gratitude and Fidelity under foot, at a most unmerciful rate. Never were human Bodies so poach'd and besmeared with Bulls Drivel, Foam, and Dust before i' this World: Nor did they leave poor helpless Rosinante and Grizzle insensible of the weight of their Hoofs But for all this, after the unruly Herd was past, Don Quixote started up, stunned with his fall and bruises, reeling, staggering, stumbling; then falling, then up again, and running a Dog trot as fast as he could, made a hideous noise, bawlling all the way as loud as he could open his Throat, and crying out after the unmannerly Cowherds, stop Scoundrels, stop, and answer the Challenge of a single Knight, who scorns the Humour of making a Golden bridge for his flying Enemy. But no body vouchsafed him an answer; nor no body minded his threats or his Rodomentado's; so that Men and Beasts by this time being out of sight, Don Quixote, Sinew-sprain'd, Shoulder-pight, and Hip-shot, but most of all tormented in his Soul for the loss of his Revenge, was forced to sit down i' the middle of the Road, till Sancho arrived with Rosinante and Grizzle, all three so mortified, that they were hardly able to creep. However the two Adventurers made a shift to mount their Four-footed Cripples, and ashamed of their bad success, held on their Journey, without ever taking leave of the Shepherds of New Arcadia.   

CHAP. VII.  
What happened to Don Quixote, which may be truly called an Adventure.  
A Fountain of clear and cool Water which they met with in a small Coppice not far from the Field of their Misfortune, was the only Refreshment that could be found to comfort the forlorn and tired Adventurers. By the Brink of which, leaving Rosinante and Grizzle unbridl'd and unhalter'd to their own discretion, they sate down, and after they had dusted themselves, as you would have dusted two pieces of old Hangings, they washed their Hands, their Faces and their Mouths. Which done, Sancho the most careful of his Belly, of all Squires errand under the Sun, went to his Wallet, which he always called his Vade Mecum, and having brought forth his Provision, set it before his Master. But Don Quixote's Stomach was too full of his Misfortunes to eat, and Sancho was so mannerly, that he would not fall too before his Master; however at last, finding that his Masters sorrows would not permit him to lift his Hand to his Mouth, he laid aside all considerations of good behaviour, and fell a cramming his Jaws, as if he had not eaten in fifteen days before. Eat, friend Sancho, cried Don Quixote, eat and enjoy the Pleasures of this Life, which thou hast the happiness to relish with a more pleasing Gusto then I can. I am born, Sancho, to live like one continually dying, and thou to die continually eating. And for proof of this, do but reflect upon me, Famous in the History of my Life, more famous by my Exploits, honoured and esteemed by Kings and Princes, beloved by Ladies of the highest Quality; yet after all this, when I expected Laurel Wreaths, and the Triumphs which my achievements Merit, behold me Morter-trod, and trampled like the High-way Dirt, under the Hoofs of unclean Beasts, and likely to be the scorn of all that shall come to understand the fatal Issue of so generous an undertaking. The consideration of these Misfortunes it is that files my Teeth; that dulls my Appetite and stupefies my Sences: for to tell thee truth I have not the Courage to lift my Hand to my Mouth, as fearing more to live, then starve myself to death; tho I confess it to be a most unnatural thing for a Man to have such a grudge against himself. Then you don't approve of the Proverb belike, quo Sancho, munching and swallowing all the while, He must needs be Friendless that dyes with an empty Stomach. For my part I am not so simplo yet as to kill myself— I am like the Shoemaker that stretches his Leather with his Teeth; I am for prolonging my Life by eating— and I'll stretch it with my Teeth as far as Heaven will let it run— In good faith Master, there is no greater Madness i' this World, then for a Man to despair— And therefore take my advice, follow my example and eat; and when ye have done, lie down upon the fresh Grass with your Belly to the Sun, and take a Nap; and if you ben't the better for it when you wake, say I'm a Fool and no Physician.  
Don Quixote yielded to Sancho's Arguments; for he was convinced that the Squire spoken good Natural Philosophy at that time. However, having another project in his Head; Ah, Sancho, quo he, my Stomach is at thy disposal, and the ponderous weight of my Cares would sit much more light upon my Shoulders, if thou wouldst but step aside, and uncasing thy blind Cheeks, give thyself some two or three hundred smart Licks with the Reins of Rosinantes Bridle, and put 'em to account of what are past, and what are to come toward the disenchantment of thy distressed Mistress Dulcinea. For in truth 'tis a shane that poor Lady should suffer all this while through thy Negligence.  
That's a Business requires a more serious Consideration, quo Sancho, first let's go sleep, and then we'll debate that question more at leisure. Do you think 'tis a reasonable thing for a Man to whip himself in could Blood, especially when the Lashes must light upon a body so sorrily lined within as mine is? Patience good Madam Dulcinea— one of these days you shall see me with as many holes i' my Skin as a Cullender— There's nothing lost that comes at last— I'll warrant ye for a Gravesend Toste, you'l find me exact to my Promise. Don Quixote return'd his Squire many thanks; and so laying themselves down at their full length upon the green Grass, they betook themselves to their Rest; leaving Rosinante and Grizzle to feed or repose at their own discretion.  
The day was now far gone when the Adventurers waked, and made hast to mount their spitals, in hopes to get to an Inn before it grew dark. I call it an Inn, because Don Quixote called it so himself; contrary to his custom, as being wont to take Inns for Castles; nor was Sancho any way displeased at his design. And here fortune favoured 'em, for they had not road above a League before they met with what they sought for. Where being arrived, Sancho asked the Innkeeper whether he had any lodging?— Yes— quo the Innkeeper, and the best Conveniencies of any Inn in all Spain. Thereupon they alighted, and Sancho having locked up his Portmantle and Wallet in his Chamber and taken the Key, after he had seen Rosinante and Grizzle well provided for i' the Stable, went to find out his Master, whom he found sitting upon a Bench in the Yard. Supper-time approaching Don Quixote went up to his Chamber; and Sancho staying with the Host, asked him what he had to eat. For Flesh and Fish, quo the Innkeeper, you cannot speak but have— let him but take measure of his Mouth and he would fit him with Birds of the Air, Barn-door Fowl, Beasts of the Field, or of the forest, and what not? And then for Wine he had all sorts, Vin Chablay, Vin de bon, Puntack, Obryan, Champain, Vin de Pari, Hermitage, Rousillon, and twenty more hard names, that Sancho thought himself in Paradise.  
There's no need of all this, quo Sancho, two good Capons will do our business, and what's left will serve for Breakfast; for my Master has a very nice Stomach, and eats so little at a time, that the Pestle of a Lark will serve his turn, but only that I eat for him and myself too. As for Capons, replied the Host, we have none, for no less then four Lords dined here to day and had all we had. Why then, quo Sancho, roast us a couple of Pullets with Eggs, so they be young and tender. Pullets! quo the Innkeeper, in truth, in truth, now I think on't, I sold above Fifty yesterday to a Hegler to carry to the City: But setting aside Capons and Pullets, you may have any thing else. Why then let's have a good joint of Veal or Lamb, quo Sancho.' Slife, now I remember me, here were some Citizens and their Wives this Morning that cleared my Larder. Cou-rage, quo Sancho, there's Life in a Muscle yet— now will I hold a Wager, that all this Monstrous Bill of Fare will end in a Dish of Collops and Eggs at last. There you have found it out indeed, quo the Host, I  told ye I had no Hens, and you would have me have Eggs. The Devil twist the Neck of thee for a Fool, quo Sancho, prithee tell me what thou hast, and don't put me to puzzle my Brains i' this fashion. Why then look ye d' ye see, quo the Innkeeper, in short, I ha' two Neats Feet ready dressed, with Onions and Mustard, a Dish for a Prince. Neats Feet! quo Sancho, let no body touch 'em, but keep 'em for me, I'll pay thee thy own rate. By the Ghost of St. Marriot, there's nothing I love better. I'll warrant 'em secure, quo the Innkeeper, for all the Guests at present in my House are Persons of Quality, that carry their Steward, their Cook and their Butler along with 'em, and cater abroad for themselves. As for Persons of Quality, quo Sancho, let that pass, my Master's a Person of as good Quality as the proudest He of 'em all, but his Profession does not allow him Butlers nor Cooks. We generally dine i' the Field under a three or a hedge, and many times have nothing neither to dinner but a few Chestnuts, or a salad of my Masters own Picking. Thus ended the Discourse between Sancho and the Innkeeper; for as to the Innkeepers Interrogatories concerning his Masters Quality and Profession, Sancho was not then at leisure to make him any answer.  
And now Supper-time being come, the Innkeeper carried up his Ragou, such as it was, into the Champions Chamber; but ere Don Quixote had set his Teeth to the first Morsel he put in his Mouth, i' the next Room, between which and his own there was but a slender partition, he over-heard two Gentlemen talking together, and the one saying to the other, I pray Signour Jeronimo let us red one Chapter of the second Part of Don Quixote, till Supper come in. The Knight no sooner heard himself named, but he rose from the Table, and went to hark'n what they said; at what time he heard Jeronimo make answer, wherefore have you such a desire to red those Impertinencies, Signour Don John? Methinks that after you have red the first Part, you should take but little delight in reading the second. I agree wi' ye, replied Jeronimo, however, there is no Book so bad, but there is something of good to be picked out of it. Only that which I mislike in this part is this, that Don Quixote does not seem to be so much enamoured of Dulcinea deal Toboso as he was in the second. Upon those words, Don Quixote all Fire and Tow, cried out, Whoever says that Don Quixote has forgot, or is capable to forget Dulcinea deal Toboso, lies in his Throat, and I'll make him eat the Blade of his Sword; for the Peerless Dulcinea deal Toboso is not a Person to be forgot; and such a forgetfulness would be beneath Don Quixote de la Mancha: Constancy is his Motto, and his Profession is to preserve his Fidelity inviolable.  
Who's that prates there, cried one of the Gentlemen, i' the other Chamber? Who should it be, quo Sancho, but Don Quixote de la Mancha, the same that will maintain what he has said, my Life for yours; for a good Paymaster never grudges to part with his Money.  
Sancho's words were no sooner out of his Mouth, but the two Gentlemen made bold to enter Don Quixote's Chamber; and one of the two throwing his Arms about Don Quixote's Neck, Your Presence, Sir Knight, does no way belie your Reputation, nor your Reputation your Presence— you are certainly the true and undaunted Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Load-stone and North-Star of Chivalry-Errant, in despite of him that has usurped your Name, and endeavours to eclipse the lustre of your famous Exploits, as appears by this Book which I have here i' my Hand. Don Quixote took the Book, without saying a word, turned over the Leaves, and then returning it again, I find fault, said he, with three things that deserve Reprehension. First, I except against some words that are in the Preface; the next is, that the Language is Aragonnois; and in the third place, he shows himself an Ignoramus, while he fails in one of the principal parts of the History, in calling Sancho Pancha, my Squires Wife, Mary Gutteridge, when her name is Teresa Pancha, and I'me afraid that an Author who mistakes in such an Important Passage of the Story, may commit as many Errors in the Rest. By my Faith, quo Sancho, he's a very pleasant Fellow of a Historian, to call my Wife Teresa, Mary Gutteridge— the Devil Gutteridge him for a Coxcomb— pray Sir will you be pleased to red a little i' your Book, that I may hear whether he says any thing of me, and whether he ha' not changed my name too. Then I find you are Sancho Pancha, replied Jeronimo, Squire to Monsieur Don Quixote. Yes, Sir, replied Sancho, and I would have ye to know, I am not a little proud of my Employment. In truth, Sir, quo the Gentleman, then the last Author does not deal so civilly by ye as you deserve. For he gives you the Character of a half-witted Guttle-gut; not able to say Bo to a Goose. Heaven pardon him, quo Sancho; however he might ha' let me alone, unless he had known me better, but St. Peter is at Rome.  
Presently the Gentlemen invited Don Quixote to sup with them in their Chamber, for that they well knew there was nothing in the Inn that was fit for him to eat. A modest request, which Don Quixote, who was all Civility and Complaisance would not deny; so that he went along with the Gentleman to better cheer then his own. And now Sancho seeing himself Master of the soust Neats Feet, placed himself at the upper end of the Table, and bidding the Innkeeper sit down by him, they both fell on with keen Appetites, drinking and laughing as if they had had a Master and Wardens Feast before' em.  
In the mean time, as they were at Supper i' the next Room, Don John asked Don Quixote when he had heard of Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso, whether she were married; whether she had any children; and whether she were with Child or no; or whether he thought she would tarry to reward the Constancy of her faithful Servant Don Quixote? Dulcinea, replied Don Quixote, is still a Maid, and my thoughts are still the same that ever they were; but alas, she is disfigured, and her Beauty is transformed into the Deformity of a Country-dowdy; and with that he up and  told the Gentlemen the whole Story of her being Enchanted, what had befallen him in the Cave of Montesinos, and the means that Merlin had prescribed for Dulcineas Releasement, which now depended solely upon Sancho's flogging himself only for an hour or two. The Gentlemen were overjoyed to hear from D. Quixote's own Mouth, the strange Adventures of his Life, not more astonished at his Extravagancies, then at his Eloquent manner of relating' em.  
By this time Sancho having supped, and half fuddl'd his Host, changed Rooms, and coming into the Gentlemans Chamber, let me be hanged, quo he, Gentlemen, if I believe that he who wrote that Book had any design that ever he and I should take a loving Cup together— I wonder he did not blazon me for a Drunkard as well as a Glutton. So he does, I will assure ye, replied Geronimo, but I cannot well turn to the Place; only I remember he is forced to strain hard for his jests, and now I find that Sancho's Physiognomy proves him a liar. Believe me, Gentlemen, quo Sancho, Benengeli's Sancho and his Don Quixote can never be the same Persons with those your Book talks of. For Benengeli's Don Quixote was Prudent, Valiant and Amorous; and his Sancho simplo and Merry, but neither Glutton nor Drunkard. I believe as you do, replied Don John, and for my part I think 'twere fit that all other Writers whatever should be forbid to writ Don Quixote's Life, but only Cid Hamet the first Author; as Alexander forbid all other Painters to draw his Picture except Apelles. Let who's will draw my Picture, quo Don Quixote, but let him have a care he takes it right; for there are some Injuries will provoke a Saint. There's no Man can injure Don Quixote, replied Don John, but he is able to revenge himself, especially if once he lay aside his Patience and take up his Buckler; for then I'me sure the World must be at an end with some body.  
These and such like discourses wasted a good part of the Night; and tho Don John most earnestly desired Don Quixote to red on, and see if he could find any more mistakes of the Historian, he could by no means prevail with the Knight, whose answer was, that if the Author should ever come to know he had had it in his Hand, he would be proud to think he had red it; whereas he scorned to vouchsafe a Fabulous Writer so much as the Glance of his Eye. Thereupon Don John made bold to ask him what design he was now upon, and which way he was traveling. To which Don Quixote answered, that he was going for Saragosa, to be present at the tournaments annually held i' that City. Why, quo Don John, this same Book tells ye a Story of Don Quixote's being at Saragosa once before at a public Running at the Ring; so wretchedly simplo, so miserable poor, but so full of Extravagancies and Rodomontado's, that nothing could be more ridiculous. Why now you shall see, quo Don Quixote, what a liar I will make of this Historian, for I'me resolved for his sake not to set foot i' the City— and then the World shall know whether I am his Don Quixote or no. You will do very well, replied Don John, besides there is a Grand tournament at Barcellona, where you may signalise your Valour as well as at Saragosa. That's my Design, and so Gentlemen good Night and good Repose to ye— and pray do me the favour to number me among your best and most faithful Servants— Pray Genlemen do me the same honour too, quo Sancho, it may be you may find me good for something.  
Thus the Knight and the Squire retired to their Chamber, leaving the Gentlemen fully satisfied, that these two Persons were the same Don Quixote and Sancho, so famous in the first part of their History. So soon as it was day, Don Quixote went and took his leave of the Gentlemen, while Sancho recken'd with his Host, whom he paid like an Emperour, advising him withal, to brag less, and furnish his Inn better.   

CHAP. VIII.  
What befell Don Quixote going to Barcellona.  
'twas a fair Morning, and promised a fair day, when Don Quixote left the Inn, after he had taken Instructions to guide him in the Road to Barcellona. For he was resolved he would not so much as see Saragosa, that he might make the Arroganian a liar, who had so foully bespattered him in his History. Six days he road on, not meeting with any Adventure Considerable; but the seventh toward Evening, having lost his way, and being surprised by the Night, he was constrained to stop under a Covert of thick Trees, not being able to travail any farther. There they alighted both, and laying themselves down at the foot of a spreading Oak, they resolved to expect Day-light. Sancho having drank a little hard that day, quickly fell a snoring; but Don Quixote, amused with his wonted Whims and Fancies, could not so much as close his Eyes, while his roving Imagination kept his busy Sences hurried a thousand several ways at once. Sometimes he thought himself in Montesinos's Cave, where he saw his deformed Dulcinea skipping upon on Asses Back like a Country Hoyden; sometimes he thought himself discoursing with the Necromancer Merlin, and taking new Instructions how to disenchant her. Then a fit of despair seized him, to think how careless Sancho was, and how remiss in the Execution of his Penance, which was never likely to be accomplished, considering the slow rate that he went on, as not having given himself above five Lashes in three Weeks. And this Reflection so tormented him, that he resolved to put an end to his Affliction forthwith. If Alexander, said he, cut the Gordian Knot, when he could not untie it, and yet became Lord of all Asia, why may not I have the same success by whipping Sancho myself? For if the force of the Remedy consists in Sancho's receiving three thousand three hundred Lashes, what matter is it, whether he be his own Pedagogue, or whether another lay on the strokes for him; seeing the main Point is this, that he must be scourged. Thereupon having taken this Resolution, and the Stirrup Leathers from Rosinantes Saddle, he stolen softly upon Sancho, and began to untruss his Points. With that Sancho started out of his sleep, Who's there? cried he, whose that untrusses my Breeches? 'tis I, quo Don Quixote, I am come to repair thy Negligence, and to seek the Remedy of my Torments. I come to whip thee, Sancho, and discharge thee of that Debt, for which thou standst engage. Poor Dulcinea perishes, and I languish in Despair and Affliction: untruss therefore peaceably and willingly, for my design is only to give thee about two thousand stripes while we are here alone together.  
Hands off, quo Sancho, pray be patient and let me alone, or else by all the Monuments of my progenitors, I'll make such a noise as shall alarum all the Dead within ten Miles round. The Lashes which I am to give myself, are to be voluntary and not by compulsion; I am to be whipped neither by Beadles nor Hangmen; and at this time I have no m nd to be whipped at all; 'tis sufficient that I promise ye to scourge myself, when the Humour takes me; but you must stay my Humours leisure.  
I am not to stand to thy courtesy, Sancho, quo Don Quixote; thou hast a hard Heart, hard and flinty toward a distressed Lady, but tender and compassionate toward thy own Skin: and so saying, he fell to untying his Squires Points with all his force. Which Sancho perceiving, started upon his Legs, and taking his Master about the middle, gave him a trip, and threw him fairly upon his Back; and then setting his Knee upon his Breast, held his Hands so fast, that he could hardly stir or fetch his Breath.  
How traitor! cried Don Quixote, what, rebel against thy Master! against thy natural Lord! against him that gives thee Bread! I commit neither Murder nor Manslaughter, quo Sancho, I am purely i' my own defence, as being my own Master, Lord and King. If your Worship will promise to let me alone, and lay aside your whipping design, I will give ye leave to rise; if not, you shall die, like a traitor and an Enemy of Gammer Sancho, as you are. Thereupon Don Quixote was forced to submit, and swore by the Life of Dulcinea, not to touch a Hair of his Head, but to leave the whipping of himself to his own free will and discretion.  
Sancho, having thus conquered his Master, rose up and went to another place to sleep out the rest of his sleep, at such a distance from the Knight, where he thought he might lie secure. At what time he had no sooner laid himself down at the feet of another three, but feeling something lie hard against his Head, he put forth his Hand and felt a couple of Feet with Shoes and stockings. This put him in a deadly fright, so that rising from thence, he betook himself to another Covert, where the same Accident befell him again. But then ten times more scared and terrified then he was before, he set up his Throat, and fell a bawling for help as loud as he could yawl. Immediately Don Quixote flying to his Assistance, what's the matter, quo he? Why, quo Sancho, sure these Trees walk, I can find nothing but Legs and Feet at the Roots of 'em— Thereupon Don Quixote felt, and presently conjecturing what was probable enough— Oh, quo he, Thou were't more afraid then hurt— This place is the Common place of Execution, and the Fruit which these Trees bear are highway-men and Robbers, hanged upon the Boughs for their Crimes and villainies. For Justice is constrained to hang 'em up by Twenties and Thirties at a Time; and this makes me think we are not far from Barcellona; wherein he was not mistaken. Soon after day appearing, they saw the Trees laden with the Bodies of executed Felons. But while they were considering this Melancholy Spectacle, they were more surprised to see a whole Regiment of St. Nicholas's Clerks come rushing out of the Thickets, and crying out, stand, and speak with their Captain. 'twas then a word of Command that must be obeyed, for Don Quixote was a foot, his Horse unbridl'd, and his Lance not to be recovered, so that unable to make any defence, he was forced to across his Arms and shrug up his Shoulders. Presently the Rakehells discharged Grizzle of her burden, the Portmantle and Wallet; and well it was that Sancho had his yellow Boys about him, fast tied in the Lappet of his Shirt, which however those honest Men would ha' found out, tho' they had been hide in the Pith of his Back( for they were beginning to uncase him) had not their Captain appeared at the same Instant. He had on a Coat of Male, and four Pocket Pistols stuck in his waste Belt: He was about Thirty years of Age; vigorous and lusty; proper and well featured; brown of Complexion; his Locks black and dangling; and the Air of his Countenance surly and resolute; yet where there appeared however something of Gentility and good Nature. Upon his approach, seeing his Squires undressing Sancho, he commanded 'em to hold their Hands and quit him, which they did at the first word. Then looking about him, and not a little surprised to see a Lance set up against a three, a Buckler lying upon the Ground, and Don Quixote in his cap-à-pie, walking with a sad pensive Look, like a Merchant newly stripped at Sea, and set ashore; he made up to the Knight, and with a smiling Aspect, come, Sir, quo he, be a' good cheer, you are not fallen into the hands of a Cruel Enemy; but into the hands of Roques Guiniard, who never injures them that never injured him. Most Valiant Roques, replied Don Quixote, my discontents arise not from my being at thy Disposal, but that thy Soldiers surprised me unawares and unprovided, whereas by the Laws of my Order of Knight-Errantry, which I profess, I should have been upon the watch, and guarding myself as my own Sentinel. For thou know'st brave Roques, had they found me a Horse-back with my Lance and Shield ready fixed, they had not so easily been Masters of my Person. The Apprehensive Roques soon guessed by these last words, what was Don Quixote's Disease: He had often heard of him, but could not believe what was reported of him to be true, or that such fantastic Whimsies could ever enter the thoughts of a rational Man. Nevertheless he was glad he had met with such an Opportunity to judge whether the Original agreed with the copy. Renowned Knight, said he, never droop for this; nor count it any Act of Sinister Fortune, which I am apt to think will rather redound to the advancement of your famed, and the raising higher then ever your depressed and lanquishing condition.  
Don Quixote was about to have return'd the Generous Roques a compliment befiting himself, but he was prevented, by the trampling, as they both conjectured, of several Horses. However it proved to be but one single Horseman, mounted like a Prince, and riding full speed, as if he had been galloping for a Doctor of physic. Turning about, they discovered him to be a young lovely Gentleman, about Twenty years of Age, clad in a green Damask svit laid with Gold Lace, with his Hat buttoned up a one side, his Boots new and pulled up, Horseman like; his Sword, his Dagger and his Spurs guilt, and two Pocket Pistols fixed to his waste Belt. His speed soon brought him to the Company, where making a stand, Brave Roques, said he, 'tis thee I seek, to find, if not the Cure, at least th' assuagement of my Sorrows. And therefore, not to keep thee long in suspense, for I perceive thou knowst me not; I am Claudia Geronima the Daughter of Simon the Strong, thy particular Friend, and sworn Enemy of Clauquel Torrellas. His Son Don Vincent Torrellas not long since fell in Love with me, which he finding a means to discover to me, faith I, finding him civil and handsome, lent him a favourable Ear; insomuch that at length we struck up a Bargain, and he gave me his Hand, and I gave him mine upon it; but we did not go presently to Church, because we stayed to have both our Parents consent. Nevertheless this very Morning was this ungrateful wretch to ha' married another; but I think I ha' spoiled his sport; for understanding they were to be married in the Country, I overtook him within a League of this Place, and without standing to expostulate the matter, or to give him leave to say his Prayers, I clapped a brace of Bullets in his middle Region, and made him pay with the loss of his Heart blood, for the Affront he had done me. Now my request to you is, that you would conduct me safe out of the Kingdom, where I may shift in safety for myself, and at your return, that you would stand by my Father, should any of Don Vincents Relations or Friends pretend to revenge his Death.  
Roques, no less surprised at the daring Courage then at the dazzling Air and Beauty of the Virago, promised to accompany her wherever she went. But first, said he, let's be certain whether your Enemy be dead, and then we shall consider what to do.  
Don Quixote hearing all these Passages, There's no necessity, said he, for this Lady to sue for any Mans Protection, 'tis my business to undertake it, and provided I may but have my Arms, I'll find out this Person myself, and either alive or dead I'll make him stand to his word. Nay then i' faith the work's done, quo Sancho, if once my Master comes to have a Finger i' the pie; he has the luckiest hand at soldered broken Matches of any Man i' the World. 'twas but t'other day that he forced a perfidious Whipster to keep his word with a Lady in spite of his Teeth; so that had not his professed Enemies the Necromancers changed the young Hector into the shape of a lackey, they had been married upon the spot, and the young Lady had been half got with Child before this. But Roques had now concerns of greater importance in his Head, then to mind what either the Man or the Master prattl'd; and therefore having ordered his Men to return the plunder they had taken from Sancho, and to keep close in the Wood where they were before; away road he with Claudia to see what was become of Don Vincent.  
They arrived in a short time at the place where Claudia left him, but finding nothing there unless it were the stains of his still reeking Blood, they road on, and at last overtook the wounded Vincent in the Arms of his Servants and Friends, and with a dying and languishing utterance desiring 'em to let him die quietly in that place; for that the loss of his Blood, and the pain of his Wounds would not permit him to go any farther. At the sight of so sad a Spectacle Claudia alighted, she took Don Vincent by the hand, and between pity and complaint; Ah, Vincent, said she, hadst not thou been treacherous to me, thou hadst not been in this Condition. At which words Don Vincent opening his Eyes half way, and knowing Claudia's Face; I know, said he, dear Claudia, I know those hands of thine have given me my deaths wound; but how I disobliged thee, that I know not, for neither in my actions or my thoughts I ever yet deserved that thou shouldst use me thus. How! replied Claudia, were't thou not going this Morning to mary Leonora the Rich Balvastro's Daughter? Who I? replied Don Vincent, assuredly I never had it in my thoughts. But thy Misfortune deluded thee to take away my Life; which I now willingly resign thee, since 'tis my happiness to surrender it into thy embraces. For proof of this dear Claudia, give me thy hand, and take him for thy Husband that nere deceived thee yet; but now dyes overjoyed that he has lived so long to undeceive thee of thy error. Claudia gave him her hand, and conscious of the foul Crime she had committed, dropped in a swoon upon the Body of her Husband; who at the same instant breathed out the last remainders of his Life. Claudia came quickly to her self again; but too late observing the patience of a Constant Lover in departed Vincents Cheeks, like one distracted, she cried, lamented, rung her Hands, and tore her Hair, she cursed her inconsiderate Folly, and made a thousand vain complaints and moans for him that now was past recovery.  
At length Roques gave order to Don Vincents Servants to carry his Body back to his Fathers House, and leave the Disconsolate Claudia to bewail her misapplied revenge. And so returning to his Crew, he found Don Quixote a Horse-back, in the midst of 'em, preaching Reformation and amendment of Life. But they being People of another humour gave little ear to his Morality, and did but laugh at all his pious Sentences. On the other side Roques asked Sancho, whether his Squires had return'd him all his Things? Every thing, quo Sancho, but only three Night-coifs, worth three Cities. How the Devil can that be, cried one of the Fellows? 'tis I that have 'em, and they are not worth three Sixpences. That's very true, replied Don Quixote, but my Squire so esteems 'em; for the Persons sake that gave him the Present. Thereupon Roques ordered the Coifs to be restored him likewise; and then commanding his People to bring forth their last Booty of Jewels and ready Money; he made a distribution of the whole with so much equality and justice, as if it had been Solon himself. Which done, Roques turning about to Don Quixote, thus you see, Sir, said he, how punctual and just, the most unjust of Men are forced to be one to another; without which there were no living among us. Ay, by my Faith, quo Sancho, certainly Justice must be a most Excellent thing when Thieves are forced to make use of it. Which grave Sentence of Sancho's being overheard by one of the High way men, he up with the Butt end of his Carbine, and had certainly spoiled Sancho for a Proverb-monger, had not Roques prevented the Execution of the blow. This was such a fair warning to Sancho, that he resolved to sow up his Lips so long as he quartered with such Robustious Company.  
At the same time came one of the Crew who had been set Sentinel to spy what Passengers travelled the Road, and addressing himself to his Captain, A prise, a prise, cried he, yonder's a Jolly Company going for Barcellona. What are they, said Roques? such as seek us, or such as we stay for. Such as we stay for, quo the Sentinel, Horse and away then, Boys, cried Roques, bring 'em all hither— let none escape.  
With that, the whole Crew put Spurs to their Horses, and now Roques, Don Quixote and Sancho being left alone, said he to Don Quixote, I warrant you look upon this to be a strange Course of Life— for we always meet with change of Adventures, and always run great Hazards. Truly I must confess, 'tis a troublesone and disorderly Life we led; and for my part I am thus engaged by certain Motives of Revenge, that many times subdues our Prudence and our Reason. I am naturally of a mildred and compassionate Humour, but the eager desire of Revenging an Affront that has been offered me, ranverses all my sober Resolutions, and forces me to follow this unconscionable Trade, contrary to my natural Inclinations. And not only so, but as one Whirlpool swallows another, and Crimes are linked together, I not only seek my own, but prosecute the Revenge of others. And yet I am in hopes that Heaven at length, so compassionate as it is of human Frailty, will by a divine Hand retrieve me from this disorderly Course, not having power to do it of myself.  
Don Quixote stood amazed at Roques's discourse, not dreaming to have found among so lewd a Crew, for whom the Gallows daily sighed, such Sentiments of Conscience and Remorse in any one; and therefore laying hold of the Opportunity to show his Piety, Monsieur Roques, said he, 'tis a great step to Health, for a Man to understand his Distemper, and to find the Patient readily disposed to take those Remedies that are most conducing to his Cure. You are sick, you know your Disease; therefore apply yourself to God, who is a most Infallible Physician, who will not fail to prescribe those Recipes for your Soul that will in a short time complete your Cure. Remedies that will work so much the more effectually when they meet with a good Nature, and a Disposition prepared. A knowing Sinner is in a star more ready Path to amendment, then an ignorant transgressor; for he more clearly discerning good from evil becomes ashamed of his own Vices, whereas a Fool acts only by Instinct; and abandons himself to his Passions, not understanding the danger of unrepented Crimes. Cou-rage. then Monsieur Roques, you are a Man of Wit and Prudence— make use of your parts, and never despair the perfect cure of your languishing Soul— and to make a more easy progress in the Road of Salvation, go along, and learn of me the Mystery of Knight-Errantry, accompanied with those Hardships and Misfortunes, which the Penance of undergoing, will bring you in a trice to Heaven.  
Roques smiled to hear Don Quixote's Whimsical Advice, and to change the Subject of the Discourse,  told him the whole Story of Claudia Geronimo's Adventure, the relation of which put Sancho into a Melancholy Fit; for you must know the Life, the Spirit, and good humour of the young girl, had strangely wrought upon his Affections.  
By this time the Boothalers return'd with their prise, Two Gentlemen well mounted, Two Pilgrims a foot, and a Coach wherein there were certain Ladies, attended by Eight lackeys, some a foot, and some a Horse-back, and Two Footmen belonging to the Two Gentlemen, each upon his Mule. All these were now in Hucksters Hands, and being carefully surrounded and attended by their Guard, with an aweful silence expected their Doom; while their Guardians were no less whist to listen to their Examinations.  
The first whom Roques took to task were the two Gentlemen, to whom he put the usual Question, who they were, and whether they were travelling? Sir, replied the one, we are two Foot Captains; our Company's lie at Naples, whether we are bound, and going to take shipping at Barcellona. We have about two or three hundred Crowns about us, with which we thought ourselves as Rich as Croesus; for you know Men of our Profession are no Usurers. Well— and what are you, said Roques to the Pilgrims? We, said they, are going to Rome, and our Stock is about thirty Shillings— Very good, What are those Ladies i' the Coach? To whom one of the lackeys a Horse-back replied, that it was the Lady Guiomer, the Regent of the Vicar of Naples's Wife, with her Daughter and Waiting Woman. That she had six Attendants, three afoot and three mounted; and that their Sum Total was about Six hundred Crowns. So then, cried Roques, we have got already Nine hundred Crowns and Thirty Shillings, and I have threescore Followers, now Gentlemen cast it up, what comes to every Man's share; for I am none of the best accountants. With that the whole Crew of Ruffians cried out, long live the great Roques Gunniard, in spite of all the Dun's and Catches that gape for his Ruin.  
On the other side the two Captains, Madam Regent, and the Pilgrims were as much cast down, foreseing the Confiscation of their movables, and all their Wealth past Redemption; when Roques turning about to the Captains, Gentlemen, said he, lend me Threescore Crowns, and you Madam Regent, I beseech ye lend me Fourscore; this is only to satisfy my Men, for we must all live by our Callings. This done, you are free to go whether you please, and if you meet with any stragglers, as perhaps you may do, tell the first at the top of the next Hill, that The Moon shines Bright, and the next i' the bottom, that The Kings Vessels lie at Barcellona, and then you are out of all danger. For my design is not to injure either Soldiers or Ladies, especially those that are of Quality. The two Captains thus delivered out of their Affliction, made him a thousand congees, return'd him Ten thousand Thanks, and extolled his Generosity and Liberality to the Skies. The Lady Guiomer would ha' thrown her self out of her Coach to ha' kissed his Feet. But Roques prevented her, and withal begged her pardon for the wrong he had done her, constrained thereto by his Profession, and the necessity he had to keep such a Crew about him at the expense of other Peoples Purses. Thereupon the two Captains and Madam Regent paid him down his demands, and the Pilgrims, not hearing of any Mitigation for them, were about to give him their whole Stock; but Roques bid 'em stay; and then turning to his Company, Of these hundred and forty Crowns, said he, there comes two a piece to your share; and for the Twenty that remain, give Ten to these Pilgrims, and the other Ten to this honest Squire; that he may have cause to rejoice at his meeting with this Adventure. And having so done he dismis'd the Travellers overjoyed, and admiring the generous Behaviour of the Famous Roques; his Generrosity, his noble mien and deportment, and applauding him to the Stars. But one of the Rovers, not so well pleased with Roques's Liberality; By St. Nicholas, quo he, this Captain of ours would make a better Monk then a Land Pirate: But if he intends for the future to be so Bountiful, let it be of his own, and not of our Plunder. Roques over-hearing him, drew his Sword, and after he had almost cleft his skull, 'tis thus, said he, that I chastise such Insolent Rascals that cannot rule their Tongues; nor durst the stoutest of the whole number so much as mutter at his punishment, so well he knew to be obeyed and feared.  
After that, Roques retired a little aside, and wrote to one of his Friends at Barcellona, that he had met with Don Quixote, the famous Kinght-Errant, so much talked of over all Spain; that he was a pleasant sort of a Man, Witty and one that knew the World; and that within four days after the Feast of St. John Baptist, he would bring him into the public Piazza of the City, in his armor cap-à-pie, mounted upon his lofty Rosinante, and his Squire Sancho upon his Grizzle. Desiring him to give notice of his coming to such of his acquaintance that he intended should partake of the Pastime; for that the strange Intermixture of Folly and Sobriety in the Master, and the Buffonry of the Squire? could not but be acceptable to all the World. Which Letter was carried by one of his Men, disguised like a Country Carter, and delivered according to the Direction.   

CHAP. IX.  
What happened to Don Quixote upon his entry into Barcellona, with other Things, that carry more of Truth then Probability.  
THree days did Don Quixote stay with Roques, and every day produced new Accidents. They never kept long in the same station, but dined in one place, supped in another; sometimes they fled, not knowing why or wherefore; sometimes they stopped with as little reason, always in a ready Posture, always alarmed; sometimes fetching a short Nap a Horse-back, sometimes upon the Ground; but so broken and interrupted were their Slumbers, that they hardly deserved the name of Repose. Their Spies were every where abroad, and their Sentinels kept continual Watch. And as for Roques himself, he spent the Night at a distance from his Company, who seldom knew where he lay, not daring hardly to confided in himself, and fearing to be betrayed by his own Men; so severely was he pursued by the Viceroy of Barcellona, who had likewise set a price upon his Head. But at length Don Quixote, Roques and Sancho, attended by Six of the Jolly Band, crossing the Roads, and taking all the By-ways imaginable, posted for Barcellona, and got thither by that time 'twas dark night, upon St. Johns Eve. And thus Roques having brought the Knight to an Inn not far from the Towns end, after many compliments between him and Don Quixote for his Civilities, and a thousand Thanks on Sancho's part for the Ten Crowns, return'd back to his Company the same way he came.  
And now the fair Aurora began to appear upon the Balconies of the East, shedding down her Liquid Pearls upon the fragrant Herbs and Flowers; but long she stayed not ere the Brighter Sun took place, and filled the Northern World with day. What time a pleasing, yet confused noise of Trumpets, Hautboys, Drums and Fifes, and other Warlike Instruments, filled both Don Quixote's and Sancho's Ears with Admiration. They looked about and saw the Sea, which they had never seen before. It seemed to them to be much more wide and spacious then the River of Mancha. They viewed the Galleys in the Port, and it was a Spectacle extremely delightful to behold the Jacks, the Pendants and the Ancients sporting in the Wind. The Trumpets filled the Air with their melodious Levets; and by and by the Galleys moving, began to counterfeit a Sea Engagement; while the Gentry of the City prancing out of Town upon their pampered Coursers, seemed to manage their Horses to the Motion of the Vessels, that discharged their great Guns at the same time, and were as loudly answered by the Artillery from the City and Castle. Gladness and Pomp displayed themselves in all their Glory; the Land was jocund, the Air serene, the Ocean calm and smiling; and nothing intervened to deprive the Gazing Eye of such a lovely Prospect. Sancho admired what he beholded; but could not for the Life of him apprehended how the Galleys should have so many Feet, nor what sort of Feet those should be that could so swiftly move those Ponderous Bulks, and it was no less pleasant to see how he started and ducked his Head every time the Guns went off.  
While Sancho was thus in an ecstasy, a Troop of Gentlemen richly appareled, galloping up to Don Quixote, surrounded him with loud acclamations, and one among the rest( the Person to whom Roques had written) cried out, welcome North-star and mirror of Knight-Errantry— welcome the Great, the Valiant, the Invincible Don Quixote, the true Knight of Mancha, whose Character the Famous Cid Hamet Benengeli, the Flower of Historians has so faithfully delivered to the World; not that Impostor, that Counterfeit piece of Apocrypha, that has usurped his Glorious Name, to authorize his Fables and Impertinencies.  
Don Quixote answered not a word; neither indeed had he either time or opportunity, they did so ride the Hay about him, so circulate him, and prance so many antic Figures round him in token of joy, that the amazed Champion was in a Labyrinth, only turning to Sancho, his only Intimate Acquaintance; Sancho, quo he, these People know me, and I'll venture a Wager, they have red my History, and that of the Arragonian. But then the Gentleman that first accosted him, singling him out; We beseech ye, Sir Don Quixote, to let us have the Honour of your Company— here are none but your Servants, and the Familiar Friends of Roques Guiniard. If courtesy, replied Don Quixote, begot courtesy, certainly your Civility should either be the Daughter or near Kinswoman of the famous Roques— go where you please, I'll follow ye through all the World, more especially if you will do me the High honour to employ me in your Service. The Gentleman made him a compliment no less obliging, and no less studied then his own; and then invironing him in the middle between 'em, they took the way to the City, the Trumpets sounding and Drums beating before' em. But whether or no the Necromancers waited for the Knights entrance, as it was reported they did, certain it is, a couple of unlucky young Bastards, no less unlucky then Necromancers, out of their accustomed Roguery, made a shift to get through the crowd of Horsemen, and thrust a bundle of Netles, one under Rosinantes, and the other under Grizzles Tail. Upon which, the poor Beasts tormented with those unwonted Stings in their Posteriors, fell a kicking and wincing at such an exasperated rate, that they flung their Riders to the Ground. Don Quixote cursedly ashamed, and damnable Mad, tho he forbore to show his displeasure, got up again, and delivered Rosinante from his Torment; nor was Sancho less kind to his Grizzle, while the Gentlemen road after the Miscreants that had occasioned the disorder, tho to little purpose, for they were soon lost among the rest of the Rabble. So that Don Quixote and Sancho mounting once more, Don Roques's Friend, who was one of the most considerable Persons in Barcellona, carried them home to his own House, free from any more disasters; where we must leave 'em for a time, because Benengeli here concludes the Chapter.   

CHAP. X.  
Containing the Adventure of the Enchanted Head, &c.  
THE Name of the Person where Don Quixote lodged, was Antonio Moreno, a Wealthy and a Facetious Gentleman, and one that loved a pleasant and jocular Humour with all his Heart. Who having now Don Quixote in his House, resolved to make sport with his Follies, yet so, as to give him no offence, as one who knew that Drollery, was not to exceed its Bounds, and that Affronts was no sport. The first thing therefore that came into his Mind, was to have his armor off, and to expose him in his antic Habit in his Balcony, which looked into one of the Principal Streets of the City; where all the People were got together, like the Boys about an Ape in a Haberdashers Shop. The Gentlemen also road too and fro before the Windows upon their finical Prancers, and shew'd a hundred feats of Activity, as if it had been only for the Knight, and that they had been no ways concerned for the Festival. Sancho was extremely pleased to see all this, as one that thought he had met with another Comacho's Wedding; another Diego di Mirandi's House, or another Dukes Castle.  
That day, there dined with Don Antonio five or six of his Priends, who paid a great Respect to Don Quixote, treating him like a Knight-Errant, with so much Reverence and Ceremony, that Don Quixote was almost ashamed to see himself so highly honoured. And as for Sancho, he was so full of his jests and Quibbles, that he set not only all the Table a laughing, but all that heard him. Mr. Squire, cried Don Antonio, 'tis reported here, that you are such a lover of Capons, and Saucidges, that when you can eat no more you put the rest i' your Breeches against the next Morning. That's not true, replied Sancho; I am neither such a Glutton, nor such a Sloven; here's my Master Don Quixote can tell ye, that many times for eight or nine days together we are forced to rob the Hogs of their Acorns; and if we get half a dozen Onions, we look upon it as a Feast. But if any one gives me a Cow, I never refuse to fetch a Cord— that is to say, I eat when 'tis given me, and I take Time by the Forelock; and if any one says that I am either a Sloven or a Glutton, he does me wrong; and I would give it him in other Language, but for the Worshipful Beards that I see at this Table.  
Certainly, quo Don Quixote, Sancho's cleanliness in eating ought to be engraved in Plates of Brass for an example to Posterity. True it is, that when he is a Hungry, he eats a little Greedily, and one bit never stays for another; but for his cleanly eating he was always cried up; insomuch that when he was a governor, he always put his Raisins and Pomegranates to his Mouth with a Silver Fork. How! cried Don Antonio, has Mr. Sancho then been a governor? Yes, Sir, quo Sancho, I have been a governor, and of an iceland, which is called Barattaria, with this Mouth that you see, and all the while I lost my Sleep, my Senses, and wasted my Flesh, and all I got by't, was only that it taught me to contemn all the Governments i' the World for the future; so that I made so much hast to leave it, that I and my Grizzle fell into a deep hole, where we had been starved to death had not a Miracle relieved us. With that Don Quixote up and  told 'em the whole Story of Sancho's Government, to the great satisfaction of all the Company, who had their Belly-fulls of laughter as well as good cheer.  
Dinner ended, Don Antonio took Don Quixote by the Hand, and lead him into a Chamber, where there was no other Furniture then only a Table that seemed to be of Jasper, supported by a Pedestal of the same ston; and underneath the Table stood a Head of seeming Brass, like one of the Roman Emperors Heads from the Breast upward. They walked several turns about the Room, and round the Table; after which, quo Don Antonio to Don Quixote, since we are here in a place where I am sure that no body over-hears us, I will tell ye one of the strangest Adventures that ever were known, provided you will lay it up as a Secret, in the remotest Apartment of your Breast. My Oath and Word are both engaged, replied Don Quixote. The Person you speak to has Eyes and Ears, but no Tongue, and tho you should discover to me the very Secrets of your Heart, 'twere all one as to bury them in the Abysses of silence.  
Well then, quo Don Antonio, I will tell ye those things that will ravish your Admiration, and deliver me from the trouble I have long been in for want of a Person with whom I could confided so great a Secret.  
This Head that here you see, Sir Quixote, was made by one of the Cunningest Necromancers i' the World, a Polonian as I think, and the famous Lescot's scholar, who is said to have wrought so many Miracles. I kept him for some time here in my House, and for a thousand Crowns that I gave him, he made me this Head, which has that Faculty, that it will answer ye to any Question you shall ask it. He observed the Motion of the Stars, their Retrogradations and Ascensions; and just i' the neck of the Constellation brought it to that perfection you shall see to Morrow; for upon Frydays it is always dumb, so that to day 'tis to no purpose to trouble it. Don Quixote, strangely astonished at what Don Antonio  told him concerning the Head, could hardly be induced to believe it, but in regard the time was so short before he was to make the Experiment, he said no more, but only return'd his humble Thanks to Don Antonio for entrusting him with a secret of that Importance. After this they left the Chamber, which Don Antonio locked after him, and return'd to the Company, to whom Sancho,' i the mean time had related a great part of his Masters Adventures.  
Toward Evening they went and took a turn about the City, Don Quixote without his armor, but wrapped up in a long grey frieze Cloak, enough to ha' made a Man sweat i' the last hard Frost. Sancho stayed behind, the Servants having order to hold him in a Chat, and prevent his following his Master. Nor did Don Quixote, ride his Rosinante, but was mounted upon a large Mule, well equipped; and besides, they had pinned on his Cloak a large piece of Parchment, by him not taken notice of, whereon were written these Words, This is Don Quixote de la Mancha. So that the People reading the Inscription, as he passed along, and every one crying, This is Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Champion was amazed to hear that every body that saw him should have his Name so ready at their Tongues end, as if the whole City had been of his acquaintance; and turning at the same time to Don Antonio, that road next him, Certainly, said he, there must be a hidden and unconceivable virtue in Knight-Errantry, which has that Prerogative to render its professors Famous over all the World; for here you see the very Women and Children know me, that never saw me before.  
I find it so, Sir Quixote, replied Don Antonio: Like Fire that always discovers itself by its own light, so virtue has that Lustre, that never fails to display itself; especially that Renown which is acquired by the Profession of Arms.  
While they were thus upon the Grand Paw, a castilian, reading the Inscription, cried out a loud, The Devil take Don Quixote de la Mancha, is that Cowardly Booby still alive, after so many Cudgellings and Lambastings as have rained upon his Bones? All the World knows thee to be a Fool in grain, and if that were all, 'twere no great matter; but thy Folly is contagious, and infects others; witness these deluded Gentlemen that admire thy Extravagancies and pamper thy Whimsies— get thee home with a Murrain, and look after thy House, thy Wife and children, and leave playing the Fop and the Vagabond, as thou dost— Friend, friend, quo Don Antonio, keep your way, and forbear your Advice to those that have no need of your Counsel. The Lord Don Quixote is a prudent Man, and we that accompany him think ourselves no Beasts— Valour is a virtue to be honoured where ever we meet with it. By St. Christopher you say true, replied the castilian, A Man that spends his Breath in advising that same Tom a Bedlam, does but baste Flints with Butter. But let me perish and all my Generation, if e're ye catch me advising again, were I to live the Years of Methusalem, and were begged upon the Knee to do it. And so saying the castilian went his ways, and the Gentlemen continued their Procession; but they were so pestered by the Rabble that crowded to red the Inscription, that Don Antonio was forced to take it off.  
And now the Night coming on, they return'd to Don Antonio's House, where his Wife, a Lady no less pleasant in her Humour then Beautiful, had invited several of her Friends, to honour her new Guest, and share in the Pastime of his Extravagancies. Thus the Room was filled with Ladies, and a magnificent Supper entertained the Company, and about Ten a Clock at Night they prepared for a Great Ball. Among the rest there were two Ladies of a frank and jolly Humour, and Witty withal; who to gratify the Company, desired Don Quixote to led a dance, and plied him so hard, one still taking him out when the t'other had left him, that they made him sweat like a Thrasher, and tired him quiter off his Legs. But the pleasure was to see so strange a Figure tumble about; a long Gaunt, Meager, Sway-backt, Thin-flank'd manner of Man, read herring complexioned, Hollow-ey'd, long Bristly Mustacho's, his Doublet out at Elbows, Seams unript, and as nimble as a Cow in a Cage. The Ladies under pretence of Courtship, frumpt and twitter'd at him without Mercy; and he return'd 'em Wipe for Wipe, but yet so cleverly, that no distaste could be taken on either side. Till at length finding himself tormented by their Caresses, Avoid Female Satans, cried he, cease to disturb me with your Flipperous twittle twattle, Ladies made up of Vanity and Town Humour, for the Peerless Dulcinea deal Toboso, sole Queen Regent of my Heart permits me not to be enslaved to any other; and so saying, he sate himself down upon the Floor in the middle of the Hall, all in a due and quiter tired with his jumping Exercise. Sancho was the first that attempted to lift him up, and as he lent him his Hand, In good faith, Master of ours, you have shook your Heels most courageously— but after all, do you believe the Hero's were Hop-Merchants, or that the Knights-Errant of old were snappers of Castanets? If ye do, you are monstrously deceived. A Man of your Courage should rather be murdering giants then dancing of embracings— 'tis for Women to jog their Tails— you should ha' sent for me when they took ye out to dance, and I would ha' taught 'em to play at Leap-frog I warrant 'em; and still if the Ladies have a mind to should Cockle-bread, have at' em. This put the Company into such a fit of laughter, that Sancho had leisure, with a little Assistance, to get his Master to Bed, where he left him covered over Head and Ears to sweat out his Distemper.  
The next Morning Don Antonio asked Don Quixote whether he would be pleased to go and discourse the Enchanted Head, and to that purpose he carried into the Chamber where it stood the Knight and the Squire, two Gentlemen of the City, and the two Ladies that had so jollily exercised Don Quixote the Night before. So soon as they were entered, Don Antonio locked the Door, enjoined 'em secrecy, and  told his Friends the virtues of the Head, and how it was the first time that ever he had the Opportunity to try the Experiment. Upon that Don Antonio, going up close to the Head, with a low Voice, yet so as he might be heard, Tell me, said he, by that Mysterious virtue wherewith thou art endued, what I think at this present? At the same time, the Head with a clear and distinct utterance, yet never moving the Lips, made answer, I am no Judge of Thoughts. At which the Gentlemen seemed to be astonished; and the Ladies scream'd out right; for there was no body to be seen in the Chamber, and they could plainly perceive that the Voice came directly from the Head. Then, quo Antonio, a second time, How many are there of us in the Room? Thou and thy Wife, replied the Head, thy two He-Friends and thy two She-Friends, with a certain Famous Knight called Don Quixote de la Mancha, and his Squire, one Sancho Pancha. With that their Admiration was greater then before; so that you might have seen 'em sweat for fear. Then Don Antonio retiring, 'tis enough I am convinced, said he, 'twas no Impostor sold thee to me; wise understanding Head, discoursing Head, miraculous and matchless Head. Now as Women are more Curious and eager then other Persons, one of the dancing Ladies venturing up to it, Tell me Head, said she, what must I do to make myself Amiable: Be prudent and Modest, answered the Head. I ha' done questioning, quo the Lady, giving way to her Friend. Who with the same Curiosity, I would know, quo she, whether my Husband loves me or no? Observe his Behaviour toward thee, and that will tell thee, replied the Head. 'twas well answered, quo the Lady, for truly a Mans Actions discover the Disposition of his Mind. One of Don Antonio's Friends put the Question to it, Who am I? To whom the Head, dost not thou know that thyself? That's not the Question, replied the Gentleman, I would be satisfied whether thou knowst who I am? I know thee well, quo the Head, thou art Don Pedro Noriz. 'tis sufficient, replied the Gentleman, I find thou art no Block-head. Then the other Gentleman, taking his turn, Prithee good Head, tell me, What does my Eldest Son think? Have I not said already, replied the Head, that I was no Judge of thoughts? however I will tell thee, thy Eldest Son is thinking how long it will be before he shall bury thee. I believe it, replied the Gentleman, what I see with my Eyes I mark with my Finger— 'tis enough. Then Don Antonio's Wife approaching, I would know, quo she, whether I shall live long with my dear Husband or no? Long shalt thou live, quo the Head, for his healthy Constitution and thy Temperance promise long Life, which other People shorten by their Debauchery. Then Don Quixote drawing near with his accustomed Gravity, and the Address of one that understood how to Consult an Oracle, tell me, said he, thou Head of a Philosopher, Is it a Truth, or a Dream what I related concerning the Cave of Montesinos? Will Sancho my Squire fulfil his Promise, in giving himself those Lashes, according to his Vows and Protestations? And shall we ever see the Peerless Dulcinea Disinchanted? As for what concerns the Cave replied the Head, we have many things to say; 'tis partly True, and partly a Dream: Sancho will in time be as good as his Word, and Dulcinea will be at Liberty, That's all I desire to know, quo Don Quixote, for could I once but see fair Dulcinea Disinchanted, assured Success would then attend me in all my Adventures. Then Sancho, bringing up the Rear, tell me, said he Renowned Head, whether I shall ever have another Government or no? Will it ever be my Fate to quit this miserable Trade of Squire-Erranting? Or must I ever see my Wife and children again? To whom the Head, Thou may'st Govern thy own House when thou returnst home; and thou shalt see thy Wife and Children if they be there; and when thou leav'st off serving thou shalt be no longer a Squire. The Devil take thee for a Dunder-head, quo Sancho, what need I ha' come to a Sorcerer, to tell me what I knew before? Well Brute, quo Don Quixote, and what wouldst thou have had him  told thee? Is't not enough that the Answers which the Head gives thee are pertinent to thy Questions? Nay, quo Sancho, since you will have it so it shall be so— yet I would ha' been better satisfied, would Monsieur Head ha' been pleased to ha'  told me a little more of his Mind— but I find your Brazen Heads are very reserved.  
These were the Questions proposed, and the several Answers made by the Enchanted Head, to the great Admiration of all, but only two of Don Antonio's Friends, who were privy to the Mystery. But Benengeli, touched in Conscience, thought it his Duty to unfold it, fearing lest the Reader should think him a Confederate with friar Bacon; and therefore he tells us, how that Don Antonio being a Person of great Curiosity, caused this Head to be made in Imitation of one that he had seen at Madrid, to make himself sport with the Superstition of other People. That the Table together with the Pedestal upon which it stood, resembling at the bottom four Eagles Claws, was of Wood painted with several Colours like Jasper. That the Pedestal was likewise hollow, through which there descended two Pipes from the Mouth and Ears of the Head, which was hollow also, and coloured over like Brass, into the Room underneath, where he that was the Oracle laid his Ear to one Pipe to listen, and delivered his Answers through the other. And moreover that a Nephew of Don Antonio's, a Witty young Gentleman, having his Instructions before hand from his Uncle, who was the Pythian Priest. Moreover Cid Hamet reports, that this speaking Head return'd Answers to all manner of Questions for Fifteen days together, but that at length the noise of the Miracle made such a terrible Combustion in the City, that Don Antonio fearing to be had up in the Inquisition, was forced to go and discover the Truth himself to the Fathers; who ordered him to break it in pieces, before the Imposture had penetrated too deep into Vulgar belief.  
But for all that Don Quixote and Sancho were fully confirmed that it was an Enchanted Head, tho true it is, that the Knight was much better satisfied with his Answer then the Squire. Soon after, Don Quixote had a great desire to view the City, but afoot and Incognito, because he would not be troubled any more with the Rabble; and to that purpose he walked forth attended only by Sancho and two of Don Antonio's Servants. Now it happened, that as he was going up and down, he spied written over a Door in Great Letters these Words, HERE IS A PRINTING-HOUSE. This was an accident that overjoyed him, and therefore to satisfy his Curiosity, in he went with his Train to see an Art which he had never seen before. There he saw some picking of Letters out of the Cases; others correcting the Forms; and others working at the Press: and after he had diligently enquired what this was for, and what that was for; at length approaching to a Compositor, he asked him what 'twas He was doing? Sir, said the Compositor( showing a good Comely Person, with a serious Air in his Face) that Gentleman has Translated a Book out of Italian into Spanish, and I am preparing it for the Press. Pray what may be the Title of the Book? quo Don Quixote. The Title of it, Sir, quo the Author, is Toys and Trifles— but tho the Title seem to promise little, the Matter which it contains is both serious and useful. I pretend to understand a little Italian, answered Don Quixote, and have red Ariosto several times— But pray, Sir, without any offence, did you never meet with such a Word in Italian as Pignatta! Frequently, Sir, replied the Author, you meet with it often in Ruini's hermits. Very good, quo Don Quixote, how would you Translate that Word into Spanish? I would render it a Pipkin, quo the Author, for 'tis its proper Signification. 'tis very Right, quo Don Quixote, I find y're a Master of the Language; but I fear me the World does not do ye Justice— How many Men quiter lose their Talents! how many sparkling Wits are butted in Oblivion for want of their Merits being known! But I beseech ye one word more, Sir; do ye print this Book at your own Charges, or does any Bookseller pay ye for your Copy. Why truly, Sir, I do print it at my own Cost; for your Booksellers are so niggardly, that 'tis hardly worth the toil of labouring only to promote their Gains— and therefore as I said before I print this Book at my own expenses, paying for Paper and Print, and I hope to get a hundred Pound clear by the first Impression. Oh, Friend, quo Don Quixote, I'me afraid you'l come short of your reckoning, you don't understand the Cunning of Booksellers— they'l stifle your Book, cry it down, and give the Author an ill Name, as the cobbler did his Dog; and what will ye do then? Lord— Sir, quo the Author, what would ye ha' me ha' done?— should I ha' gone and offered it a Bookseller, he would ha' given me the tenth part of what 'twas worth, and thought he had done me a great Kindness too— I seek my own Profit, which is better then Reputation. Then turning to another Place, he saw a Man Correcting a page. of a Book called the Light of the Soul— Ay; quo Don Quixote, these are the Books that ought to be printed— for tho there be Legions of this sort, yet the Number of Sinners is so Infinite, that there can never be too much Light for People so much in the Dark. So passing on a little farther, he found another correcting a Book, of which when he asked the Title, they  told him 'twas The Second Part of the most Ingeniouus Don Quixote de la Mancha, composed by a Native of Tordesillas— How! quo Don Quixote; I know this Book certainly— and I had thought the Fellow that made it had been burnt by this time for an Impostor— but if he ben't already, his time will come— the World will certainly be convinced at length of so many Impertinences, that have neither probablility nor Coherence; and so saying he flung out of the Printing-house in a huff, banking the Officious Workmen of their expected Two Dozen at least, and was cursed with Bell Book and Candle by the whole chapel.  
The next day Don Antonio would needs show Don Quixote the Galleys in the Road; which was a great Consolation to Sancho, who had never seen such a sight in his Life. To which purpose Don Antonio gave notice of his Intention to the Admiral, who had already heard of the Knight, and was no less desirous to see him. Of which you shall hear more i' the next Chapter.   

CHAP. XI.  
What befell Sancho going aboard the Galleys, and of the Adventure of the Beautiful Mooress.  
IMmediately after Dinner, Don Antonio, his two Friends, Don Quixote and Sancho went to see the Galleys, and no sooner had they made their appearance upon the Key, but the Admiral sent his Long-boat ashore spread with Turky-Carpets, and furnished with Crimson Velvet Cushions to fetch them aboard. By and by the Great Guns roared out their Salutations to Don Quixote from the Admiral Galley, which were answered by the Cannon from all the Rest: and Don Quixote being entered the Vessel, was presently saluted with three loud how, how, Hou's, according to the Custom of the whole Chiurm of Slaves and Seamen. The Admiral, who was a Knight of valemce, and a Person of great Quality, gave him his Hand, and embracing him, This day, said he, will I signalise particularly with a white ston, as one of the happiest of my Life, since I have the honour now to see My Lord Don Quixote, whose Valour comprehends within itself all the Glory of Knight-Errantry. Nor was Don Quixote behind hand with him, but made him a Return of his Civility, answerable to his Dignity; overjoyed to see himself so treated like a Grandee of the Kingdom. Presently they both went into the Great cabin, which was decently adorned; where both they and the rest of the Company took their Places. At the same time the Master went upon the Deck, and gave a Whistle, upon which all the Slaves immediately unstript. Sancho was scared to see so many Fellows i' their naked Skins, but much more when he saw 'em set up the pavilions with so much swiftness, as if they had been so many Devils set at work. But this was not all, for as Sancho was sitting under the Main-Mast near the Head-Rower on the Right Hand, the Galley-Slave, instructed what he had to do, took him up in his Arms, and lifting him up above his Shoulders, all the Rest of the Rakehells tossed and handed him one to another, as they do faggots out of a Lighter, with such a swift and strenuous Motion, that poor Sancho lost the very sight of his Eyes, and as giddy as a Goose, thought himself now in the Paws of all the Infernal Hobgoblins, going the long Journey of the Wicked: which done, they set him again upon the Deck, sweeting like a Bell-founder, panting and heaving and all out of Order both in Body and Mind. Thereupon Don Quixote troubled to see his Squire playing Christmas Gambols i' the Air; he asked whether that were a Ceremony used to welcome those that had never been upon a Galley before? for if it were, he had no intention to show Tricks, nor would he be so initiated into Naval Society— swearing by his Maker, that if they offered to touch him he would Kick their Souls out of their Bodies, and at the same time, starting up, he laid his Hand upon the Hilt of his Sword.  
By and by, down came the Main-Yard and Main-Sail, making a most hideous noise; so that Sancho thought the sky had been falling, and frighted out of his Wits, thrust his Head between his Legs to save the principal part. To tell ye the Truth, Don Quixote himself was but in a stinking Condition, his Heart failed him, and what was Miraculous, you might discern a Paleness in his Bacon Face. At the same time the Slaves hois'd up the Main-Yard and Main-Sail again, with the same prodigious rattling and swiftness as before it fell. Presently the Master gave the Word to weigh Anchor, and bestirred his Bulls Pizzle so dexterously, that the Galley began to move in a Trice. But when Sancho saw so many coloured Feet, for he took the oars for such; Passion o' my Heart, quo he, here are enchantments indeed, my Master's are Trifles to these. But what have these poor wretches done to be so miserable flawd?— How dares that same Whistling Rascal abuse so many lusty Fellows, being but One to Forty—? By Guds Liggers, if this ben't Hell, I am sure we are not far from it, and so it must be Purgatory. Don Quixote perceiving how earnestly Sancho's Eyes were fixed upon these wonderful Objects, My dear Friend, quo he, now's thy time, here's a fair Opportunity presents itself, if thou wouldst but go and strip thyself to the Waste, and take a Score or Two Stripes among those honest Rowers, thou mightst come off at a cheap rate with thy Penance for Dulcinea's disenchantment. For one Score of the Masters Lashes would be worth Four of thy own; besides, the Consolation of suffering with others. Which the Admiral over-hearing, would needs know the meaning of Sancho's Whipping, and Dulcinea's Enchantment; but he was prevented in the satisfaction which he desired, by the Sentinel at the Top Mast-Head, who cried out at the same time a Sail, a Sail, to the West. With that the Admiral leaping upon the Coursey, Courage, Boys, all hands to work, let her not scape Us, she is a Corsaire of Argier I warrant her. Presently the other Galleys made up to receive Orders from the Admiral, who Commanded two of the Nimblest to make out to Sea, and get the Windward of the prise, while he crept along the cost to prevent her running a-shore.  
Scarce had the two Galleys made above two Leagues, but they discovered the Brigantine, being a Vessel of about Fourteen oars; which no sooner perceived the Galleys, but she made all the Sail and laboured all she could to get away; but in vain, for the Admiral Galley presently fetched her up; and the Master of the Brigantine seeing his danger, was willing to have yielded; but so it happened, that two drunken Turkish Seamen at the same time discharged a couple of Muskets from the Wast-cloaths, and killed two of the Admirals Soldiers that stood upon the Wale of the Galley; which so provoked the Admiral, that he swore he would hang 'em up at the Yards Arm every Mothers Son; and with that he laid the Brigantine aboard, and took her, with all that were in her. Which done, the Galleys return'd into Harbour with their prise. The Admiral came to an Anchor not far from the Land, where the People stood waiting to know what Booty they had got; and understanding that the Vice-Roy was a-shore, he launched out his Long boat to fetch him aboard. In the mean while the Admiral sending for the Prisoners, demanded who was the Master? To whom one of the Slaves, who was afterwards known to be a Spanish Renegado, This was our Master, quo he, pointing to a young Man of about Twenty years of Age, but Beautiful to Admiration. ye Dog you, cried the Admiral, what was in your Mind to kill two of my Men, after ye had strook? The Master was about to have replied, when the Admiral lest him to receive the Vice-Roy, who was just coming aboard with several other Persons of Quality. What cheer, Admiral, quo the Vice-Roy, ha' ye had a Lucky chase?— So lucky, replied the Admiral, that your Excellency shall see me hang up the best of the Purchase immediately at the Yards-Arm. How so? quo the Vice-Roy. Because they killed two of my best Soldiers, contrary to the Custom of the Sea, after they had loar'd in token of surrender; for which I swore I would hang up all that were in the Brigantine, especially this Hair-braind Fellow the Master. But the Viceroy casting his Eye upon him began to pity his Condition: His Beauty, his Youth, and a certain Air of Modesty in his Countenance, seemed to beg Compassion, so that he resolved to save his Life. Master, said the 'vice Roy, art thou a Turk, a Moor, or a Renegado? Neither of the three, replied the Master. What art then? replied the Vice-Roy; I am a Virgin and a Christian. A Virgin and a Christian, quo the Vice-Roy, in that Habit and that Employment! 'tis a thing to be rather admired then believed. Suspend a moment the Sentence of my Execution, replied the Master, nd you shall hear the Story of my Life; for the Delay of your Revenge shall be but very short. Live then, cried the Admiral, very surlily, till the end of your Tale.  
Gentlemen, said the young mariner, I am the Daughter of Parents that were both Moors, and born in Spain among those unhappy and imprudent People, upon whom so many Misfortunes have lately fallen. In the hight of our Calamity two of my Uncles carried me into Barbary, for my averring myself a Christian would not procure my stay. My Mother was a Christian and my Father professed himself so to be: So that I sucked in the true catholic Religion with my Milk, neither did I ever in word or dead testify any Inclination to the contrary. I must needs say my Parents kept me retired from the World, but notwithstanding all their prudent Severity, the report of that little Beauty I had, gained me the Affection of a young Gentleman, by name Don Gaspar Gregorio, Eldest Son of a Knight that lived in the same Village; who having notice of my Banishment resolved to follow me, and intermixing himself among the Moors in our Company during the Voyage, he at length insinuated himself into the Acquaintance of both my Uncles( for my Father having butted the Treasure which he had, was gone to find us out a quieter Habitation in some other Country) and so it happened, that the first place where we landed in Barbary was Argier: Where the King understanding that I was very Beautiful and no less Wealthy, sent for me, and asked me what part of Spain I was born in, and what store of Money and Jewels I had brought along with me? I gave him an account of the Place of my Nativity, but for my Wealth, I  told him I had left it behind me butted in the Earth; yet so as I could easily recover it, if I might be permitted to go myself.  
But in the midst of these and several other Questions of this Nature, another Sycophant came in, and gave him Information of a young Man that was one of our Company, the goodliest and most graceful Person that ever was seen. I was presently sensible 'twas Don Gaspar that was spoken of; and knowing him to be no less lovely then he was described, I was extremely concerned for him, as one that had heard much talk of the bestial Temper of those People.  
Presently he gave command that the young Man should be sent for, and in the mean time he asked me whether the Information were true, that had been given him? To which, as if I had been suddenly inspired, I made answer that she was a Virgin as I was, and therefore besought his Majesty that I might have leave to go and dress her, that her Beauty might appear in its natural Colours.  
The King was pleased to grant me my Request, and  told me withal, that he would consider of a way how I might return into Spain, and retrieve my hidden Treasure. Thereupon I went to Don Gaspar,  told him the danger of his being discovered; and after I had dressed him up in Moorish Habit, I carried him that Evening to the Prince, who was so taken with the Charms of his Beauty, that he ordered him to be reserved as a Present for the Grand signor; and the better to secure him, ordered him to be shut up in his Womens Serraglio. And fearing the solicitations of his own desires, gave him in charge to one of the Principal Ladies of the City, with a strict Injunction to be careful of him, and to be answerable for his forth-coming. This was the last time I saw him; tho how impatiently I brooked the sorrow of such a separation, I leave you to judge.  
The next day, by the Kings Order, I set Sail for Spain in this Brigantine, accompanied with the two Turkish Soldiers that killed your Men; and this same Spanish Renegado, who is a Christian in his Heart, and has a greater desire to return to Spain then to live in Barbary. The rest of the Chiurm are all Moors and Turks that tug at the Oar. And as for these two Covetous and Insolent Turks, they were the only Persons, who contrary to their Orders, which were to set me ashore upon the first Spanish Ground they should discover, would needs be cruizing after Booty. The last Night we discovered this cost, and knowing nothing of your Galleys that lay so near, we were ourselves discovered and fell into your Hands.  
All this while Don Gaspar remains in Womens Habit among Women, and every Hour in danger of his Life. So that for my part, I know not whether I have any just cause to complain of the Condition to which my Misfortune has reduced me; for I am so weary of my Life, that I little regard the losing of it: Only I beg this Favour, Gentlemen, that you will permit me to die a Christian, as I have always professed to be. And thus concluding, she let fall a shower of Tears, that melted the most Stony Hearts of all that were present; insomuch that the Vice-Roy more touched with Compassion then any of the Rest, went and unbound her Hands himself.  
Now all the while that the fair master was telling her Story, there was in the Galley an ancient Pilgrim, who came aboard with the Vice-Roys Attendants, and kept his Eye still fixed upon the dansel. But no sooner had she made an end, but he threw himself at her Feet, and bathing 'em with his Tears, with a languishing Voice, interrupted with sighs and sobs, Ah, Anna Felix, cried he, my dear and entirely beloved Daughter, know'st thou not Ricot thy Father? At the name of Ricot, Sancho who was ruminating upon the Affront which he had received from the Slaves, looked up, and staring the Pilgrim in the Face, knew him again to be the same Ricot that he had met upon the Road the same day that he left his Government, and then seriously surveying the dansel he knew her to be Ricots Daughter.  
But then Ricot addressing himself to the Vice-Roy and to the Admiral, My Lords, said he, this is my Daughter, more unfortunate in what has befallen her then in her name. Her name is Anna Felix Ricot, well known for her Beauty and her Fathers Wealth. For her sake I departed out of Spain, to seek, among strangers, a quiet Habitation. Which after I had found in Germany, I return'd hither in this Habit with other Pilgrims, in search of my Daughter, and to recover a certain parcel of Gold, and some other odd Treasure which I had butted in the Earth. I found my hidden Wealth, but sought my Daughter in vain, till now by this same strange and unexpected Accident I met her here, the only Treasure which I value above all the Riches in the World. If then our Innocency, her Tears and mine are capable to move your Compassion, have pity upon two unfortunate Wretches, that never offended either your Honours in particular, or ever harboured evil thought against the public Government.  
Then Sancho taking his Turn, I know Ricot, quo he, as well as the beggar knows his Dish; and as far as a Man may be certain of such a thing, I'll engage that Anna Felix is his Daughter too; but for his Goings-out, or Comings-in; his good or bad Intentions, I ha' nothing to say to them: I am not hear to be Bail for his good Behaviour.  
Such a Concourse of surprising Accidents astonished all the Company, so that the Admiral turning to the fair Captive with a Countenance more serene then before, Your Tears, said he, have wrought Effectually; live lovely Anna Felix, live in peace a happy and a long Life, and let those hare-brained Slaves, whose Folly thus endangered your destruction, bear the Punishment of their Imprudence. And so saying he commanded the Two Turks to be forthwith hanged up at the Yards-Arm. But the Vice-Roy begged their Lives with so much importunity, that the Admiral gratified the Vice-Roys request, considering beside the poorness of Revenge in could Blood.  
Then they began to consider which was the safest way to retrieve Don Gaspar from the Danger he was in, to which purpose Ricot offered to pay for his ransom Two thousand Ducats which he had about him in Jewels. Whereupon the Spanish Renegado proffered to return to Argier, in a small Bark furnished with Christian Rowers; as one that well understood when and where to land, and more then that, was well acquainted with the House where Gregorio was in Custody. The Admiral and the Vice-Roy were somewhat scrupulous at first to trust a Renegado, till Anna Felix undertook for him, and Ricot engaged to pay the Ransom of all the Christians if they were taken by the Turks. So that all things being thus concluded, the Vice-Roy took leave of the Admiral; and Don Antonio Moreno carried Anna Felix and Ricot home to his own House.   

CHAP. XII.  
Containing that unlucky Adventure which Don Quixote laid most to his Heart of any that ever befell him.  
DON Antonio's Wife was so overjoyed to have Anna Felix for her Guest, that she received and entertained her with all the Caresses imaginable; and so attractive were the Charms of her Beauty and Wit, that she was visited by all the most considerable Persons in the City.  
The same Evening Don Quixote  told Don Antonio, that their Contrivance for the Releasement of Don Gaspar, no way pleased him; as being full of danger, and little or no probability of Success: And that therefore the safer and surer way would be for him to across over into Barbary himself with his Horse and Arms; where he would undertake to rescue Don Gaspar out of Captivity in despite of all the Moors that should oppose him; as Don Gayferos had formerly rescued his Wife, the fair Melisandra.  
Very right, Sir, quo Sancho, but you forget that when Don Gayferos rescued his Wife, 'twas upon the firm Land, and he carried her over the firm dry Land into France; but now in this Case, suppose we should deliver Don Gaspar, how the Devil shall we bring him into Spain, since the Sea's in the middle between us. There's a cure for all things but Death, replied Don Quixote: Let a Bark be but moored to the Shore, and then let us alone to take Shipping, maugre all the Saracens in Barbary. This is easily said, quo Sancho, but saying and doing are two things; and therefore I am for trusting the Renegado, who understands his Business better then a thousand Knight-Errants, and I dare say the Rogue will be honest. Don Antonio replied, that if the Renegado failed, that then they would have recourse to the Valour of the famous Don Quixote. Thereupon the Renegado was dispatched away within two days after, and the Admiral set Sail with all his Galleys for the Levant.  
Now it happened one Morning that Don Quixote being rid to take a walk upon the Sea-Shore, armed at all points, his Arms as he said, being all his Bodily Ornament, as Combat was his only Rest, he beholded at a Distance stalking toward him another Knight, armed like himself from head to foot, with a Shield on which a Glittering Moon was blazoned in her proper Colours. This Knight approaching near, and addressing himself to Don Quixote, Illustrious Knight, cried he, with a loud Voice, most Valiant Don Quixote de la Mancha, I am the Knight of the White Moon, whose incredible achievements, no doubt ere this, have reached thy Ears. My business here is, in fair and equal Combat to prove which is the stronger thou or I, and to make thee acknowledge that my Lady, let her be who she will, is incomparably more Amiable, more Discreet, and better Descended then thy Dulcinea deal Toboso. Now if thou wilt freely and without any more ado confess this Truth, thou shun'st assured Death, and freest me from the trouble of reducing thee to Reason. Otherwise, I demand no more, after thou art fairly vanquished, but that thou lay aside thy Arms, and forbear rambling in search of any more Adventures for one whole Year. Moreover, that thou shalt return home and live a sober and quiet Life, to the improvement of thy Estate and the Salvation of thy Soul. On the other side, if it be my fortune to be overcome, my Head is at thy Discretion; I bequeath thee my Horse and my Arms, and the Reputation of having vanquished the most Renowned Knight alive. Consider what thou hast to do, and let thy Answer be quick; for I have but this day to determine this Affair.  
Don Quixote amazed at the Insolence of the Knight of the White Moon, and the subject of his Challenge, with a proud and surly Air, Sir Knight of the White Moon, quo he, of whose Exploits I never herad a Title yet, I dare swear, thou never sawst th' Illustrious Dulcinea, for hadst thou seen her once, thou nere wouldst thus expose thyself to the hazard of doubtful Combat, to justify so great a falsehood. And therefore without giving thee the lie, I only tell thee, Knight, thou art deceived, and I accept thy Challenge upon the Conditions proposed. However, take notice that I accept these Conditions barely upon your Word, without examination what your achievements are, which otherwise I ought to make enquiry after. For I know my own reputation, and am contented with it. Go then, and choose your Ground, as I intend to do; and let the Success declare which of us two best knows to handle a Lance.  
While, the two Knights were thus jowring together, the Knight of the White Moon was discovered from the City, and the Vice-Roy was informed that the Knight of the White Moon had been parlying with Don Quixote; so that he took Horse, and accompanied by Don Antonio, and some other Gentlemen of the City, arrived at the place, just as Don Quixote was preparing to make choice of the starting Place. But when they were both ready, he road in between 'em, and demanded the Reason of their Quarrel, that had set 'em so suddenly together by the Ears. To whom the Knight of the Moon made answer, that it was about precedency of Beauty, repeating in short some part of the words that had past between him and Don Quixote, and the Conditions of the Challenge. Thereupon the Vice-Roy riding up to Don Antonio, asked him in his Ear, whether he knew the Knight of the White Moon, or whether it were not some Trick designedly put upon Don Quixote. Don Antonio made answer, that he knew nothing of the Business; which put the Vice-Roy into a kind of Dilemma whether he should suffer the Combatants to proceed,— but at length believing it could be nothing but some jocular Contrivance of the Gentry there present; Sir Knights, quo he, if it be so that there be no Remedy, no Medium but Death or Confession, while my Lord Don Quixote says 'tis Thirteen, and the Knight of the White Moon will have it Fifteen, the Field is free, and so God bless ye.  
The Knight of the Moon return'd the Vice-Roy thanks in most obliging Terms for his Civility; nor was Don Quixote behind hand with his compliments, and then recommending himself to God and his Lady Dulcinea, according to his usual Custom, he took a little more Ground then he had done before, observing his Adversary to do the like; and so without either Trumpet or any other Warlike Instrument to give the Signal, away they flew as swift as Rockets to meet each other at the Gates of Death. But the Knight of the White Moon was mounted upon a Courser that had much the better Heels, and was far stronger then Rosinante; so that having road three parts of the Career himself, without making use of his Lance, which 'tis thought he carried upright on purpose, he brushed by Don Quixote with that Violence, that he overthrew both Horse and Man to the Ground, and both in a very bad Condition. With that the Knight of the White Moon whipped of his Horse, and putting the Point of his Lance to Don Quixotes Vizor, You are vanquished, Sir Knight, quo he, and your Life is at an end, unless you perform the Conditions of the Combat. Don Quixote stunned and bruised with his fall, and unable to lift up the Vizor of his Helmet, with a feeble and languishing Voice, as if he had spoken out of a sepulchre, Dulcinea deal Toboso, said he, is the fairest Person in the World, and I the most unfortunate Knight that breaths upon the Earth; nor is it just that my Misfortune should belie a Truth so generally known. Thrust home thy Lance, Sir Knight, and take away my Life, since thou hast thus deprived me of my Honour.  
No, no— replied the Knight of the White Moon, let Madam Dulcinea deal Toboso's Beauty remain in its perfection; for my part I am satisfied, provided Don Quixote return in Peace to his own Habitation according to our Covenants before the Combat. The 'vice Roy, Don Antonio, and several others were Witnesses to all these Passages; and heard moreover Don Quixote's answer to the Victor, which was, that provided he demanded nothing prejudicial to the Honour and Interest of Dulcinea, he would upon the Faith of a true Knight accomplish punctually what ever else he required. With which the Knight of the White Moon being fully satisfied, he turned about his Horse, and saluting the Vice-Roy, gallopp'd back to the City.  
After this, they lifted up Don Quixote upon his Bum, and unlacing his Helmet, they found him pale, dejected, in a could sweat, and almost ready to breath out his Soul. As for Rosinante, he was in so sad a plight, that they were forced to let him lie at his ease. And Sancho coming in at the latter end of the Fray, equally pensive and astonished, knew neither what to think nor what to do; he looked upon his Master as vanquished in the face of the World, and for a whole Twelvemonth engaged to lay aside his Arms, in which time the Glory of all his Famous Exploits would be buried in utter Oblivion. On the other side he considered all his own expectations vanished into smoke; he bemoaned poor Rosinante, now believing him certainly crippled and condemned to a Dust-Cart all the Remainder of his days: and wished his Master in some good Hospital for the Cure of his broken Bones.  
At length the Vice-Roy sent for an Elbow Chair and two or three Pillows, and having accommodated the unfortunate Don Quixote to his ease, he ordered him to be carried, like a Labourer fallen from the top of a House, back to the City, whether he made hast before, to know who this same Knight of the White Moon should be.   

CHAP. XIII.  
Who the Knight of the White Moon was; and of the News of Don Gregorio's Liberty, and several other Adventures.  
DON Antonio Moreno made hast after the Knight of the White Moon, who was likewise attended by a Train of Harlotrie Boys, that never forsook him till they saw him lodged in a House. Into which Don Antonio entering soon after, found him in a lower Room, where his Squire was helping him off with his Arms; where after he had saluted him, he staid till he might have an Opportunity to discourse him farther. But the Knight perceiving that Don Antonio was resolved to stay by him, I know, Sir, very well, said he, what 'tis that brings you hither; you would fain understand who I am, and therefore not to stand upon Niceties and Punctilio's I'll tell ye the whole Truth, so soon as I have got off my armor.  
Know then, Sir, that my Name is samson Carrasco, the scholar, an Inhabitant in the same Village where Don Quixote lives. And the Folly and Extravagancy of this Gentleman, pitied by all that are acquainted with his Humour, bread in me the same Compassion for him which others had; so that being convinced that the Cure of his Distemper depended upon his Living peaceably and quietly at home, I thought upon this Project to recover him back. To this purpose, about three Months since I traced him in all the Equipage of a Knight-Errant, under the Title of the Knight of the Looking-Glasses, with a purpose to fight, but not hurt him, and nere doubting but to vanquish him, I made the Conditions of our Combat the same as now. But Fortune ordered it otherwise; for that time he proved the Victor, and I was forced to quit my design. Don Quixote road away Triumphant, and I return'd home well squelch'd and in danger of my Life. However, I had still that Kindness for him, that I was resolved to have t'other 'bout with him, which has now succeeded. For his exactness in observing inviolably the Laws of Knight-Errantry, is such, that I am sure he will as soon break his own Neck as the Conditions of this Combat, especially after his Oath given me for his performance. This is, Sir, the sum of what you desire to know, and I beseech ye that Don Quixote may not have the least inkling of my design, for fear I should lose the Fruit of my Care and Trouble, which I have thus far undergone to recover this poor Gentleman's understanding, exquisite in all other things, but only crazed and intoxicated with the Extravagancies of Knight-Errantry. Oh, Sir, replied Don Antonio, I can never pardon you the Injury you ha' done to all the World, in Robbing us of the most pleasant Fool that ever was known. You never considered, that all the Benefit we can expect from Don Quixote's serious parts, can never equal the Delight which we take in his Follies: Not but that I am assured that all your Pains and Industry are already misspent; for 'tis impossible to work an absolute Cure upon that Person who has lost his Sences. But because, if it were not a Sin against Charity, I could wish that Don Quixote might nere be cured, in regard the Loss of his conceited Frenzies, deprives us at the same time of Sancho's Drolleries also; two such Cordials against Melancholy as are not to be had in any Potecaries Shop.  
However, I promise ye not to speak a word, tho it be only to try which of us two are soundest in our Conjectures. Thus after some compliments past between 'em, Don Antonio left the Knight of the White Moon, who having packed up his armor, and tied it upon his War-Horse, took the Road for his own Village, where he safely arrived in a short time. Presently after his departure, Don Antonio went and gave an account of the Discourse which he had had with the unknown Knight to the Vice-Roy, who seemed not a little troubled, that the World was to be so suddenly deprived of such a pleasant Humourist.  
Six days did Don Quixote keep his Bed, very much bruised and disordered by his fall, but much more discomposed in Mind to see himself vanquished and his Honour laid i' the Dust. Sancho however attended him all the while, endeavouring to assuage his grief the best he could; and to that purpose, among other things, Pluck up a good Heart, Sir, said he, and thank God that none of your Brains dropped out with the fall, and that you broken neither Neck nor Ribs— They that will be giving and taking, must take as well as give— Harm watch, and harm catch— However; Better my Hog dirty home then no Hog at all— We must not think to find Bacon always where we see the Hooks— They that sow Thistles reap Thorns: 'tis well 'tis no worse— And a Fig for the Surgeon, cry I, when we have no need of his plaster Boxes— And now, faith, Master take a Fools Counsel for once; since y' have had this fair scape, let's e'en return Genteelly home again, and leave these idle rambles among Hectors and Swash-bucklers, that give us Roast-meat and beat us with the Spit— Tho all this while I speak against my own Interest: for when y' have said all, 'tis I am the loser, tho you get the Knocks and the Bangs. When I quitted my Government, 'tis true I laid aside all thoughts of ever being a governor more, but not of being a Count; which since I nere can be, because I find you nere can be a King, if you leave off Knight-Erranting; why let it go, and farewell Frost, quo I.  
Sancho, replied Don Quixote, nere despair— a Years retirement signifies little— which once expired, no Man can hinder us from returning to the honourable Exercise of Arms, and then I make no Question but to find Kingdoms to conquer, and Earldoms to bestow upon thee. Oh— cried Sancho, A blind Man would be glad to see't— But hope well and have well, quo Hickwel.  
As they two were thus discoursing Don Antonio entered the Chamber, and with a smiling Countenance, cried out to Don Quixote, good tidings, Sir Quixote, good tidings, Don gregory and the Renegado are safe arrived, and now at the 'vice Roys Palace; and both design a speedy Visit to the Noble Knight of Mancha. I am glad to hear it, replied Don Quixote, with a careless Delivery; but I could have wished the design had miscarried, that I might have passed myself into Barbary; where by the strength of my Arm, I might have had the satisfaction not only to have purchased the Freedom of Don gregory, but of all the Christian Captives in that Pagan Country. But what is that I say? unfortunate Wretch as I am, continued he; am not I that Coward that suffered himself to be Winepress'd? that luckless Son of Infamy that was laid sprawling upon the could Earth! and for a whole year confined to lay aside his Arms? What do I Rodomontado thus for, that am more fit to handle a Distaff then a Sword and Buckler.  
Passion o' my Heart, quo Sancho, interrupting him, pray leave your puling, Sir— you kill me wi' your whining— as if the Pullet could not live because sh' has got the Pip— To day 'tis thy Turn, to morrow 'tis mine— There's no heed to be taken to such Encounters and Lambastings as these— to day a Mouse, to morrow a Man— there's a poor Soul indeed! despair and die for a cudgeling!— Fie— fie— get up— Master get up— and be ready to meet Don gregory, I believe he's i' the House already, by the noise I hear below Stairs.  
'twas true as Sancho said. For Don gregory, so soon as he had kissed the Vice-Roys Hands, nere staid to shift his Habit of a Slave, but impatient to see Madam Anna, made hast to Don Antonio's House; where he became the wonder of all that viewed him, so surprising was his Beauty at the Age of Eighteen or Nineteen years. And here I should tell ye how Ricot and Anna Felix received him; most certainly 'twas with a great deal of Joy, a great deal of Modesty, and showers of Tears; but let it alone till another time. You may be sure too that the Renegado was well paid for his Pains, and for his good Service was once more received into the Bosom of the Church; or else there had been a Botch i' the Story.  
Two days after, Don Quixote, pretty well settled in his Bones, took his last leave of unfortunate Barcellona, and in his traveling Habit, having laid aside his Arms, set forward in his Journey homeward, attended by Sancho, who was forced to beat it upon the Hoof, in regard that Grizzle was forced to bear the Load of the Knights Furniture.   

CHAP. XIV.  
Which treats of that which he shall see who reads, and he shall hear that listens with Attention.  
AT his departure from Barcellona, Don Quixote beholding the Place where all his soaring thoughts had suffered shipwreck: There it was, said he, where once Troy stood; there it was that my Misfortune, and no fault of mine, deprived me of all the high Renown which I had purchased: there Fortune made me sensible of her Inconstancy and fantastic Humours; There lay all my Glory, like a Litter of Whelps drowned in a durcy Ditch; and there it was my Honour fell in a Cow-turd.  
Sir, said Sancho, a noble and true Courage ought to have as much patience in Adversity, as joy in prosperous Success. Take example by me: For when I was a governor, I was jocund and merry, and now I am but a poor Squire, a-foot, I take my chance without Grumbling. And indeed I have heard say, that this same Female ye call Fortune, is a capricious Baggage, always drunk, and beyond the Assistance of Spectacles, as blind as a Brewers Horse; so that she neither sees what she does, nor knows whom she raises or whom she casts down.  
Thou mightst be a Constable for thy Wit, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, thou talk'st like a Philosopher: I wonder where thou hadst thy Learning— But I must tell thee there is no such thing as Fortune in the World; for all that happen's here below of good or ill, comes not by Chance, but by a particular Providence of Heaven, and thence arises the Proverb, That every Man is the Architect of his own Fortune. For my part I was my own Artificer; but because I did not work, nor handle my Tools with that Prudence as I ought to ha' done, I am chastised for my Presumption. I might well have considered that Rosinante's feeble Limbs were nere able to bear the Brunt of the Knight of the White Moons Lusty Stallion, able to brush down Twenty such as my poor Cripple; however I would needs adventure, and do what I could for my Life, the Devil paid me the shane he owed me. But tho it has cost me my Honour, yet have I not lost my Integrity to perform my word. When I was a Knight-Errant, Valiant and Bold, the strength of my Arm and my Actions were Testimonies of my Courage; but now I am no more then a Dismounted Squire, my Obedience and the performance of my Promise, shall make known my Sincerity. Trudge on then, Sancho, let's go and stay out our Exilement at home: By that time we shall recover new strength, and return with more vigour to our never to be forgotten Profession of Knight-Errantry.  
Sir, answered Sancho, 'tis not so pleasant a thing, as you think for, to trot-a-foot, especially long Journeys— And therefore let us hang up this old Iron upon the next Trees— and when I am got upon Grizzle's Back, then ride as fast as you please— but as long as I trot a foot, you must observe my place. Thou saist very well, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, let my Arms be hung up upon the next substantial three, upon the Bark of which we will engrave the same Inscription, which was written at the foot of Orlando's Arms, after Zerbin had won 'em from that famous Knight.  
Let no Man dare to be so rash  
These Arms from hence to pull;  
Unless he means to try a Crash  
With him that cracked Orlando's skull.  
No better way i' the World, replied Sancho, and were it not but that we shall want him upon the Road, I think we might do well to hang up Rosinante too, with the armor, to complete the Trophy. Now I think on't, quo Don Quixote, I'll neither hang up one nor t'other— lest the People twit me i' the Teeth, and cry— A rare Master— good Service, bad reward. Why, truly, quo Sancho, 'tis a saying among the Wise, that the faults of the Ass should never light upon the Pack-saddle. And therefore since you yourself have only done the Injury, punish yourself and not your Innocent armor, bruised and battered with defending your Ribs; but as for Rosinante methinks a little Rest might do him no harm, especially since my Toes must suffer for his want of strength.  
All that day and for four days after, their whole divertisement was only such sort of discourse as this, but the fifth days Journey brought 'em to a Village where the People were assembled together for Pastime, as being a Holiday.  
Don Quixote was no sooner within hearing of the Company, but he heard one of the Countrymen cry, Look ye now, here's our business done to our Hands— Here are two Gentlemen, Strangers, that know nothing of the Matter— let one or both of them decide the Difference— Ay, Ay, Friends, with all my Heart, quo Don Quixote, provided I may understand your Case— Why, Sir, quo the Country Fellow, the Business is this, one of our Neighbours here i' this Town, so fat and so heavy that he weighs near Two hundred and fourscore Pound, has challenged another Inhabitant, that weighs not half so much, to run with him a hundred Paces, provided the other shall carry so much weight as to equal him. Now the Challenger being desired to tell what weight he requires, he demands that the other shall carry a hundred and fifty Pound of Iron, and then they shall weigh both alike.  
Hold, quo Sancho, not giving his Master time to speak; this business belongs to me, that come so lately from being both a governor and a Judge, as all the World knows. With all my heart, quo Don Quixote, for I am not fit to give Crumbs to a Cat, my Brains are so out of order. Why then, Sir, judge on, quo the Countryman: Then I must tell ye, honest Friends, quo Sancho, that the Challenger's demand is unreasonable; for the Person challenged must always choose his Weapons, as I have heard say, but here the Challenger makes the choice himself, and so loads him, that instead of being in a Condition to run, he shall not be able to stir. Therefore 'tis my judment, that he who is so big and so fat, shall cut, pare, slice or shave off a hundred and fifty Pound off his Flesh here and there, as he thinks fit; and then both Parties being equal in Poise, neither will have cause to complain.  
By my Life, quo the Country Fellow, this Gentleman has judged like an Advocate— but by Guds Liggers the Challenger will nere be such a Fool to cut off an Ounce of his Flesh, much less a hundred and fifty Pound— Why then, quo another Fellow, the best way will be not to let 'em run at all; for then the one Spares his Flesh, and the other saves melting his Grease: and so let half the Wager be spent at the Tavern, and let's take our judge and this Gentleman along with us— if it come to more, let me wear the Cloak when it reins.  
I am much obliged to ye Gentlemen, replied Don Quixote, and it troubles me to be uncivil, but my Business requires hast; and so saying, he gave Rosinante a gentle remembrance, and put on, leaving the People to descant upon the strange Figure and Discretion of Sancho, his lackey; for such they judged him to be.  
When they were gone, said one of the Country Fellows to the rest, If the Master be but as Witty as his lackey, I'll hold a Wager that if they would but go and study a while at Salamanca, we should see 'em in the twinkling of an Eye either Bishops or Doctors at least; for 'tis nothing but chance and favour, whether a Man study more or less, if he but understands the World.  
That night the Master and the Man slept under the Canopy of Heaven; and next Morning continuing their Journey, they saw coming toward 'em a Man a-foot with a Wallet at his Back, and a Pikestaff in his Hand. This Man doubled his place, when he perceived Don Quixote, and now being met, after three Scrapes and a low Congey, My Lord Don Quixote, said he, Oh, how glad would my Lord Duke be, did he but know that your Worship were returning to his Castle, for there he is now with his duchess. I don't know ye, friend, quo Don Quixote. My Lord Don Quixote, replied the other, I am Tosilos, my Lord Dukes lackey, who was to have fought your Worship upon the Quarrel about Madam Doroties Daughter. How! quo Don Quixote, is it you that those Enemies of mine the Necromancers transformed into a lackey, to rob me of the Honour of that Combat? In good truth, I beg your pardon, Sir, replied the lackey, 'twas neither Transformation nor Enchantment. I was a Footman when I entered the Barriers, and when I went out; and it was only because I had a mind to mary the young dansel, that I refused the Combat. But there was the Devil of enchantment when you were gone. The Duke my Master caused me to be soundly strappado'd for not obeying his Orders, the young dansel is turned into a Nunnery, and Madam Doroty packed away to seek her Fortune: And I am going to Barcellona with a Packet of Letters from my Master to the Vice-Roy. However, Sir, I have here a full Bottle, at your Service, if your Worship pleases to take a draft, 'tis a little hot I confess, but I have a good Cheese to boot, that will make it go down I'll warrant ye, Sir. I take ye at your Word, quo Sancho, for I never stand to compliment with my Friends. Let Tosilos but lay a Napkin, and in spite of all the Necromancers in the Indies, we'll try whether we can lift our Elbows to our Heads.  
In truth, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, thou art a very Glutton, if there be e're a Glutton i' the World, and the most ignorant Sot alive, that knowst not that same Messenger to be enchanted and a mere Counterfeit lackey— Go then, and stuff thy ungodly Gut— For my part I'll ride softly on before— Tosilos smiled to see Don Quixote leave a good Breakfast— and then fetching his Bottle and his Cheese, Sancho and he sate down upon the Grass, from whence they never stirred till they had fully decided the controversy.  
While they were munching, quo Tosilos to Sancho, the Devil take me, Sancho, if I know what to make of thy Master— he has as many Windmills in his Pate as would grinned Corn for a whole City— That's no more, quo Sancho, then I ha'  told him a hundred times— but I had as good ha' kept my Breath to cool my Porridge; I might tell him what a Fool he was to leave a good Bottle of Wine and good Cheese— but what will it signify? especially at this time that he's all in his Dumps, for having been thrashed by the Knight of the White Moon— Tosilos begged of Sancho to tell him that Story— But Sancho replied the Story was too long, and therefore desired his excuse till the next time they met; and so saying away he trudged after his Master, driving Grizzle before him.   

CHAP. XV.  
Containing Don Quixote's resolution to turn Shepherd, all the time of his being confined from bearing Arms.  
DON Quixote was laid down at the Root of a three in expectation of his Servant Sancho, much more disturbed and disquieted in his Mind since his last disaster, then ever he was before. And in that musing Posture a thousand Fancies and Figaries crowded into his Noddle so thick, as if his Brains had kept open House for all the Maggots in nature.  
In this Pensive Condition Sancho finding him, began to commend Tosilos for his generous Humour, saying that he was one of the honestest Footmen that ever he had met with. Ah, Sancho, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, wilt thou ever be so Thick-scull'd to believe that Apparition to be a real Footman? Canst thou have forgotten that thou sawst the lovely Dulcinea transformed into a Country Fussock; and the Knight of the Looking-Glasses changed into the scholar Samson Carrasco; and all this by the magic of those Enchanters that continually plague me? But prithee tell me, didst thou not ask Tosilos who that Maiden Gentlewoman was? Whether she bewails my absence, or whether she have banished from her Breast those Amorous Sentiments, that so tormented her when I was there. By my Life, Sir, quo Sancho, I had other business then to inquire after such Trifles. But what the Devil makes you so inquisitive after other Peoples thoughts, especially their Amorous thoughts? Oh, Sancho, there is a great difference between those Actions that proceed from Love, and those that proceed from acknowledgement; for a Knight-Errant may cease to Love, but he can never forget to be grateful. Certainly the Virgin loved me; she Presented me, as well thou knowst, with two Night-caps; she wept and took on at my departure; cursed me, reviled me, and was not ashamed to complain of my Cruelty before all the World: assured signs, all, that she was desperately in Love; for the disappointments of Lovers generally end in Maledictions. For my part, it was not in my power to give her any hopes; nor had I any Rings or Gold Watches to Present her; for the Treasures of Knight-Errants are like the Portions of Town Cracks that lie i' the Clouds; besides, that I am entirely reserved for another: So that I have nothing wherewith to gratify her Love, but to give her some few Marks of my acknowledgement, without prejudice however to Dulcinea, who I must needs say, is extremely beholding to thee for sparing thy Flesh, and letting her lie in torment, as thou dost. For I must tell thee, my dear Friend, thou art so tender of thy Skin, that I wish the Wolves were well at Supper on that filthy carcase of thine, since thou preserv'st it so charily for Worms Meat, rather then to do a dead of Charity to relieve thy poor Mistress.  
Sir, replied Sancho, if I must needs tell ye the Truth, I don't believe the scourging of my Posteriours will signify a straw to the disinchanting of any Body. 'tis no more then if a Man should bid you noint your Shins because your Head aches; and I dare be bold to say, that in all the Books of Knight-Errantry that ever you red, you never heard of any Enchantment that was dissolved by Bum clawing— However, let it succeed ill or well, I will for your satisfaction try a stroke or two, more or less, as soon as I can find myself in the humour. I wish thou wouldst, replied Don Quixote; and Heaven give thee Grace at length to understand the duty which thou ow'st to her as my Mistress, and to me as thy Master.  
By this time they were come to the Place where the Mad Bulls had mortified their carcases; which Don Quixote sadly remembering, see yonder, quo he to Sancho, the Meadow where we met the Ladies and their Sparks in Shepherds Weeds, with a design to set up a new Arcadia; if thou thinkest well on't, Sancho, we'l een go and turn Shepherds too, at least for the time that I have promised to lay aside my Arms— I'll buy thee a Flock, and all thy Accouterments; and so calling myself the Shepherd Quihottiz, and thee the Shepherd Pancino, we'l betake ourselves to the Woods and Downs, singing, Piping and making complaints of Phillis and Amarillis; sometimes we'l drink the Liquid crystal of the Fountains; sometimes from the main River, as Fortune sends it us. The Green Chestnut Trees and Oaks will afford us both Lodging and diet; the Roses will present us their Perfumes, the Meadows variety of Nosegaies; the Sun the Moon and Stars will cheer us with their Light; light Hearts will make us merry, Mirth will make us sing; Apollo will find us Verses, and Love Conceits: And thus we shall become famous, not only while we live, but even to Posterity.  
By my Life, Sir, quo Sancho, I'me Enchanted with this manner of Living, provided the scholar Carrasco would leave his Books, and Mr. Nicholas the Barber his Washing-balls, and go along with us; nay, I could wish that Mr. Curate too would approve the frolic, and lay himself a whitening i' the Fields for good Company; for he's full of his Jokes, and would make us sport.  
Very well thought on, quo Don Quixote, and then shall the scholar be called the Shepherd Samsonino, and Mr. Nicholas Nicholoso, in imitation of the Ancient Nemoroso. For the Curate, I know not what name to give him, unless we should call him the Shepherd Curiambro. As for the Shepherdesses that are to be our Mistresses, I am fitted already with a Name for mine, in regard that Dulcinea is a Name as proper for a Shepherdess as a Princess. And as for thine Sancho, thou mayst call her as thou pleasest thyself. I think to make very little alteration, quo Sancho, I shall only call her Teresona, a Name that very well agrees with the plumpness of her shape, and her own proper Name; besides that when I come to name her in my Verses, all the World will know her to be my Wife, and so to be one that grinded at no Mill but my own. As for the Curate, he must be contented without a Shepherdess, for good examples sake— and for the scholar, let him conjure for one with his Heathen Greek, if he means to have one.—  
Bless me, quo Don Quixote, what a Life shall we led! what a Rattle shall we make i' the Air with our oaten Reeds, our Bagpipes, our tabors and Drums; our morris Bells and Snappers! and if we could but get your Lancashire whistels, or your Doodle-doodle-Hum's— we should be made for ever— Your Doodle-doodle-Hum's—! quo Sancho, what are those? I never heard of such an Instrument i' my Life— Oh! quo Don Quixote, 'tis the rarest music i' the World— 'twill make a Mans Guts dance in his Belly— make a Dog sing like a Wild Irish Man, and a Cat speak arabic— There is one thing more required to add to the perfection of our Profession, and that's Poetry. As for my own part I shall shift well enough for myself: but then there's the scholar Carrasco one of the quickest Rhimers about Town, he shall make Sonnets for himself and thee too— I say nothing of the Curate, but I dare swear he knows more then he says— and so does Mr. Nicholas too; for your Barbers are always tickling the Guittar, or if he wants let him get him a music Book, and he shall find Verses enough to Phillis and Amarillis or Lucinda, or one or another, that will serve his turn. For my part I'll complain of Absence; thou shalt boast of thy Loyalty and Perseverance; Carrasco shall complain of his Shepherdesses disdain, and let the Shepherd Curiambro complain of the Sextons Wife, and thus we'l be as merry as Mice in a Corn heap.  
alas, quo Sancho, I am such an unfortunate Man, that I shall never live to see these jolly Days— How I shall lick up the Curds and Cream!— How I shall slice the thin Cheese!— I'll nere be without a Wooden Spoon i' my Pocket I'll warrant ye— I can make wooden Spoons like any Turner— Garlands for myself and my Shepherdess like any Milk Maid— and whittle Sticks like any blind Beggar upon the Road— For tho I can't pretend to Wisdom, I can do anything that belongs to a Shepherd— Sancha, little Sancha too shall bring us our Dinners a-Field— But hold— now I think on't she's no contemptible Girl, and knowing as I do, that Shepherds are as wanton as other People, I would not have her come for wool and return home shorn— For Love and Love-Tricks will be showing their Gambols as well i' the Fields as in Cities; as well in Cottages, as your Princely Palaces— Take away the Cause and remove the Effect— What the Eye sees not, the Heart never rues— Young Wenches make old Wrenches— And it is time to yoke when the Cart comes to the Caples— Enough, enough, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, I understand thy meaning— I ha'  told thee a hundred times of this Proverb Prodigality, but I preach in a Desert; My Mother whips me, and I whip the Top— By my Faith, Sir, quo Sancho, you put me in mind of another Proverb, as pat as a Pudding to a friars Mouth— The Porridge-Pot calls the Kettle Black-arse— you reprove me for talking Proverbs, and bring 'em out yourself by dozens at a time— But you don't consider, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, that those I speak are to the Purpose— but thou fetchest 'em in by Head and Shoulders without rhyme or Reason.  
By this it grew late; so that they were forced to seek for shelter in the next Wood, where after they had made a Lent-Supper, Sancho betook himself to his usual Rest, while his Master renewing his Complaints against Fortune, found business enough, after a small Nap, to employ his almsgiving Imaginations till Morning.   

CHAP. XVI.  
Containing the Adventure of the Bristles.  
THE Night was somewhat dark, tho the Moon shone; for many times the Lady Diana takes a walk to the Antipodes, leaving the Mountains and Valleys a this side the World without Light. And let her walk where she pleased for Sancho, for he had no need of her Company; he lay like a ston from his down lying till his up rising; a sign of a sound Constitution, and that he had no Plots in his Head. But Don Quixote's cares soon waked him; and then for want of other Company, after he had thump'd and tugged Sancho till he had waked him too; Sure, Sancho, said he, thou art made either of Brass or Marble; thou liest without either Motion or Feeling— Thou sleepest while I wake— thou singest while I Mourn— I am feeble and cast down for want of necessary Nourishment— thou feed'st and guttl'st till thy victuals are ready to choke thee without a Halter; whereas 'tis the Duty of an affectionate Servant to share in his Masters Afflictions, to lay his Sorrows to Heart, and to endeavour the Consolation of his Grief. Behold the brightness of the Moon; consider the stillness of the Night, and the Serenity of the Season, all Invitations to enjoy the Beauty and Pleasure of these charming Solitudes. Up then Lazy-bones, get up, and in pity to Dulcinea and myself, go and give thyself Four or Five hundred Slashes in discharge of thy solemn Obligations; and do it willingly and cheerfully I entreat thee— for I am unwilling to lay violent hands upon thee, which otherwise I must be forced to do. And when thou hast done, we'l spend the rest o' the night in singing, the one of the Torments which he suffers, and the other of his Fidelity, and so we'l begin our Pastoral manner of Living this very Night.  
Oh, Sir, quo Sancho, I am no Franciscan, to rise i' the middle of the Night and discipline myself; nor do I believe I shall have any mind to be Musical after such a scourging 'bout. Therefore pray let me alone and don't press me so to the Whipping-Post, least I make an Oath never to touch so much as the out side of my Doublet as long as I live. Oh! Heart of Marble, cried Don Quixote, Ingrateful Squire! Oh Friendship and favour ill bestowed: Is this my Reward for having made thee a governor, and my good Intentions to make thee a Count or something else Equivalent; which I dare engage to do so soon as Dulcinea and myself are once again at Liberty. For in short, Post Tenebras spero Lucem.  
I don't know what ye mean by that, replied Sancho, all that I know is only this, that when I sleep, I neither hope nor fear; I neither think of reward or punishment— Blessed was the Man that first invented sleep; the Mantle that covers all the Cares of Men; the Food that satisfies their Hunger; the Drink that quenches their Thirst; the Fire that warms 'em when a could; the cool Air that refreshes their heat; the currant coin that purchases all the Pleasures of the World, and equals the Swain with the Prince, and the Unlearned with the Learned. There is only one thing that I mislike in sleep, that it is so like death; and yet I'me sure there is a difference between 'em for all that, for the one snoars, and the other has not that privilege.  
Never i' my Life, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, did I ever hear thee talk with so much Wit and so much Eloquence as now. But what says the Proverb? Tell me thy Master, and I'll tell thee where thou hadst thy Learning— Have I caught ye napping y' faith, quo Sancho, who squitters Proverbs now?— but yours are in Season, forsooth— mary 'tis a good thing to be a Master— would I were a Master too for me— and then I'de domineer as well as the best Knight-Errant of ye all.  
Sancho had no sooner made an end of his Sentence, but they heard a kind of a Grumbling noise, that spread itself over the whole Valley. Presently Don Quixote started up briskly upon his Feet, and laid his Hand upon his Sword, while Sancho entrenched himself with his Masters Arms on the one side, and his Packsaddle on the other, under Grizzles Belly; where he lay tumbling and panting like a Mouse in a Cats Claws. And every Moment the noise increased, to the dreadful terror of the one at least; for, as for the t'other, you know already what his Valour was.  
Now you must understand, for 'tis worth your understanding, that this terrible Noise was occasioned by a vast Herd of Swine, to the Number of about Six hundred, which several Hog Merchants were driving to Market. These Sheep of the Devil, what with their Grunting, and what with their Squeaking, made such prodigious Outcries, that Don Quixote and Sancho stood amazed, not being able to divine what Region of Hell was broken loose upon' em. But at length the Knight and the Squire standing full i' their way, those rude, rustical, boarish, swinish Animals, never so much as crying bear leave( as they would, had they been but Civil Sedan-men) without the least respect or veneration to Knight-Errantry, some running between Sancho's, some between Don Quixote's Legs, levelled both Master and Man with the Earth, while the Rest following their unruly leaders, like an Inundation of Hogs, made still forward, overturning Grizzle, Pack-saddle, armor and all; crowding, treading, trampling over Proverbs and Moral-Knighthood at such a Hoggish Rate, that sometimes they fell down and brushed the Champions Chaps with their uneasy Bristles, and sometimes others would be so kind as to give 'em a Buss at parting, thinking they had met with some old Bunch of turnips, and with their egyptian Nose-rings lend 'em such a rak o' the Cheeks, that the Philosophers had almost lost all their Patience, especially Sancho, that was not so well grounded in human Literature. Who at length getting upon his Legs, when the unmannerly Hogs-Norton Herd was passed, and desiring his Master to lend him his Sword, nouns, quo he, I'll teach these Monsieur Hogs better manners then to use Knight-Errantry so uncivilly.  
Let 'em een go, replied Don Quixote, 'tis no more then what I deserve; 'tis but mere Justice, that a vanquished Knight errand should be Food for Flies, and trampled upon by Swine. I ha' nothing to say to that, quo Sancho, but I'me sure 'tis not just that the Squires to cudgelled Knight-Errants should be starved to death, and eaten up by Wasps and Hornets. Were we Squires the Sons or near Relations of those Rascally beaten Knight-Errants, we might indeed expect to be punished to the Fourth Generation; but what a Kin are the Pancha's to the Quixot's? However let's not fling the Helve after the Hatchet; since we can't eat, let's go sleep out the rest of the Night, 'twill be day to morrow, and then we shall see what we have to do.  
Sleep, Sancho, sleep, for thou were't born to sleep, replied Don Quixote; But I was born to lie with my Eyes open; I'll een go ruminate upon my Misfortunes; and endeavour to appease my Griefs by singing certain Verses which I made last Night. In my Opinion, quo Sancho, such Misfortunes as will give a Man leave to make Verses cannot be very great. But you may go sing and dance too, if you please, for my part I'll go sleep as long as I can, and for your part, never fear my disturbing your music: And so saying, he clapped his Breech to the Calves of his Legs, as Maids do at Church, and fell into a profound Trance, without either fears or hopes or cares to disquiet his Rest. On the other side Don Quixote, leaning his Shoulders against some three or other( for Cid Hamet does not mention what three it was) and intermixing his Voice with his Sighs, bequeathed in Melody the following Fancy to the Neighbouring Woods; being a Composition, as we  told ye before of his own, and therefore you may be sure none of the Best.  

OH Love, so unkind, when I think upon Thee,  
I find that thou never dost think upon me;  
For the Sorrow and Smart  
That torture my Heart,  
Each Moment Afflict me most terriblee.   

Yet neither can I complain of the colic,  
The Cramp, the Gout, or the ston, which is worse;  
As sound as a roche in Body, and frolic;  
But as sick, but as sick— i' my Mind as a Horse.   

This sickness of mine my Body disorders,  
With Anguish and Torment, and such Fiddle Faddles;  
Then call I to mind a Thousand Self-murders  
Of People by Love disturbed i' their Noddles.   

To drown myself then to the Water I go,  
But when I come there, the Water dismays me;  
Then a Dagger I take, but my Fancy crys, no;  
Then a Halter I take, but the Beam does not please me.   

At length I conceit that my Mistress grows kind,  
And charmed with the Kindness of her I adore,  
I presently alter my wavering Mind,  
And covet the Life which I hated before.   

But oh! but oh! the Fit's return'd again,  
She's absent— or what most I fear, untrue;  
Then tortured with despair, I live in Pain,  
And then again,  
'tis welcome Death to rid me of my Woe.   
The Poor Knight at the end of every Stanza wept and sighed at such a rate, that you might well perceive he neither wept nor sang for joy, but as one that deeply laid to heart his being thrashed, and the absence of Dulcinea.  
By this time 'twas broad day, so that the Sun shining full in Sancho's Face, he began to stretch himself; and at length opening his Eyes for good and all, and beholding how the Swine had made a mere Hog-stie of his Bed-Chamber, he opened his Lips, and in lieu of his Morning Prayers, sent a whole Legion of Curses after the Hogs, wishing both them and their Drivers boiling together i' the Devils Kitchen.  
At last they mounted their Dromedaries, and after continued their Journey till toward Evening; at what time they saw coming toward 'em about Eight or Ten Men a Horse-back, and Five afoot. Don Quixote was not a little troubled to see so many People, and Sancho was terribly frighted, perceiving they were all armed, and looked like Men that used to borrow upon the Road and never pay again. Ah, Sancho, quo Don Quixote, what pity 'tis that I am now debarred the use of my Arms; this same Squadron else should never pass me unexamin'd: I would know who they were, and whether they were going, tho they were sent from the Devil himself; and make no more of 'em, thou shouldst see, then of so many painted Figures i' the Hangings.  
But the words were no sooner out of Don Quixote's Mouth, when the Horse-men coming up, and surrounding the Knight, some clapped their Pistols to his Breast, others to his Guts, and some to his Kidneys, threatening no less then dismal Manslaughter. At what time one of the Footmen, laying his Finger upon his Mouth, as much as to say Mum, took Rosinante by the Bridle, and lead him out of the Road, while the rest encircling Sancho, drove him after his Master. The poor Knight was once or twice thinking to have asked 'em what they intended to do with him, and whether they meant to carry him? But still as he was going to open his Lips, his cruel Guardians threatened to murder him if he spoken a word. Neither could Sancho scape so; for if he did but make the least Motion with his Eyes they pricked him with their Swords, and poor Grizzle too, as if the Ass had had the use of his Tongue. When it grew dark, they doubled their place, and new fears dismai'd the Adventurers, when they heard 'em cry, On Troglodytes, Silence Barbarians, Peace Cannibals, Shut your Eyes Scythians, Murdrous Polyphemes, devouring lions, Wolves and tigers, with a great many other hard Names, with which they deaffen'd their Captives Ears. Ah— quo Sancho to himself, as he afterwards confessed. Fore-George 'tis an ill Wind that blows; all this Heathen Greek prognosticates no good; all our Mischiefs come together, like blows upon a Dogs back; however I wish this Adventure might end in a few dry Rubs, but I dread a worse Conclusion. As for Don Quixote he resigned himself over to utter destruction, not being able to imagine the Reason either of their severe Usage, or bad Language. But at length after they had road about an Hour all in the dark, and expecting every Minute some Bloody Sentenee or other, they could perceive themselves at the Gates of a Castle, which Don Quixote knew again to be the Dukes, where he had been so kindly entertained not long before. But then not able to forbear, Heaven's bless me, said he, What place is this? Is not this the Dukes Castle, the Mansion of courtesy and Civility? But when Men are once unfortunate and vanquished, the World delights in adding to their Miseries. Not a word of Answer was return'd; only the two Prisoners were carried into the Chief Court of the Castle, where every thing they saw augmented their fears, as we shall find in the following Chapter.   

CHAP. XVII.  
Containing the strangest Adventure that ever Don Quixote met with, and the most surprising in all this Large History.  
IN that same Court the Horsemen alighted, and together with the Footmen, pulling Don Quixote and Sancho rudely from their Horses, set 'em down in the Court, which was all hung about with lighted Torches, as were all the Galleries, which gave as great a light as if it had been Noon day. In the middle of the Court was a Tomb, between seven or eight Foot high, covered with a large Pall of Black Velvet; round about which there blazed a hundred Tapers of Virgins Wax, in Silver Candle-Sticks. And upon the Tomb itself lay the Body of a young dansel deceased, in whose Countenance, however, such remainders of Beauty appeared, as banished thence all terror of Mortality. A Cloth of Gold Pillow supported her Head, which was crowned with a Garland of several Flowers, and in each of her Hands, that were laid a across upon her Breast, she held a Palmtree-Branch. At one of the corners of the Court there was a Theatre erected, where sate two Persons with Crowns upon their Heads, and sceptres in their Hands, representing Minos and Rhadamanthus; and thither it was that the Persons who had so rudely seized 'em, lead Don Quixote and Sancho, causing them to sit down upon Seats a' one side of the Theatre, and still enjoining 'em silence with angry looks, and Countenances full of terror. But there was no need of Threats; th' Adventurers were so amazed, that even Fear itself had tied their Tongues.  
At the same time two Persons of Quality ascended the Stage, to whom Don Quixote and Sancho paid most profound reuerences, believing them to be the Duke and duchess, to whom they had been so highly beholding for their former Civility. Both the one and the other return'd 'em a gentle Nod, and took their Places in most magnificent Boxes, next the crwoned Heads.  
The Champion beholded 'em with Astonishment, and knew not what to think, perceiving the Dead Corps at the same time to be the Body of the Fair Madam Tomboy.  
Presently they threw about Sancho's Shoulders a rob of black Buckram embroidered with Flames of Fire, and a Fools Cap upon his Head; at what time the Person that dressed him, whispered him i' the Ear, that if he did but offer to open his Lips, they would either gag him or slit his Weazand. Sancho viewed himself from Top to to, and saw himself all over nothing but Fire and Flames, but in regard he did not feel himself burn he was well enough content. Then taking off his Bonnet, and finding that it was all over in Flames like his Mantle, he put it on again, saying to himself, that certainly there must be some Conjuration i' the Case, that neither the Flames burnt him, nor the Devils offered to carry him quiter away. Don Quixote also steadfastly surveyed his Squire, and in the midst of all his Fears could not forbear smiling to see his Man so strangely bedizond'd. Thus while all the Court was in a deep silence, and every body expected the Event, a Consort of Flutes played several soft and amorous Airs under the Tomb for some time, which pleasing Harmony ceasing, there appeared at the Head of the Monument, a young Man extremely Beautiful, and clad in antic Roman Habit, who sang to the Harp, on which he played himself, the following Verses.  
WIthin this Coffin lies enclosed  
A Lady of her Life deflour'd  
Ere Sixteen Years her Beauties had exposed:  
Yet ripe at Sixteen, and so fair,  
So mettlesome and Debonair,  
That she incurred some little Censures  
From those that thought her prove to Love Adventures.  
A fault indeed to be so fond of Man,  
Which proved her so untimely Bane.  
Thus early Ripe and early Rotten;  
howe'er she must not be forgottten:  
Her Aims, we know, were High, and she bestowed  
Her early Favours on a Toad  
Of a Knight-Errant, high in famed,  
But his Professions and his Orders shane;  
Who had he had a Grain of Honour;  
For want of stepping to a Church,  
Would nere ha' left a Lady i' the Lurch.  
But I will sing her praises still,  
To every Grove and every Hill,  
And Monuments of Verse will rear  
To her True Love in Regions far and near.  
Nay, when by Death snatched hence, my doleful Ditty  
To Shades Infernal, voided of day,  
Her Wrongs and Sufferings shall convey,  
And move th' Inexorable God to Pity.  
'tis enough, cried one of the two Kings, no more, Celestial Songster; thy Task would be an endless Labour to repeat the Perfections of the Peerless Madam Tomboy, who is not dead as the Ignorant Vulgar thinks, but still Survives in the Mouth of famed, and once more shall revive to live with us, so soon as Sancho shall have restored her to the World, by the Punishment which he is to suffer for her sake. And therefore Rhadamanthus, thou that sittest equal in Commission with me, Infernal Judge of Hell, declare what Fate by th' Inalterable Decrees of Destiny has ordained in order to the restoring this same Amiable Person to Life again, that we may dispatch the Execution of it, and no longer delay the promised Felicity of her Return, to Comfort the abandoned World.  
Then Minos starting up; Servants of this House, cried he, Great and small, Strong and Feeble, Men and Women, Boys and Girls, come hither one after another, and saddle Sancho's Countenance with Twenty four slap's o' the Face, give him Twelve pinches upon the Shoulders, and run Twelve Pins a piece into the Small of his Back; for by this means shall the Fair and Beautiful Madam Tomboy be again restored to Life.  
By the Life of pharaoh, cried Sancho, not able to hold any longer; I'll as soon turn Infidel as endure all this— Death of my Life, what has my Skin to do with Madam Tomboys Resurrection! Dulcinea is Enchanted, and I forsooth must tickle my Toby to disenchant her— and here's a young dansel dead, of a Surfeit of green Genitings for ought I know, and I must fill my Skin full of Oylet-holes to raise her again! No by my Faith, there's no such need— een find out some other Cully— These Jokes won't pass upon me— An old Dog will learn no Tricks. Tiger, then cried Rhadamanthus, with a loud Voice, alloy thy Cruelty, humble thyself proud, Nimrod, be silent and suffer, or else prepare thyself to die: Impossibilities are not required from thee; only Four and twenty Whirrets, Twelve Pinches, and as many Pricks with a small Pin— a great piece of business indeed. Fall on then Servants of the House, and obey my Commands, or by the Death of Cerberus I'll make ye know your Driver. At the same time there appeared Six Governantes in the Court, marching in Procession one after another, Four of which wore Spectacles, but every one holding out their Arms to make their Hands show the longer. Sancho no sooner perceived 'em, but he began to roar out like a Bull. Do with me what ye please— let all the Town lay violent hands upon me— only I beseech ye take off your Governantes. Let 'em tear my Cheeks, as the Cats did my Masters— let 'em pinch me by the Nose with read hot Tongs, as St. Dunstan did the Devil, I'll suffer all patiently— but before I le endure these Governantes to touch me, I'll resign myself up to the Devils Mercy— Patience a little, good Sancho, cried Don Quixote, satisfy these Gentlemen for once: and give thanks to Heaven, that has bestowed upon thee so great a Gift, as to raise the Dead, and disenchant the enchanted. Thereupon submitting to his Masters Admonitions, or rather to Necessity upon the approach of the Governantes, he settled himself in his Seat, and offered his Cheek to the first, who after she had given a good smart Whirret, made him a Curtchie and went off. Oh, good Madam, cried Sancho, no more o' your Civility, and less o' your Ointment, for by Cuds Niggers I believe your Hands ha' been soaked in Vinegar. In short, all the Governantes one after another paid him in the same Coin; and then the rest of the Servants of the House came and pinched him decently in their Order. But that which put him besides all his Patience was their Pricking him with the Pins; so that upon the first that he felt, starting from his Seat, he snatched up one of the Flambeaux, and laid at the Governantes and the Rest of his Executioners like a Man truly in Wrath; crying out at the same time, Hence Imps of Satan, d' ye think I have a Body of Brass, or intend to be the Devils Martyr. At which words, Madam Tomboy, who was weary of lying all that while in the same Posture, turned a t'other side. Which the Company perceiving, cried out, Madam Tomboy Lives, Madam Tomboy Lives. And then Rhadamanthus addressing himself to Sancho, desired him to be pacifi'd, since he had wrought the Miracle. On the other side Don Quixote seeing Madam Tomboy stir, went and threw himself at Sancho's Knees, and embracing him with a most tender Affection; Ah, my dear Child, said he, what a happy Moment is this!— if thou wouldst but now give thyself some few Scores of those Lashes thou ow'st thy Mistress; now's the time that thy virtue is in the hight of its operation, and therefore don't lose this kind Opportunity, I beseech thee, for the ease of thy poor Lady and my satisfaction.  
Don't you know, Sir, quo Sancho, that Mettal upon Mettal's false Heraldry? Is't not enough for me to have been whirreted, pinched and scratched, but I must whip myself too? No, no, I have something else to do then to tie a Mill-stone about my Neck and throw myself into a Well— and the Devil take me if I think any more of your Mistress, if I must be the common Hackney to carry other Peoples burdens. You might be ashamed indeed to make such a Motion as this to me, in the Condition▪ I am in; enough to make me forswear either disinchanting, or raising any body again from the dead as long as I live, tho it would not cost me a Hair o' my Beard. Upon my Soul, what a Gift have I brought from my Mothers Womb, to cure others, and be Sick myself! I would fain see all the Doctors i' the Kingdom do as much as I ha' done.—  
By this time Madam Tomboy was come to her self; and at the same time that she sate upright upon the Hearse, the Hautboys and Cornets filled all the Court with their loud music, while the People cried out, Madam Tomboy Lives, Madam Tomboy Lives. Thereupon the Duke, the duchess, Minos and Rhadamanthus handed her down from the Hearse, to whom she made a profound Reverence; and at the same time looking a skew upon Don Quixote, Heaven pardon thee, quo she, Ingrateful Knight, I have been a thousand Years i' the other World for thy Cruelty; then turning to Sancho, To thee, to thee, the most Compassionate Squire in the Universe, it is, that I am beholding for the Life which I enjoy; receive as a Reward these half a dozen Smocks of mine to make thee six Shirts; for tho they are not all satyric and span new, or rather somewhat of the thinnest before, yet they are all clean and sweet. Sancho kissed her Hands, with his Cap in his Hand, and his Knees down to the Ground. He also begged of the Duke at the same time that he might have his Flaming rob and his Bonnet, to carry home for a Memorial of the Miracle he had wrought. Keep it Sancho, said the duchess, you know I am one of your best Friends and can deny ye nothing. Which done, the Company was dismissed, and Don Quixote and Sancho conducted to their Chambers.   

CHAP. XVIII.  
Which follows the Seventeenth; and treats of several things necessary for the Illustration of this History.  
SAncho lay that Night in a Bed which was set up in the same Chamber where Don Quixote lay; which no way pleased him, for that he was quiter wearied with his past Adventure, and was no less afraid lest he should be much more tired, and kept from his Rest by the Impertinent Questions and Answers between his Master and himself, so that he would ha' given his six Smocks to ha' lain in the Stable, rather then in his Masters stately Room. Nor indeed were his Fears without ground; for Don Quixote was no sooner laid in his Bed, but his first word was, what dost think Sancho of last Nights Adventure? Thou sawst with thy own Eyes Madam Tomboy in her Tomb; nor was it any Dart, or Sword, or poison that killed her, but only my disdain of her Affection. Pox take her, quo Sancho, she might ha' died how she would and when she would, so she had but let me alone; for I never gave her any occasion to love me, neither did I ever disdain her love i' my Life. For my part, as I said before, I wonder how Sancho Pancha should come to be obliged to suffer Martyrdom for such a hoidenly Rampscuttle as Madam Tomboy, a mere Rig that I never liked i' my Life? But I beseech ye, Sir, let me go to sleep, or otherwise I must be forced to throw myself out at the Window. Take thy Liberty, Sancho, then cried Don Quixote, and kind Heaven grant thee a better Nights, then thou hast had an Evenings Rest. Thereupon they both betook themselves to their Repose; and here it is that Cid Hamet takes the Opportunity to tell ye what obliged the Duke to contrive the Adventure last related.  
He says that Carrasco meditating Revenge, for being unhors'd by Don Quixote, when he went by the Title of Knight of the Looking-glasses, resolved to make a second Attempt. To which purpose, understanding by the page. that brought the Dutchesses Letter to Teresa, where Don Quixote was, he got him Horse and Arms, with a Resolution to pursue him. That coming to the Dukes Castle, he there understood that the Knight was departed for Saragosa, after all the sport which the Duke had made with him and Sancho. That he followed him from thence to Saragosa, and missing him there, he overtook him at Barcellona, where having had his Revenge, as we  told ye before, he return'd to the Duke, and informed him what he had done, who from thence took an occasion to contrive this frolic, to divertise himself once more with our pleasant Adventurers. Cid Hamet adds, that he looked upon the Joakers to be as much Fools as they that are joakd upon; and that he could think no other of the Duke and the duchess, who had nothing else to do but to make sport with the unfortunate Frenzies of two crazed People.  
At length Day-light surprised Don Quixote and Sancho, the one snoring like a Boar in his Frank, the other swallowed up in his usual Dreams and Deliriums. But as he had recovered himself, and was about to rise( for vanquished or Victor, he was always an Enemy to Sloth) Madam Tomboy being risen again, with the same Garland that she wore upon the Hearse, in a white flowered satin Manteau, and her dishevelled Locks curling about her Shoulders, entered his Chamber, supporting her self with an Ebonie Stick; which Vision so surprised him, that never regarding compliments or Civility to Ladies, he withdrew himself under the Bedcloaths, and covered himself over Head and Ears. However Madam Tomboy sate her down in a Chair by the Bedside, and after a profound Sigh, with a languishing and yet amorous Voice, When young Ladies, quo she, trample their Modesty underfoot, and permit their Tongues to discover the Secrets of their Hearts, Men way well conceive 'em to be strangely disordered in their Minds. Truly, my Lord Don Quixote, I am one of those unfortunate Persons overruled by my Passion, and desperately in Love, yet with so much virtue and Reservedness, that the only care to conceal my Torments cost me my Life. 'tis but two days ago since my reflections upon thy Cruelty, and the resentment of thy Rigour laid me in my Grave; and had it not been that Love, in pitty of my Miseries, found out a means by the sufferings of thy Compassionate Squire to relieve me, I had still remained in the other World.  
Truly, quo Sancho, I should ha' been beholding to Love, had he bestowed his Honours upon my Ass. But pray, Madam, tell me, and so may Heaven provide ye a better Husband then my Master, what did you see i' the other World? and what sort of Hell is that, which they that despair and die for Love are obliged to touch at by the way.  
To tell ye truth, replied Madam Tomboy, I was never absolutely dead, and so I never entered into Hell; for if I had, I'me sure I should nere ha' got out again. I only went as far as the Gate, where I saw about a dozen Devils in their Breeches and half Shirts, edged at the Collers with Flanders Lace, playing at Tennis with flaming Rackets. But that which I most admired at, was, that instead of Balls they made use of Books blowd up, and stuffed with Flocks; which was to me both new and wonderful: And I was more astonished to see that contrary to the Custom of gamesters, among whom you shall have always some that are merry and pleased; these all the while they played did nothing but fret and fume, stamp, stare, curse and swear as if they had been all losers. That's no wonder, quo Sancho, for your Devils are of that Humour, that whether they play or no, win or lose, they can never be contented. I grant it, replied Madam Tomboy; but there was one thing that astonished me more then all this, that the first stroke they gave the Ball, spoiled it in such a manner, that it was no longer serviceable; so that they tore as well the old as the new Books in pieces; and there was one Book among the rest Fire new, which they strook with such a force that all the Leaves flew about i' the Air. Then cried one of the Devils to the t'other; Look, look, what Book is that? To whom the other made answer, 'tis the Second Part of Don Quixote; not that which was composed by Cid Hamet, but by a certain Arragonian, that goes by the name of To●desilla's. Take it away, cried the first Devil, and throw it to the bottom of the Abyss, where I may never see it more. Why, quo the t'other, is it so bad? So detestable, cried the other, that if I had made it myself on purpose it could not ha' been worse. The Devils continued their Game, and shattered a power of other Books; but for my part hearing Don Quixote's Name, that is so dear to me, I minded only to remember this Vision, which I shall nere forget.  
This was a Vision without doubt, cried Don Quixote, for there are no more Don Quixote's but myself i' the World. I know the Story is printed, and I know that 'tis already sentenced to the bottoms of pies, or to the Grocer for waste Paper; nor am I at all offended at it; nor do I care what becomes of it, for had it been a true and faithful History, 'twould ha' lasted to Eternity; but as it is, the sooner 'tis butted alive, the less 'twill deceive the World.  
Madam Tomboy was then going on with her complaints against Don Quixote's Rigour; which Don Quixote observing, by way of prevention, My pretty little new piece of Resurrection, quo he, I am hearty sorry, that you have misspent your Affections upon me; as having no other way to repay your Civility but with my Thanks— for as for any Coolers of your Amorous Heat, upon my Honour I have none. I was born for Dulcinea deal Toboso; for her the Destinies have reserved me; and for you to imagine that any other Beauty can jostle her out of my Bosom, is mere Madness; and therefore set your Heart at Rest; call home your Modesty, and don't let the Itch of your passion hurry ye thus about, lowing after me, as jo low'd after Jupiter, when Juno thrust a Gad-Bee in her Tail.  
By the pleasure of Generation, cried Madam Tomboy, counterfeiting a most dismal Passion, Thou Steelly, Date stone-hearted Fellow, more inexorable then a School master brandishing his Burchen Indignation over a Boys Buttocks, a little thing would make me tear out those Eyes of thine, as deep as they are i' thy Head— You think perhaps Mr. Captain-cut-pudding, Don All to be-thwick-thwack'd, Don All to be rib-roasted, that I died for Love of thy transparent shrivell'd carcase— No— no— I am not a Woman that would ha' pricked my Finger for such a Camel as thou art— All you saw last Night was only a Trick, a mere Contrivance to make sport with such a Cully brained Fellow as thou art.  
By my Troth, quo Sancho, I believe what you say, that all your Stories of Lovers dying for Love, are as true as I am the Popes Uncle. They tell ye themselves they are dead, but the Devil a word of Truth do they speak.  
At the same time entered the Musician and Poet that sung the Verses over Madam Tomboys Hearse, and making a reverend congee to D. Quixote, I beseech your Worship, said he, to rank me in the Number of your most faithful Servants; for I have always had a great Esteem for your Person, as well in regard of your continued Reputation, as the famed of your achievements. Pray, Sir, let me know who you are, replied Don Quixote, that I may proportion my Thanks according to your Quality. To whom the Musician replied, that he was Madam Tomboys Poet, that made and sung her Elegy the last Night. You have an Excellent Voice, replied Don Quixote, but for the Matter you sung I do not think it was much to the purpose. Oh, Sir, never wonder at that, replied the Musician, that's no fault among the Poets of this Age: They writ according to their own Fancy, and Pillage where they think fit, whether it be to the purpose or no; for let 'em writ what they will, all Extravagancies are sure to be guarded by Poetical Licence, which is a Protection for all nonsense in Poetry. Don Quixote was about to have replied, but he was prevented by the Duke and the duchess, who at the same time entered his Chamber; where there was a long Discourse between the Duke, the duchess, the Knight, and the Squire; and where Sancho was so full of his Jokes and his Quibbles, that the Duke and duchess were at a stand which to admire most, his Wit or his nonsense. After that, Don Quixote desired leave that he might be gone betimes the next Morning, for that Caves and Dens better became a vanquished Knight then the Palaces of Princes. Then the duchess asked him whether Mrs. Tomboy and he were reconciled or no? To which Don Quixote replied, that her Disease proceeded only from Sloth and Laziness, and that the best cure for her was to keep her to work and out of idleness. And this is my Opinion, and this is my Counsel, that she be well employed, and kept close to her Spinning Wheel, till her Amorous humour be over, least she be ruined by the Temptations of Satan, who will pimp for any Man Living to get a Soul. By my Faith and 'tis my Opinion too, quo Sancho, for I never knew any of your Bobbin-Wenches that ever died for Love. I know it by myself; for when I am hard at work, I think no more of my sweet Swatterkin, I mean my Dear Wife, then I do of the Grand signor, tho I love her as the Apple of my Eye. After which Discourses, and a great deal more Chat of the same Nature, Don Quixote dined with the Duke; and after Dinner continued his Journey.   

CHAP. XIX.  
What befell Don Quixote and his Squire in their way home.  
BEing thus upon the Road, the Knight road on, equally divided between Grief and Joy; for on the one side he was extremely dejected for the disgrace that had befallen him in the presence of a Vice-Roy; on the other side he was no less overjoyed to have discovered such a Mine of virtue in Sancho that rendered him worth his weight in Gold; for unless it be some Women that bury their Husbands, and young Heirs that out live their Fathers, who would not give half his Estate to raise his Friend from the dead. But as for Sancho he was neither grieved nor joyed, but vexed and discontented in his Mind because Madam Tomboy had not given him the Six Smocks she promised; so that not being able to concoct such a piece of Ingratitude. By my Faith, quo he to his Master, I think I ha' the worst luck of any Physician Living. Other Physicians kill their Patients, and are paid for their Pains, and yet all they do is but the scrawling of two or three hard Words to an Apothecary, while I that raise People from the Dead at the expense of my own Skin; whirreted, pinched, box'd about the Ears, clapper-claw'd and whipped, must wear the wooden Dagger, and lose all my winnings, for the Devil take me if I can get a across. But if ever they bring me any more Mrs. Tomboys to cure, I'll be sure of my Money before hand— Come— come— the Monk lives by his singing; nor do I believe that Heaven has bestowed this wonderful Gift upon me, that I should be such a Charitable Fool as to starve with it. Thou saist very true, Sancho, replied Don Quixote, and Madam Tomboy shows her breeding to be worse then her word; for tho 'tis true thy wonderful Gift cost thee nothing, yet a Man of thy Excellencies and endowments would not ha' been so Satan like buffeted, for forty such Shirts, tho they had been all Flanders-lac'd. For my part hadst thou demanded any thing for Lashing thyself in order to Dulcinea's disenchantment, I would ha' given thee a Mountain of Gold ere this: I must confess I am a little in doubt whether my proffering or thy taking Money might not hinder the Operation of thy Penance; but I am of such a grateful Disposition, that I'll venture it— And therefore prithee tell me Sancho, what must I give thee— or rather go and do thy work presently, and then be thy own Paymaster to thy own content, out of the Money which thou hast of mine i' thy Hands.  
These Temptations opened Sancho's Eyes; so that finding there was Money to be got; Sir, quo he, now ye say something— pay well and I'll lash well, I'll warrant ye; for such is my Love to my Wife and children, that to provide well for them, I care not what I suffer myself. Go too, then, Sir, how much will you give me by the Lash?— Were I able to recompense thee, Sancho, according to what the Quality and Consequence of the Cure Merits, I would give thee all the Finances of France, and all the Mines of Peru to boot. But do thou set thy own Price, and cast it up what it comes to.  
Why, Sir, quo Sancho, the Lashes which I am to give myself amount to Three thousand three hundred and odd; of which I have given myself Five already. In the first place then, let those five serve for all the odd Lashes behind, that we may come to an even Number: For I would not willingly be troubled with more Fractions then needs. Now I demand four Pence a Lash, of which I would not bait the Pope himself the tenth part of a Pins Head, which in all amounts to Three thousand three hundred Groats. Reckon then, Nine hundred Groats is Three hundred Shillings, that's Fifteen Pounds, and a hundred Groats is one Pound thirteen Shillings four Pence. Three fifteen Pounds is forty five Pound, and three times one Pound thirteen and four Pence is Five Pound. So that Three thousand Lashes comes just to Fifty Pound: Then the Three hundred Lashes comes to Five Pound more; in all, Fifty five Pound. This Fifty five Pound will I deduct out of the Money which I have of yours, and then I'll go home an Aldermans Fellow, Rich in ready Coin, and Rich in ready Lashes— but that's nothing, something has some savour, and you know, Sir, Trouts must be baited before they be caught.  
Oh, Blessed Sancho, cried Don Quixote, more dear to me then Endymion to the Moon; how shall Dulcinea and I be bound to pray for thee as long as we live. For if we can but master the Devil but this one time, then once more she shall be the Queen of Beauty; and if ever I meet with that same cursed Knight of the White Moon again, I'll White Moon him, and Black Moon him too, or I'll miss of my Aim. For I must tell thee, Sancho, when the Queen of Beauty's once at Liberty, I defy Satan himself to wrench an Adventure out of my Hands. And therefore, dear Sancho, do but tell me when thou'lt begin, take fifty Shillings more besides thy Bargain, for an additional Encouragement— When will I begin, Sir!— Why this very Night, so soon as we come to a Place convenient; and you yourself shall look on and see how I'll lay about me, Back-stroak and Fore-stroak. Alas, Sir, I may well venture my Skin for Money, when so many Men venture their Souls for it.  
Well, in short, the Night came which Don Quixote longed for with so much impatience, that he could not imagine what the Sun stayed so long for, unless a second Phaeton had overturned his Chariot, and made him stay the mending of the Wheels; so that he began to speak Bugs words against the sovereign Planet of the sky. But at length approaching Night befriended him, and brought him to a Place convenient as well for his own repose, as for Sancho's Pious design. It was a shady Wood remote from the Highway; where when Sancho had unsaddl'd Rosinante and unpannell'd Grizzle, he let loose the two Loving Couple to. shift for themselves. Then opening his seldom empty Wallet, the Master and the Man went to Supper, and fed like Pylades and Orestes together.  
And now Sancho being pretty well lined within, bethought himself of earning his Money. To which purpose he made himself an unmerciful Lick-back of Grizzles Halter, and the two Girts of Rosinante's Saddle; and so Cordial he was in his Intentions, that he would not take off the Iron Buckles, as one that resolved to give his Master good Measure for his Money. Which done, he stripped himself to his Waste, and so taking leave of his Master he retired to the Wood some Twenty Paces from his Master.  
Don Quixote seeing him march naked as he was, with such a serious grim and sullen Air, that seemed to threaten no less then the destruction of Natures delicate Frame of Arteries, Muscles, Nerves and Fibres, and I know not what myself, with a Compassionate Tone, cried after him, Sancho, dear Sancho, be not so Cruel to thyself, neither, as to cut thyself to the Bone. Moderate thy Passion, and let one blow follow another leisurely— As thou art stout be merciful— for shouldst thou kill thyself before thy Penance be over, thy loss will be irrecoverable and my Afflictions then will never have an end— Take pity therefore of thyself, of Me, thy poor Mistress, and thy Wife and children, and render not ineffectual by unreasonable Severity, the only means ordained to make us both for ever happy. Give thyself not a Lash more then thou needs must, and therefore lest thou shouldst be out i' thy Tale, I'll stand a little way off, and reckon the strokes by the help of my Rosary, and then I'me sure thou canst never Err— So Heaven protect thee, and give a good issue to thy Endeavours.  
A good Paymaster, quo Sancho, never grudges his Money— and therefore tho I intend to cury my own hid as befits me, don't you believe but I'll take care of the main Chance. However I'll so tear myself, that I'll make my Back find that my Hands are none of its best Friends; and therein I think it is that the stress and virtue of the Remedy lies— And so saying, he began to claw himself where it did not itch, in such a rude manner, that after he had given himself Seven or Eight strokes, the smart was such, that he began to consider, and after a short pause,' Slife, quo he to his Master, this wont do— I ha' sold Robinhoods penniworths— Certainly I was bewitched to ask but Sixpence a Lash— for such Lashes as these are worth Twelve Pence a piece of any man's Money i' the Kingdom— Fore-George I'll ha' Twelve Pence a piece or I'll lash no farther.  
Go on, go on, good Sancho, quo Don Quixote, Money never broken squares between us two, I'll double the Sum if that be all— nay and I'll triple it too if thou desirest it—  
Now by my Life, quo Sancho, and I'll lay it on then; do but listen, and you shall hear the Bones rattle i' my Skin— And with that the Conycatching Hangdog fell a lashing the Trees like a Winchester Schoolmaster, groaning at every Lash, as if his Soul had been taking her last leave of his Tormented carcase.  
Thereupon Don Quixote, who was naturally Compassionate, and fearing lest poor Sancho should kill himself, or rather lest his Imprudence should disappoint and frustrate the Cure— Hold, Sancho, quo he, hold I conjure thee— I never loved spurring a free Horse to death— This is a sort of physic too boisterous to be taken all at once— and therefore make two Doses of it— Come, come, fair and softly goes far— Neither was Rome built in a day— If I ha'  told right, thou hast given thyself above a Thousand remarkable Twingers already— and therefore I say be bold with thy Flesh, but not too bold. Should it come to a Fistula in Ano, a Surgeon would quickly lick up all thy Gettings.  
No, no, my dear Lord and Master, quo Sancho, it shall nere be said of me that I got my Money by roaring, or as the Countryman said by his Lawyer, that he nere spoken a word for his Fee— Besides, I have owed this wicked Skin of mine a payment a good while, and I'm glad o' th' occasion— And therefore I beseech ye, Sir, don't disturb me with your Pity; but if y' are so merciful, get out o' the noise on't— for I'm resolved to give myself the t'other Thousand Stripes— and then there will be the less behind— With that he had the t'other 'bout at the poor Trees, with that outrageous fury, that he fetched off their Skins which was Ten times harder then his own; that had they been any of Ovids metamorphosed Nymphs the whole Wood had cried out Murder. And at length, as it were resolved to give himself a sparring blow, laying on at the same time upon a sturdy Oak, Here it is, cried he, with a loud Voice, that samson, were he Ten thousand Sampsons shall die.  
Don Quixote, who listened all the while like a Hare in her Form, hearing that unsanctify'd menace of utter destruction, and the unconscionable sound of the strokes that followed it, with the swiftness of a Panther, flew to his Squire, and catching hold of the dreadful Instrument of Execution, Stay Sancho, stay, cried he, the fury of thy Arm; 'tis not thy precious Life that I desire; Live to the Comfort of thy Wife and Children, that will be bound to curse thy Master, shouldst thou miscarry for his sake. Let Dulcinea therefore stay a while, and I myself will live in hopes a little longer, till thou hast got another Skin, and recovered new strength to end the Business to the Satisfaction of all Parties.  
Well, Sir, quo Sancho, since you will have it so, so let it be; however i' the mean time be pleased to throw your Cloak over my Shoulders, for I am in a dropping Sweat, and unwilling my Sores should take Wind.  
With that the Compassionate Knight leaving himself in Querpo, bequeathed his Irish Mantle to the protection of Sancho's Shoulders, who took care to cover his dissembled Mortification as charily as if he had been a dancing a dozen Westminster Weddings; and then laying himself down to rest himself, the poor Creature fell asleep, and never waked, for all his Pain, till Sun-rise.  
After that, Sancho got up, and going aside under pretence to wash himself with his own Water, slipped on his clothes, and after three Hours riding, they came to an Inn, which Don Quixote allowed to be an Inn, and not a Castle with Moats and Draw-bridges, as he was wont to do, before his last Basting had somewhat reformed his Senses and his judgement.  
He was lodged in a Ground Chamber, instead of tapestry, hung with painted Cloath; upon which were scrawl'd by a lewd Hand, the Stories of heal of Troy, when Paris run away with her; and Dido Queen of Carthage, when Eneas had robbed her of her last Favours. In these two Pictures, Don Quixote observed, that heal seemed nothing at all concerned for the force that was put upon her, but rather looked blithe and bonny, and smiling under her Hood, as if she had been pleased with her escape. Whereas Dido on the other side, stood like a Wench that had had her Pocket picked i' the Fair, letting fall Tears in Clusters, which because they should be seen, the Painter had made as big as Filberds. Upon which Don Quixote making his sudden reflections, How unfortunately it fell out, quo he, that either I did not live in these Ladies time, or they in mine; for I had never suffered two such pieces of Injustice i' this World; and so by the death of Paris and Eneas, which must have surely happened by my Hand, I had saved Troy from being burnt, and Carthage from Ruin.  
I'll venture my Life to a Sheeps-turd, quo Sancho, that before next Pancake day, there will be nere an Inn nor a Barbers Shop i' the Country, where we shall not have the Story of our own Exploits adorning the Walls of the Rooms, for the Country Bumpkins to gape at, tho I could wish 'em drawn by a better Artist, then such a dauber of Sign-posts as this.  
'tis very true, Sancho, replied Don Quixote; but this is our Comfort, that Caesar and Pompey and most of the Roman Consuls have lit already into as bad hands as we can do. 'tis the Fate of Great Persons to be famous in Ballads as well as heroic Verse, tho one continues our Memory among People of Quality, the other among the Vulgar. But let the Rogues have a care that they paint true, for if I catch 'em painting Cocks for Bulls, and Bulls for Cocks, by the Order of Knight-hood, which I profess, I'll sand a Legion of 'em to the Devil if they paint while I live. But to leave this Discourse, what dost think of giving thyself t'other Touch to Night? In my Opinion a warm House should be much better then the open Air.—  
Why, truly, quo Sancho, I could like a close Room very well so it were among Trees; for I have a natural Affection to Trees; besides that they seem to be a kind of Companions to me in my Affliction.  
Why then, replied Don Quixote, now I think on't, we'll een stay till we get home, and then I can set thee up a little  shed i' my Grove. You may do as you please for that, quo Sancho, but for my part I am for striking while the Iron is hot— 'tis good grinding at the Mill before the Water's past— An Opportunity lost is not so soon regained— When the Shoulder of Mutton's a going take a slice— 'tis good to take half in hand and the rest by and by— Every Dog has his Day, and every Man his Hour— Delay breeds danger— One take it, is worth Two thou shalt have it's.  
Enough, enough, good Sancho, cried Don Quixote— thou curest me with thy Kindness, and murder'st me with Proverbs— prithee, dear Sancho, keep thy Moth-eaten adages for some body else— Speak to me as other Men do, and then thou shalt see a Word to the Wise is sufficient.—  
Bless me, Sir, quo Sancho, you see I never study for 'em— they're as natural to me as Milk to a Calf— but since they displease ye, I beg your pardon— better mend late then never— And so they broken off their Discourse for that time.   

CHAP. XX.  
How Don Quixote and Sancho arrived at their Village.  
ALL that day Don Quixote stayed in the Inn, resolving not to stir till night, that he might give Sancho an Opportunity to finish his Pennance. Now while he was thus concluding with himself, there came a Gentleman a Horse-back to the Inn Gate, attended by three or four Servants. At what time, said one of the Attendants to the Gentleman, What think ye, Siginor Don alvero Tarfe, of stoping here, till the Heat of the day be over?— in my Opinion the House looks well and cleanly.  
Don Quixote no sooner heard the Name of Tarfe, but presently turning to Sancho, certainly, quo he, I must be grossly mistaken if I did not meet with this same Name of Don alvero Tarfe in turning over that same Second Part of the History of my Life. That may be for ought I know, quo Sancho, but let 'em first alight, and then we'l examine the Premises more strictly. Presently they alighted, and were carried into a Chamber next to Don Quixote, where the Gentleman having put off his Boots, came forth soon after to take the fresh Air at the Inn Gate, where Don Quixote was cooling himself at the same time. To whom, Sir, said the Gentleman, which way travail ye? To a Village not far off, replied Don Quixote, where my Habitation is. And you, Sir, quo Don Quixote, which way are you bound? For Grenada, the Place of my Nativity, replied the Gentleman— A fair City, and no less nobly Inhabited, replied Don Quixote; but pray, Sir, may I be so bold to crave your Name? For I have something of a Reason more then ordinary, that makes me so uncivilly inquisitive. My Name is alvero Tarfe, replied the Gentleman. alvero Tarfe! cried Don Quixote. Then certainly you must be the Person mentioned in the Second Part of Don Quixote de la Mancha, so lately published by a Modern Author. The very same, replied the Gentleman; and farther, that Don Quixote was one of my Intimate Cronies, whom I persuaded to take a Ramble from his House, at least  told him of the Justs and tournaments at Saragosa, and put him upon the Tilting Vain; and truly as it happened, I proved the best Friend he had, for I kept him from being clawed by the Hangman, for an Insolent Coxcomb as he was.  
But pray, Sir, one thing more, quo Don Quixote, you look like one that could distinguish Faces— does the Air of my Face in any thing resemble that of your Don Quixote? Not in the least, replied alvero. Once more then, I beseech ye, Sir, had that Don Quixote of yours any such Squire to attend him, whose Name was Sancho Pancha. Yes, Sir, replied the Gentleman, he had a Squire of that name; and he was said to be a pleasant Fellow. But for my part I never heard him speak so much as one word that was like sense— The Rogue deserved to be hanged for a Fool, but was not worth a Halter.  
I believe it, quo Sancho, for all Men were not born to have so much Wit as I have— nor is it so easy a thing to play the Fool as People think— and therefore that Sancho this Mr. Gentleman speaks of must needs be some pitiful Hangdog, some lousy Rarie-show-man, or Mountebanks Budget-Carrier. For 'tis I that am the true Sancho Pancha; 'tis I am that merry conceited Squire that tickles the Spleens of Dukes and Dutchesses, and make no more to make a Gentleman laugh, then I do to pull off my stockings. If you don't believe me, try me, Sir, yourself— do but follow me for a year or two, and you shall hear Miracles. And then for my Master, the true Don Quixote de la Mancha, the Brave, the Valiant, the Discreet, the Amorous and War-like; the Redresser of Wrongs, Revenger of Injuries, the Father, Mother, Uncle and Aunt of all Orphans, the Widows Protector, the Defender of Ladies, the sole and only Sweet-heart and Servant to the Peerless, Matchless Phoenix, Dulcinea deal Toboso, Knight of the lions, and Lord of Ten Invisible Islands, Here's your Man, Sir, This is He. The t'other of your Acquaintance, and all other Don Quixote's and Sancho Pancha's are mere Dreams and Fables, counterfeit Miscreants and Vagabonds.  
Now by the Ghost of Garagantua, I believe as much, quo alvero, for you have-utter'd in a few words much more then ever I heard the t'other talk for a Month together. T'other was a mere Paunch bellied Cur, that carried all his Brains in his Guts: So that I am apt to believe that those Enchanters which perplex the True Don Quixote are become my Enemies, to herd me with a Couple of Sots and Dunderheads that were kitten'd in a Cage, and will die in a Sawpit. And yet I can hardly believe my own Eyes; for I me as sure as I stand here that I left Don Quixote in Bedlam, whether he was sent to be cured of his frenzy; and now I meet here another Don Quixote, as like Mine, as an Apple's like an Oyster.  
For my part, replied Don Quixote, I will not undertake to justify myself for the True Don Quixote, but I am certain I am none of the Counterfeit. For to be plain with ye, Sir, I never was at Saragosa i' my Life: For when I heard that this same Usurper of my Name had appeared at the tournaments i' that City, I resolved not to come near the Place, on purpose to convince the World of the falsehood of that pretended Author, who had the impudence to Publish a shame Second Part of my Life. Thereupon I went directly for Barcellona, the Mother of Civility, the Sanctuary of Strangers, the only Place of all Europe, where a Man may meet Sincere and Constant Friends, and the City of the World, the fairest and best situated. And tho I did not meet with all the Good Fortune there, that I expected, but rather all the Jades Tricks of that cursed Jezebel mortal Men so much admire; yet am I glad I saw that City; which makes me bury the rest in Oblivion. In short, Mr. alvero Tarfe, I am that Individual Don Quixote, of whom Report and famed have published so many Glorious Actions, and not that pitiful Captain Cut-pudding that has usurped my Name. And therefore I have one Boon to beg of ye, in Favour of a Truth, of which you cannot but be now convinced. I beg it of ye by all the Respect which you owe to the Profession of a Knight-Errant, which is to give me a Certificate in due Form acknowledged, before the next Justice of the Peace of the Place that you never saw me in all your Life till this day, and that I am not that Don Quixote mentioned in the Second Part of my Pretended Life; also that Sancho Pancha my Squire is not the same Person that you saw go under his Name.  
With all my Heart, replied alvero, and yet 'tis to me the greatest wonder in the World to behold two Don Quixote's and two Sancho's at the same time, who both derive themselves from the same Country, yet both so different in their Physiognomies, their Actions, and their Dispositions, which makes me think that I ha' been all this while in a Dream.  
I'me afraid, Sir, quo Sancho, ye are enchanted like Madam Dulcinea— and I wish it may not be my Lot to give myself the t'other Three thousand Six hundred Lashes to disenchant your Worship, as I have been forced already to bestow upon this Back of mine, to disenchant her— However if it be, Sir, the Business is soon done at a small Charge— For who would be a Prisoner to the Devil a whole Year without bail or Mainprize for fifty or Threescore Pounds.  
Truly Mr. Sancho, quo Don alvero you speak riddles to me— I never heard the t'other Sancho talk a Tittle of Three thousand six hundred Lashes— unfold your meaning good Sir— O, Sir, quo Sancho, the Story's too long at a Minutes warning— but if you travail our way, you may chance to hear more then I'll tell every body, according as I'me in the humour.  
By this time Dinner was upon the Table, and Don Quixote and Don alvero dined together. More then that, the Story brings to the Inn a Justice of Peace and his Clerk just at the same Instant. Who being known and admitted, Don Quixote desired Mr. alvero to dictate his Certificate to the Clerk, that he had never seen Don Quixote de la Mancha there present, before that day, and that he was not the same Person, that he had seen mentioned in a certain printed Story, called the Second Part, &c. written by one Abellaneda de Tordesillas. Which the Clerk afterwards engrossed in due Form, and then it was signed by Don alvero, and Jurated by the Justice Coram Me, &c. And now Don Quixote and Sancho thought themselves the happiest Men i' the World; not believing their Actions, Words, and Countenances enough to distinguish 'em from their competitors, without a Certificate in Law; so jealous are Fools of being robbed of their Honour, tho it be but of being the better Fools of the Two.  
Many were the compliments and Offers of Service and Civility that passed between Don alvero and Don Quixote, wherein the Manchegan displayed so much of Wit and Courtly Language, that alvero began to be convinced that there was no Enchantment i' the Case, and was satisfied in Conscience that he had given a true Certificate.  
Toward Evening they set forward both together, and as they road along Don Quixote informed alvero of the unfortunate foil which he had received from the Knight of the White Moon, and of Dulcinea's Enchantment, with the way prescribed by Merlin for her Release. And thus alvero being furnished with a new stock to muse upon, the Knight and the Gentleman partend at the meeting of two Roads.  
That Night Don Quixote and Sancho lodged among the Trees, that Sancho might have an Opportunity to accomplish his Penance, which the just and faithful Squire courageously performed, at the severe expense of the Bark and Bushes, in the mean time so well preserving his Skin, that a fly would hardly have stirred from his Back for any Mortification he gave his own Shoulders. However Don Quixote kept an exact account, and found that the strokes were right to a Unite, tho they were not bestowed upon the Right Place.  
It seems the Sun rose earlier then usual the next Morning, as if he had envied Starlight the unwonted Spectacle of such a Human Sacrifice. But Sancho, unwilling to trust his Secret to the Blabtongu'd Phoebus, had taken care that the Fair Aurora, should not behold his Nakedness, and so having cased himself again, the Knight and he set forward by peep of day.  
All that day, nor the next night did they meet with any thing considerable; only whenever they met with any Woman kind, they road up to her, and stared her i' the face, in hopes to meet the Disinchanted Dulcinea. For Don Quixote's Confidence was still so great in Merlin, that he could not believe his Promises could ever fail.  
Thus they road gaping and staring some tedious Miles, till at length mounting up a little Hill, they discovered their own Village. At what time Sancho threw himself from his Grizzle, and all in a sudden rapture falling upon his Knees, Open thy Eyes, dear Native Country, said he, and here behold thy long Absented Sancho return'd once more to thy Embraces, tho not rich in Coin, yet paid to the full in Whipcord Gashes: Open thine Arms, and here receive thy Son Don Quixote, vanquished by the good Fortune of another, but Victor over himself, which as he has often  told me is the greatest Conquest in the World. We have met with many Misfortunes both of us, because we did not always find what we sought for. However I come not home altogether empty, I have still a little Money Heaven be praised; for tho I have been well whipped, thanks to an honest Knight, I have been well gratified for my Sufferings.  
Leave off these Fooleries, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, and let us appear with Reputation in the place of our Nativity, where we are now to enter into a new Course of Life, and lay aside our marshal Thoughts. Let's not appear among our Neighbours as if we were half muddl'd, but with a serious Air, without Excesses and Transsportments receive their Welcoms. And for the design we have in hand speak not a word of it. 'tis a Giggling World Sancho, and always carping at good Intentions; therefore keep thy Lips close till opportunity serves.  
After this they descended the Hill, and began to draw near their Beloved Village.   

CHAP. XXI.  
Of the strange ill Omens that happened to Don Quixote before he entered the Village.  
UPon his Approach to the Village, Cid Hamet Reports, how that Don Quixote saw two little Boys contesting together, at what time, cried the one to the other, Oh pray be quiet, you are never like to see her as long as you live. Dost hear, Sancho, cried Don Quixote, what the Boy says? You shall never see her as long as you live— What's that to the purpose, what the Boy says? quo Sancho—' Slife, quo Don Quixote, hast lost thy Sences?— does it not signify that I shall never set Eyes upon Dulcinea, as long as I have breach i' my Body? Sancho was about to reply when he saw a Hare, which being pursued by several Greyhounds and Coursers, came and squatted for protection between Grizzle's Legs. Presently Sancho took her up, and presented her to his Master. But he with a dejected Countenance refusing the Present, cried out aloud, Malum signum, Malum signum.  
Nouns Master, quo Sancho, you are a strange sort of a Man— do but imagine this Hare to be Dulcinea, and the Greyhounds to be the wicked Necromancers that transformed her into a Country Puss. She flies, I take her up; I give her you; you take her; make much of her and kiss her; where is the ill sign in all this?  
At the same time the two Boys coming to look upon the Hare, Sancho asked 'em what 'twas they were quarreling about? To whom the Boy that had said the words, Thou shalt never see her again, replied, That he had got a Cage full of Crickets from the other Boy, which he nere intended to give him again. Upon that Sancho gave the Boy a Groat for his Cage, and delivering it into Don Quixote's hands, There, said he, there's the ill Omen sent to the Devil— Curse on 'em— a thousand of 'em ha' no more to do with our business, then we with the last years Snow— For tho' I'me but a simplo Fellow, I have a little understanding— besides that you ha' been  told a hundred times, that 'tis beneath the Profession of a Christian to mind Death-Watches, and Rats eating holes i' the foul Clothes. Nay, 'tis not long since you  told me so yourself— and therefore don't you be one of those Christian Fools that you yourself have so often preached against— Go on, go on, Sir— if any body had ill Luck 'twas the Hare to be caught.  
Riding a little farther, they were perceived by the Curate and Carrasco walking together in a Field adjoining, who presently ran with open Arms to embrace their old Friends.  
Now it happened that Sancho had flung over Grizzle's Back the gay Coat, all painted over with flames, which the Duke had given him, to cover his Masters bundle of armor, like a Sumpter Cloth; and his mitre, which was no less gaudy, he had fixed upon the Asses head; so that it might be truly said that never Four-footed Ass was so strangely bedizon'd in this World. Which the children, who are generally as sharp-sighted as Lynxes, perceiving, came running Bare-foot and Bare-legg'd, and flocking about the show, Hoy-day, look, Sirs— Here's Madam Ass and Gaffer Horse— did ye ever see an Ass as fine as a Lady, and a Horse so like a read Herring before?— And with that, they ran hooping and hollowing before, like the Boys upon a Holy-Thursday, while the Curate, Don Quixote, Carrasco and Sancho followed leisurely after, like the person and the Masters of the Parish, till Don Quixote arrived at his own House, where his Maid and his niece attended him coming.  
At the same time Teresa being informed of their arrival, came running with her Hair about her Ears, and pulling her Daughter after her, who ran like a do in her Hand. But when she saw that her Husband was not so Don-like attired as she imagined, Blessed Lady, quo she, what's the meaning of this? you look as if y' had come all the way afoot; upon my Life too as tired as a Dog after hunting— Why, this is more like a Beggar then a governor.—  
Peace, dear Teresa, peace a while, first let's go home, and then I'll tell thee wonders— Many times when a Man has got Boots, he wants Spurs— But I ha' Money, my Honey, tho I ha' nothing else— Money got by my own Industry, without doing wrong to any Body.—  
Hast got Money, Chuck! quo Teresa, nay then 'tis no matter how thou cam'st by it— 'tis not the Fashion now a days to be so inquisitive. At the same time little Sancha embracing her Father, asked him what he had brought her home? telling him withal that she had longed for his coming more then ere the Flowers did for due in May. Which Ceremonies of Love and Duty thus performed, Teresa took him under the Arm, and Sancha fastening upon the Wast-band of his Breeches, away they tugged him to his Cottage, leading Grizzle by the Collar in his hand.  
And now were the Champions friends orejoy'd, they had got him home again, not dreaming he had any more Crotchets in his Head; but before he could pull off his Boots and comb his Head, so full he was, that taking the Curate and Carrasco aside, after he had given 'em a short account of his being defeated by the Knight of the White Moon, and the obligation that lay upon him not to bear Arms for a whole Year; which he was resolved to perform to the last Minute, he added that since he had so fair an Opportunity, he was determined to spend that leisure time the most pleasantly i' the World; for now, quo he, will I retire to the Woods and Plains, where like a Shepherd of old Arcady, I will entertain my Amorous Passions with Madrigals and Roundelays; and therefore desired 'em, if their Business would permit, to bear him Company in so delightful and innocent a Life. To which purpose he would furnish 'em with such a number of Sheep as might justly entitle 'em to the dignifi'd name of Shepherd. Moreover he gave them to understand that he had half done the work already; for that he had found 'em out names so suitable to the Profession, that Pan himself could never have invented better.  
Thereupon the Curate being desirous to know the Names, Don Quixote replied, that he for his part would be called the Shepherd Quihotis; that he had given him the name of Curiambro; that the Student should be called Samsonino or Carrascon; and Sancho Pancha, Pansino.  
This new Project made the Curate and the scholar stare; however being resolved to humour him, The deuce take me, quo the Student, if you ha' not hit it to a hair— we shall led the merriest Lives imaginable— I am old Dog at Poetry— I can make Eclogues with Virgil himself, and Pastoral ditties for all the musicans i' the Kingdom— But now I think on't what shall we do for Shepherdesses? For 'tis as impossible for a Shepherd to be without a Shepherdess, as for a Knight-Errant to be without a Mistress— Else, how shall we do to carve and notch the Trees, as we must do? For I'me resolved to carry a sharp Penknife, along with me, and to omit no duty of a Shepherd when I come to be one.  
Oh, quo Don Quixote, shaking his Head, Mr. Carrasco, Mr. Carrasco, I wonder that should be your want; for I never knew a young Student of any Mettle without a Female, tho it were his Laundress, i' my Life— for your young Students are much of the nature of Turtles, they cannot live without a Mate— however for a shift you may conceit a Shepherdess, and that will do as well— For my part I am provided already with the Peerless Dulcinea deal Toboso, the only Nymph of these Rivers, the Ornament, of these Meadows, the Primrose of Beauty, the Fountain of Chastity, more graceful then the three Daughters of Jupiter put together; and in a word, the Subject of all Applauses that are able to puzzle Hyperboles.  
We grant all this to be true, quo the Curate, but we that cannot pretend to such perfections, would be glad of some passable Barren do or other, that may stand us instead upon occasion. For I don't find in any of your Ancient Authors, but that the Shepherds and Shepherdesses do play together now and then.  
However, quo the Student, we can take what names we please out of Books, Diana, Florinda, Amarillis or Galatea; they are to be bought in any Booksellers Shop, and when we have purchased 'em, they are our own. And then if I meet with a Shepherdess whose name is Bess, I'll call her Eliza, from Elizabeth; if Dol, Dorothea, from Doroty; if lucy, Lucinda. And I am apt to believe if I propound this Project to my Landladies Daughter, I shan't miss of one for my Turn.  
Don Quixote was so extremely pleased to find that his Invention took so kindly, that he resolved to sand for his Dulcinea forthwith, not doubting but that she must be out of the Devils Clutches by this time, since he had paid so dearly to the Keeper for her Lodging. But the Student adviz'd him to provide all things ready first; to buy his Sheep and his Sheep-hooks, his Tarboxes, Fifes, Drums and tabors, and then they would all go meet her in their Pontifcalibus. And having so said, the Curate and the Student took their leave of the Knight, who thought himself in the Bosom of the Moon, he was so wrapped up in pleasure and Content.  
All this while the Maid and the niece had been listening like two Sows i' the Beans, and having heard the rambling Discourse between the Three Shepherds; Lord, Uncle, quo the niece, what new Maggot is this, that crawls i' your Pate? When we thought you had been come home to live like a sober Gentleman, you are hearkening after new Temptations of the Devil, and going to turn Mutton-monger. By my truly you ha' picked out a very fine Employment— Besides, another disappointment, you'l meet with to boot— not a Straw to be had for Love or Money, fit to make a Pipe of— For the Fields have been shaved this Three Weeks.—  
Faith Master, quo the Maid, I am neither Drunk nor Mad yet, and to my shane be it spoken, an old Maid at Fifty without a Husband, and therefore take my advice— stay at home and red godly Books, say your Prayers, and be Charitable to the Poor— for you are as fit to lie Basking i' the Summer Sun, or upon the could Snow i' the Winter, as I am to be Captain of a Ship.  
Good niece, and you Mrs. Twittle Twattle, hold your Peace, quo Don Quixote, for I know best what I have do— All I desire of you at present is to make my Bed; for if I mistake not I dont find myself very well— but let me do well or ill, I shall do well enough for You; and that's as much as you can desire or need to trouble your heads with.  
Upon these fair promises they undressed him, put him to bed, and brought him his Supper; and after he had done, they drew the Curtains and left him to his Repose.   

CHAP. XXII.  
How Don Quixote fell sick, of the Will that he made and of his Death.  
PResumptuous Man! how vainly dost thou pretend to be the disposer of thy Life or thy Affairs! Fond Man proposes to himself to live a merry Life, and meditates future Revenge of past Indignities; but then comes Death and disappoints as well his hopes as Joys. Don Quixote thus proposed to live a Jolly Shepherds Life, and after that to resume his first Profession of Knight-Errantry, to regain his lost Honour and in search of new famed; but Death surprised him when he least thought of it. But whether his sickness proceeded from the sad Remembrance of his last defeat, or whether the Heavens had so decreed it I will not undertake to determine. Certain it is that a Burning Fever seized him, which enforced him to keep his Bed Six days.  
All that time the Curate, the Student and the Barber gave him frequent Visits, and such was Sancho's Love that he would not stir from his Bed.  
Among the rest, the Student rationally conjecturing that some confirmed suspicion of the Devils treachery in not delivering Dulcinea to him after full payment made by Sancho, might be the Cause of his Grief that augmented his Distemper, endeavoured all he could to comfort him. To which purpose, he desired him to pluck up a good heart and rise, to the end they might begin their Pastoral Life; telling him withal that he had already composed an Eclogue, not inferior to the Dialogue of Shepherd in faith I cannot stay, or Strephon and Phillis; and how he had bought two the best Dogs i' the Country for keeping of Sheep, the one called Gipp and t'other tansy, both Dogs of those Eminent Parts that they could dance the Shepherds delight to the Flageolet.  
But these were vain attempts to raise Don Quixote's Mirth, for he could neither laugh nor talk, but lay like an Alderman in ston i' the Chancel.  
Thereupon they sent for a Physician, who feeling his Pulse shook his Head, and bid his Patient prepare for another World, for that he had not long to stay i' this.  
For which Don Quixote, without the least dismay return'd him thanks; telling him withal, that he did not expect so much Divinity from a Person of his Profession.  
The Physician was no sooner gone, but he fell into a sound sleep, and had a Nap for six hours together; so that his niece and his Maid thought he never would have waked again. However at the six houres end it happened that he did open his Eyes again once more in his Life, as it were to take his last leave of the World. At what time, he called for his niece, and bid her sand for the Curate, the Student and Mr. Nicholas the Barber; for that he found himself drawing toward his end, and therefore was resolved to make his last Will and Testament, and those other preparations for Death, which a good Christian ought to do.  
Which Sancho hearing, Oh my dear Master, quo he, is this a time to die, when we have just now news of Madam Dulcinea's being disinchanted? Come, come, Sir, leave your melancholy Dumps and rise; is this a time to lie groaning a bed, when we should be abroad i' the Fields, piping like the Boys in Bartlemew Fair time, and singing like Canary Birds. Take my Counsel Master, live as long as you can; for 'tis the greatest folly i' the World to die for a bruise o' the Bum. Why, what if ye were unhors'd, and were well Crupper-scratch'd, what great matter's that. You know 'tis a common thing for Knight-Errants to overturn one another. Besides, you may lay the blame of your disgrace upon me, and say 'twas through my confounded neglect, in not girting Rosinante as I ought to ha' done.  
By this time the Curate and the scholar came into the Chamber; to whom Don Quixote, with a cheerful Voice, Come Neighbours, quo he, I am no longer Don Quixote de la Mancha, but plain Mr. Alonso Quixano. I am an utter Enemy to Amadis de gall and all his Generation. I abominate and detest all the whole Rabble of Knight-Errants, and all those profane and ungodly Legends of wandring Chivalry that so besotted my Understanding, and hearty forgive the Necromancer that robbed me of that wicked Study of mine. In a word, I have lived like a Fool, but I am resolved to die i' my Wits. To that purpose I desire ye to sand for a Scrivener to make my Will, for I find the Approach of Death too near; and with that he sunk down again in his Bed.  
The Curate, the scholar and the Barber were not a little startled at his Expressions, and staring one upon another, knew not what to think of his Condition. Thereupon while the Curate confessed him, the scholar went for a Scrivener; nor was it long before he return'd again; at what time, quo the Curate to the scholar, meeting him upon the Stairs, Upon my word you come in good time; for now I believe he has not long to live indeed, however I am glad that he dyes in the Bed of Repentance, rather then in the Bed of Romantick Honour. I desire ye to be mindful of the Church and the poor Curate, and don't let him give all away to nieces and Maid Servants; and so go on with your business.  
With these Instructions the Student carried the Scrivener into the Chamber, where, after Mr. Penman had made the formal Part of the Will, with an In Nomine Domini, in Text Letters, Don Quixote ordered him to writ on in these words.  
Item, It is my Will, that as to the Money which Sancho Pancha( whom in my madness I made my Squire) has in his hands, no account be taken of him; I know he has laid out much Money for me, and I owe him for Three thousand three hundred Lashes, which he laid upon his own back for my sake about ten days ago; and therefore if there be any Money remaining I freely give it him and much good may it do him. And as I gave him the Government of an iceland when I was mad, so would I now give him a Kingdom if I had it; for his simplicity and fidelity deserve it. And then turning to Sancho, he begged his pardon for having seduced him from his Wife and Family to make him as mad as himself; and for being the occasion of his being so cruelly tossed in a Blanket.—  
But then Sancho, letting fall a shower of Tears as big as pebbles, besought him once more not to die that 'bout; put him in mind of his pleasant Pastoral Life, and  told him withal that for a Man to die of the Mulligrubs, was like a Hens dying of the Pip.  
But Don Quixote was not now at leisure to hear his Squire's Admonitions as he wont to do, and therefore ordering the Scrivener to proceed,  
Item, quo he, I give to my niece Antonia Quixana all my household Goods, deducting the payment of my Maid her full Wages and Forty Shillings to buy her Mourning.  
Item, I make my Executors Mr. Curate, and Mr. Samson Carrasco the Student, and bequeath 'em Five Shillings a piece for the hire of a Mourning Cloak, and to buy each of them a Mourning Hat-band, to attend me to my Grave.  
Item, It is my Will, that if my niece have a desire to mary, that the Man be enquired after, whether he be a Person addicted to red Romances; and if he be found to be such a one, and yet my niece will obstinately mary him, that then she shall forfeit her Legacy to be bestowed in Pious Uses.  
Item, As for Rosinante, I bequeath him to the Parish Scavenger, for his Incontinency with a Carriers mere, which cost me the worst Basting that ere I had i' my Life.  
Item, I leave my old armor to Don Perez de Mendoza the Famous Bonesetter, for the rectifying of crooked Virgins, to prevent their Parents doubling their Portions, to the ruin of their other Children, and the madness of young Men that will mary Faggot-sticks for Money.  
Item, My Will is, that the basin( which I took for Mambrinos Helmet) be restored to the Barber, from whom in my madness I took it by force and violence, and Five Shillings withal, either to get it mended or buy him a new one.  
Item, I desire my Executors, that if at any time they happen to meet with the Author of the Second Part of the History of Don Quixote de la Mancha, that they beg his Pardon i' my Name, for having been the occasion of his writing so many Lies an Extravagancies as he has done. For I depart this Life much disatisfi'd for having given him such an unnecessary Trouble.  
The Will thus made and sealed, the Scrivener protested that he had never red in any Book of Knight-Errantry of any Knight-Errant that ever died so penitent, and so like a good Christian, as Don Quixote did; who three days after expired.  
Thus died the Famous Don Quixote de la Mancha, upon whom( to omit the Lamentations and Howlings of Sancho, the niece and the old Maid) the Student Carrasco made the following Epitaph.  

HEre seized by Death's immediate warrant,  
lies one that called himself Knight-Errant;  
In search of famed from home he rubbed,  
And got himself by Tapster dubbed:  
And thus made Knight, away he posted,  
To be lambasted and Rib-roasted.  
For bravely he his Sword devotes  
To succour all in Petticoats.  
More shane to Fortune, so to vex  
The stout defender of her Sex.  
For always she, in Honours Porch,  
Unkindly left him in the Lurch,  
Half Massaker'd with Clubs and Stones;  
And when she saw him mauled and drop,  
The Punk would laugh, and cry, rise up  
Sir Don Raw-head, and Bloody-bones.   

In short, he slept awake, and lulled  
With Honours charms, himself befooled.  
His Life was Peaceful, and outrageous,  
A Dream of Pious, and courageous:  
To show that Honour's an edged Tool,  
Not to be dally'd with by every Fool,     
The End.   

Don Quixote's Entertainment in th' Elysian Shades, By the Knights of the Wandring Order.  
SIR Knight we 're glad y' are come, pray take a Stool;  
We thought t' have warned ye not to play the Fool;  
But there's no telling tales out of Hell's School.  
Get ye a periwig, take our advice;  
Colour your Eye-brows, any strange Disguise.  
For Satan, mad beyond all rhyme or Reason,  
Swears you are guilty of Infernal Treason.  
What Slave is that? quo he, with looks severe,  
Has built so many Castles in the Air?  
As if with me the Caitiff meant to share  
My Principality— To this we said,  
That you were a Knight errand, staring Mad—  
Sir Knights, I thank ye, but your Soverano  
Mistakes his Man, my Name is Don Quixano.  
And with that Name I died, reclaimed and sober;  
Renouncing Knights of all sorts; were my Brother,  
Or Father of the Number; Knights o' th' Game,  
Or Dunghill Knights; for 'tis to me the same—  
How's this! Wee'll kick thee back to Earth again;  
There rot among the Worms, Thou scorn of Men.  
But stay a while— For now we think on't well,  
Th' art th' only Penitent ere came to Hell.   

Between the Knights rollers and Don Quixote.  
Knts. BRother Don Quixote welcome to thy Doom,  
By Charon's drivell'd Beard we'll make thee Room  
D. Qu. Sons of Debaushry, keep your nasty Cells,  
I'll not lie near such Christian Infidels.  
Knts. Peace, why so angry with the Brotherhood.  
D. Qu. No Brotherhood of Mine, by all that's good:  
Dissemblers! here you lie devout in ston;  
Worse then the Devil far, when Flesh and Bone.  
I never was so mad, tho mad enough,  
To fight' 'gainst Heavens Decrees. Knts. As how? your proof.  
D. Qu. You fought for a rude heap of Stones in Passion,  
Which Heaven had cursed to utter Desolation.  
Knts. Hermitical Devotion thought it Meet.  
D. Qu. Devotion's nonsense, without sense or Wit.  
Knts. comest thou like Phlegeus hear to preach in Hell;  
Be quiet and lie down. D. Qu. The truth to tell,  
I dare not lie so near your ston Haubergeons,  
My Skin is soft, and I want Coin for Surgeons.  
Knts. lie, and be damned then, under Sulphur showers;  
We scorn thy Company, since thou scorn'st ours.   

Olivers Porter to Don Quixote.  
KEeper, keep out that Flatothraxing Knight,  
Else here will be no peace by day nor night;  
He'l put me from my Praying Humour quiter;  
No Patience I shall have, that have but little,  
To see that Skeleton, that Raw-bon'd Spittle.  
He a Knight-Errant! He a Fool, a Gudgeon,  
A Cuckow-brains, a Peagoose, a mere Widgeon.  
I know of no Knight-Errant but my Master;  
He was a termagant, the World's Lambaster.  
This Puppy road a Kingdom-hunting too;  
What got he by't? knocks, rubs, and thumps enough;  
Not earth enough to bury three Hog-Lice;  
My Master got Three Kingdoms in a Trice;  
With all the Giblets and appurtenances;  
Islands I mean; Had Sancho been his Squire,  
He'd had a Government to his desire.  
Nay, might ha' been a Major-General;  
His Birth considered, and his Parts withal.  
Your Amadiss's, Palmerin's and Beviss's,  
Your Guy's, he would have beaten into Crevisses.  
And I his Porter, a fit Match for thee,  
As if thou darest provoke me, thou shalt see.  
Go then, lie close, and o'er thy Hole I'll writ  
Here lies a prating talking Milk-sop Knight,  
That bounced and fluster-bluster'd all day long,  
And every day slay Thousands with his Tongue.   

Betty Buly's Congratulation to Madam Dulcinea.  
MAdam, my Name is Betty Buly,  
I pity your Condition, Truly.  
Had you but lived, where I did dwell,  
You nere should ha' lead Apes in Hell.  
Better y' had linked with City Fop,  
Then Mistress to a Nickapoop.  
But Madam, pray what smell is this?  
'tis neither Musk, nor Ambergreise.  
Oh— now I have it for a groat,  
Your ladyship has sopt your Coat  
In Hogwash, Madam, a shrewd sign  
Your ladyship once fed the Swine.  
The best could fall of bad Mishaps,  
To save your leading Stygian Apes;  
For now you'l be employed to keep  
Our Master Satan's grunting Sheep.  
Oh happy you, as nere was none:  
alas my Trade is lost and gone:  
Here's no men calls for lusty cheer,  
For Wine or pretty Lasses here.  
But, Madam, you are as you were.   

The Aldermen of Gotam to Sancho Pancha.  By Gayton. 
O Do not grieve, tho great thy Loss,  
To lose a Lord not worth a across.  
We hearing of thy great Renown,  
Desire thee to o' re-rule our Town:  
You'll find us easy to be ruled;  
People that will and may be fooled:  
A sort of Cockscombs cannot tell  
When we are ill or when we're well:  
Full of Money, full of Pride,  
And want an Ebb to our long Tide.  
You need not bring your Ass with you,  
You shall have Asses here enough.  
Caetera desunt.   

An Epitaph upon Madam Dulcinea.  
HEre by report of every one that know so,  
lies the deceased Dulcina deal Toboso:  
A fair, ill favoured, Highborn, Dirty Blowze,  
Whom Great Don Quixote choose to be his Spouse.  
She thrashed in open Barn, and served the Swine,  
But yet a Lady, Empress and a Queen.  
If ere you meet the Place that hides her Bum,  
Pray writ this Elegy upon her Tomb.   

ERRATA.  
page. 2. l. 46. red Gentleman. page. 4. l. 36. r. the Tongue. ibid l. 38. r. his mind. p. 5. l. 9. r. Mart. p. 7. l. 14. r. ravings, ib. l. 50. r. same instant. p. 8. l. 11. deal to. p. 11. l. ult. r. they meet with the sign. p. 12. l. 11. deal to. p. 14. l. 37. deal the comma after obliged. p. 18. l. 8. r. else I challenge and defy ye all for. P. 23. l. 1. r. This is. P. 25. l. 40. r. and performs. p. 28. l. 35. r. Sancho, and so for several pages. p. 32. l. 42. r. Gentleman for. p. 41. l. 41. r. tearing the meat. p. 49. l. 23. r. either at. p. 50. l. 25. r. the Gentlemen. p. 52. l. 22. r. to God, ibid. l. 29. r. gambole. p. 57. l. 12. r. Swedeland. p. 61. l. 3. r. Benengeli. p. 68. l. 44. r. Landabrides. p. 72. l. 8. r. simmer. p. 81. l. 27. r. a time. p. 89. l. 35. r. like. p. 90. l. 50. r. might. p. 138. l. ult. r. careful. p. 142. l. 24. r. Maukins. p. 156. l. 33. r. Micomicon. p. 467. l. 6. r. Ladies old Gown, just. p. 480. l. 25. r. confoundedly. p. 486. l. 45. r. upon it. p. 533. l. ult. r. Tumult. p. 582. l. 5. r. heard a Tittle.