CHAP. IX. Of that which befell the famous Don-Quixote in Siera Mo nare, which was one of the most rare Adventures that in this or any other so authenticall a History is recounted. D on-Quixote seeing himself in so ill plight, said to his Squire Sancho, I have heard say oft-times, that to doe good to men unthankfull, is to cast water into the Sea. If I had believed what thou said'st to me, I might well have prevented all this grief: but now that is past, patience, and be wiser another time. You will take warning as much by this, quoth Sancho, as I am a Turk. But since you say, that if you had believed me, you had avoided this grief, believe me now and you shall eschue a greater: for you must wit, that no Knighthood nor Chival • y is of any authority with the Holy Brotherhood; for it cares not two farthings for all the Knights Errant in the world; and know, that me thinks I hear their arrows buz about mine ears already. Sancho, thou art a naturall coward, quoth Don-Quixote; but be cause thou may'st not say that I am obstinate, and that I never follow thine advice, I will take thy counsell this time, and convey my self from that furie which now thou fearest so much: but it shall bee on a condition, that thou never tell alive nor dying to any mortall Creature, that I retired or withdrew my self out of this danger for fear; but only to satisfie thy requests: For if thou sayest any other thing, thou shalt belie me most falsly: and even from this very time till that, and from thence untill now I give thee the lie herein; and I say thou lyest, and shalt lie as oft times as thou sayest or doest think the contrary; and doe not reply to me: For in onely thinking that I withdraw my self out of, any perill, but principally this, which seems to carry with it some shadow of fear: I am about to remain and expect here alone, not only for the Holy Brotherhood, which thou namest and fearest; but also for the Bretheren of the twelve Tribes, for the seven Macchabees, for Castor and Pollux, and for all the other Brothers and Brotherhoods in the world. Sir, answered Sancho, to retire is not to flie; and to expect is wisdome, when the danger exceepeth all hope: and it is the part of a wise men to keep himself safe to day for to morrow; and not to adventure himself wholy in one day. And know, that although I be but a rude Clown, yet doe I for all that understand somewhat of that which men call good government: and therefore doe not repent your self for following mine advice, but mount on Rozinante if you be able; if not, I will help you, and come after me; for my minde gives me that wee shall now have more use of leggs then hands. Don-Quixote leaped on his horse, without replying a word, and Sancho guiding him on his Asse, they both entred into that part of Sierra Morena [A great and large Moun tain of Spain] that was neer unto them: Sancho had a secret designe to cross over it all, and issue at Viso or Amadovar of Campo, and in the mean time to hide themselves for some dayes among those craggie and intricate Rocks, to the end they might not bee found by the Holy Bortherhood, if it did make after them. And hee was the more incouraged to doe this, because hee saw their Provision which hee carried on his Asse had escaped safely out of the skirmish of the Gally-slaves; a thing which hee accounted to bee a miracle, considering the diligence that the Slaves had used to search and carrie away all things with them. They arrived that night into the very mid'st and bowels of the Mountain, and there Sancho thought it fittest to spend that night, yea and some other few dayes also, at least as long as their Victuales indured, and with this resolution they took up their lodging among a number of Cork-Trees that grew between two Rocks. But fatall chance, which according to the opinion of those that have not the light of faith, guideth, directeth, and compounde • h all as it liketh, ordained, that that famous Cousener and Thief Gines de Passamonte, who was before delivered out of chains by Don-Quixotes force and folly, perswaded through fear he conceived of the Holy Brotherhood (whom hee had just cause to fear) resolved to hide himself likewise in that Mountain, and his fortune and fears led him just to the place where it had first addrest Don-Quixote and his Squire, just at such time as hee might perceive them, and they both at that instant fallen asleep: And as evill-men are evermore ingratefull, and that necessity forceth a man to attempt that which it urgeth, and likewise that the pre sent redresse prevents the expectation of a future, Gines, who was neither gratefull nor gratious, resolved to steal away Sancho his Asse, making no account of Rozinante, as a thing neither saleable nor pawnable: Sancho slept soundly, and so hee stole his beast, and was before morning so farre off from thence, as hee feared not to bee found. Aurora sallied forth at last to refresh the earth, and affright Sancho with a most sorrowfull accident, for he presently missed his Asse; and so seeing himself deprived of him, hee began the most sad and do • efull lamentation of the world; in such sort as hee awaked Don-Quixote with his out-cries, who heard that he said thus. O child of my howels; borne in mine own house; the sport of my children; the comfort of my wife; and the envie of my neighbours; the ease of my burdens; and finally, the susteiner of half of my person: for with six and twenty Marvidiis, that I gained dayly by thee, I did defray half of mine expences! Don-Quixote who heard the plaint, and knew also the cause, did comfort Sancho with the best words hee could devise, and desired him to have patience, promising to give a letter of exchange, to the end that they of his house might deliver him three Asses of five, which hee had left at home. Sancho comforted himself again with this promise, and dryed up his tears, moderated his sighs, and gave his Lord thanks for so great a favour: And as they entred in farther among those Mountains wee cannot recount the joy of our Knight, to whom those places seemed most accommodate to atchieve the Adventures hee searched for. They reduced to his memory the marvellous accidents that had befaln Knights Errant in like Solitudes and Desarts: And hee rode so over-whelmed and transported by these thoughts, as hee remembred nothing else; nor Sancho had any other care (after hee was out of fear to bee taken) but how to fill his belly with some of the r • licks which yet remained of the Clericall spoyles; and so hee followed his Lord, taking now and then out of a basket (which Rozinante carried for want of the Asse) some meat, lining there-withall his paunch: and whilest hee went thus imployed, hee would not have given a 〈◊〉 to encounter any other Adventure, how honourable soever. But whilst he was thus busied, he espyed his Master labouring to take up with the point of his Javeline, some bulk or other that lay on the ground, and went towards him to see whether hee needed his help just at the season that he lifted up a saddle Cushion and a Portmantue fast to it, which were half 〈◊〉 or rather wholly roited by the weather, yet they weighed so much that Sanchoes assistance was requisite to take them up: and straight his Lord commanded him to see what was in the Wallet. Sancho obeyed with expedition. And although it was shut with a chaine and hanging lock, yet by the parts which were torn he saw what was within, to wit four fine Holland shirts, and other 〈◊〉 both curious and clean: and moreover a handkercher, wherein was a good quantity of Gold: which he perceiving said, Blessed bee Heaven which hath once presented to us a beneficiall Adventure: And searching for more, he found a Tablet very costly bound. This Don-Quixote took of him, com manding him to keep the gold with himself; for which rich favour Sancho did presently kisse his handes: and after taking all the linnen, hee clapt it up in the bag of their Virtuals. Don-Quixote having stored all these things, said; Me thinks Sancho (and it cannot bee possible any other) that some trav •• ler having left his way, past through this Mountain, and being encountred by thieves, they slew him, and buried him in this secret place. It cannot bee so, answered Sancho; for if they were Theeves, they would not have left this money behind them. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote, and therefore I cannot conjecture what it might be: but stay a while, we will see whether there be any thing written in these Tablets, by which we may vent and finde out that which I desire. Then he opened it, and the first thing that he found written in it, as it were a first draught, but done with a very faire Character, was a Sonnet which he read aloud, that Sancho might also hear it, and was this which ensues. OR love of understanding quite is voyde: Or he abounds in cruelty, or my paine Th'occasion equals not; for which I bide The torments dir • , he maketh me sustaine. But if love be a God, I dare maintaine He nought ignores: and reason aye decides Gods should not cruell be: then who ordaines This paine I worship, which my heart devides? Filis! I err, if thou I say it is: For so great ill and good cannot consist. Nor doth this wrack from Heav'n befall, but yet, That shortly I must die can no way misse: For th'evill whose cause is hardly well exprest By miracle alone, true cure may get. Nothing can bee learned by that Verse, quoth Sancho, if by that Hilo or thread [An allusion to the Spanish word Hilo, signifying a thread.] which is said there, you gather not where lies the rest of the clue. What Hilo is here, quoth Don-Quixote? Me thought, quoth Sancho, that you read Hilo there. I did not, but Fili, said Don-Quixote, which is without doubt the name of the Lady, on whom the Authour of this Sonnet complains, who in good truth seems to bee a reasonable good Poet, or else I know but little of that Art. Why then, quoth Sancho, belike you doe also understand Poetry. That I doe, and more then thou thinkest, quoth Don-Quixote, as thou shalt see when thou shalt carry a Letter from me to my Lady Dulcinea de • Toboso, written in verse from the one end to the other: For I would thou shouldest know, Sancho, that all or the greater num ber of Knights Errant, in times past, were great Versifiers and Musitians: For these two qualities, or graces as I may better terme them, are annext to amorous Knights Adventures. True it is, that the Verses of the ancient Knights are not so adorned with words as they are rich in conceits. I pray you read more, quoth Sancho; for perhaps you may finde somewhat that may satisfie. Then Don-Quixote turned the leaf, and said, This is prose and seems to bee a Letter. What Sir, a missive Letter, quoth Sancho? No, but rather of Love, ac cording to the beginning, quoth Don-Quixote. I pray you therefore, quoth Sancho, read it loud enough; for I take great delight in these things of Love. I am content, quoth Don-Quixote: And reading it loudly, as Sancho had requested, it said as ensueth. Thy false promise and my certain misfortune, doe carry me to such a place, as from thence thou shalt sooner receive news of my death, then reasons of my just complaints. Thou hast disdained me (O ingrate) for one that hath more, but not for one that is worth more then I am: But if virtue were a treasure of estimation, I would not Emu late other mens fortunes, nor weep thus for mine own misfortunes. That which thy beauty erected thy works have overthrown: by it I deemed thee to bee an Angell, and by these I certainly know thee to bee but a woman. Rest in peace (O causer of my War) and let Heaven work so, that thy Spouses deceits remain still concealed, to the end thou maiest not repent what thou did'st, and I bee constrained to take revenge of that I de sire not. Having read the Letter, Don-Quixote said, Wee can collect lesse by this then by the Verses, what the Authour is, other then that hee is some disdained Lover. And so passing over all the book, hee found other Verses and Letters, of which he could read some, others not at all. But the summe of them all were, Accusations, Plaints, and Mistrusts, Pleasures, Griefs, Favours, and Disdains, some Solemnized, others De plored. And whilest Don-Quixote past over the Book, Sancho past over the Malet, without leaving a corner of it or the Cushion unsearched, or a seam unript, nor a lock of wooll uncarded, to the end that nothing might remain behinde for want of dilli gence or carelessenesse. The found gold which past a hundred crowns, had stir'd in him such a greedinesse to have more. And though hee got no more then that which hee found at the first, yet did hee account his flights in the Coverlet, his vomitting of the Drench, the benedictions of the Pack-staves, the blows of the Carrier, the losse of his Wallet, the robbing of his Cas • ock, and all the hunger thirst and wearinesse that hee had past in the service of his good Lord and Master, for well imployed; account ing himself to be more then well payed by the gifts received of the money they found. The Knight of the Ill-favoured face was the while possessed with a marvellous desire to know who was the owner of the malet, conjecturing by the Sonnet and Letter, the gold and Linnen, that the enamoured was some man of worth, whom the disdain and rigour of his Lady had conducted to some desperate termes. But by reason that no body appeared, through that inhabitable and Desart place, by whom hee might bee informed, hee thought on it no more, but only rode on, without choosing any other way then that which pleased Rozinante to travail, who took the plainest and easiest to passe thorow having still an imagination that there could not want some strange Ad venture amid'st that Forrest. And as he rode on with this conceit, hee saw a man on the top of a little Mountain that stood just before his face, leap from Rock to Rock, and Tuff to Tuff, with won de • full dexterity. And as hee thought was naked, had a black and thick beard; the hairs many and confusedly mingled; his feet and leggs bare; his thighs were covered with a pair of hose, which seemed to bee of murry Velvet, but were so torn, that they discovered his flesh in many places: His head was likewise bare; and although hee past by with the haste wee have recounted, yet did The Knight of the ill-favoured face note all these particulars; and although hee endeavoured, yet could not hee follow him; for it was not in Rozinantes power, in that weake state wherein hee was, to travail so swiftly among those Rocks chiefly being naturally very slow and fleg matick. Don-Quixote after espying him, did instantly imagine him to bee the owner of the Cushion and Malet; and therefore resolved to goe on in his search, although hee should spend a whole yeer therein among those Mountains; and commanded Sancho to goe about the one side of the Mountain, and hee would goe the other, and, quoth hee, it may befall, that by using this dilligence, wee may incounter with that man which vanished so suddainly out of our sight. I cannot doe so, quoth Sancho; for that in parting one step from you, fear presently so assalts me with a thousand visions and affrightments. And let this serve you here after for a warning to the end you may not henceforth part me the black of a nail from your presence. It shall be so, answered The Knight of the ill-favoured face: and I am very glad that thou doest thus build upon my valour, the which shall never fail thee, al though thou didest want thy very • oul; and therefore follow me by little and little or as thou mayest, and make of thine eyes two Lant-hornes; for wee will give a turne about this little Rock, and perhaps wee may meet with this man whom we saw even now, who doublesly can bee none other then the owner of our booty. To which Sancho, replyed, It were much better not to finde him: for if wee should meet him, and were by chance the owner of this money, it is most evident that I must restore it to him; and therefore it is better without using this unprofitable dilligence, to let me possesse it bona fide, untill the true Lord shall appear by some way lesse cu rious and dilligent: which perhaps may fall at such a time as it shall bee all spent; and in that case I am free from all Processes by priviledge of the King. Thou deceivest thy self, Sancho, therein, quoth Don-Quixote: for seeing wee are fallen already into suspition of the owner, wee are bound to search and restore it to him: and when wee would not seek him out, yet the vehement presumption that wee have of it, hath made us possessors mala-fide, and renders us as culpable as if hee whom we surmise were verily the true Lord. So that, friend Sancho, be not grieved to seek him, in respect of the grief whereof thou shalt free me if he be found. And saying so spur'd Rozinante, and Sancho followed after a foot, animated by the hope of the young Asses his Master had promised unto him: And having compassed a part of the Moun tain, they found a little stream, wherein lay dead, and half devoured by Doggs and Crows, a Mule saddled and bridled, all which confirmed more in them the suspition, that hee which fled away was owner of the Mule and Cushion. And as they looked on it, they heard a whistle, much like unto that which Sheepheards use as they keep their Flocks, and presently appeared at their left hand a great number of Goats, after whom the Goatheard that kept them, who was an aged man followed on the top of the Mountain; and Don-Quixote cried to him, requesting him to come down to them: who answered them again as loudly; demanding of them, who had brought them to those Desarts rarely trodden by any other then Goats, Wolves, or other Savage Beasts which frequented those Mountains? Sancho answered him, That if hee would descend where they were, they would give him account thereof. With that the Sheepheard came down, and arriving to the place where Don-Quixote was, hee said; I dare wager that you look on the hyred Mule which lies dead there in that bottome; well, in good faith, he hath lien in that very place these six moneths. Say, I pray you, have not you met in the way with the Master thereof? Wee have encountred no body but a Cushion and a little Malet, which we found not very far off from hence. I did likewise finde the same, replyed the Goat-heard, but I would never take it up nor approach to it, fearfull of some misdemeanor, or that I should be hereafter demanded for it as for a stealth. For the Divell is crafty, and now and then something ariseth, even from under a mans feet, whereat he stumbles and falls, without knowing how or how not. That is the very same, I say, quoth Sancho: for I likewise found it, but would not approach it the cast of a stone: There I have left it; and there it remains as it was; for I would not have a Dog with a Bell. Tell me good fellow, quoth Don-Quixote, dost thou know who is the owner of all these things? That which I can say, answered the Goat-heard, is, that about some six moneths past, little more or lesse, there arrived at a certain Sheep fold some three leagues off, a young Gentleman of comely personage, and presence, mounted on that very Mule which lies dead there, and with the same Cushion and Malet which you say you met, but touched not. Hee demanded of us, which was the most hidden and inaccessable part of the Mountain? And we told him that this wherein we are now: And it is true; for if you did enter but half a league farther, perhaps you would not finde the way out again so readily: and I doe greatly marvell how you could finde the way hither it self; for there is neither high way nor path that may addresse any to this place. I say then, that the young man, as soon as he heard our answer, he turned the bridle, and travelled towards the place we shewed to him, leaving us all with very great liking of his comelinesse, and marvelled at his demand and speed, wherewith he departed and made towards the Mountain: and after that time, we did not see him a good many of dayes, untill by chance one of our Sheepheards came by with our provision of victuals, to whom hee drew nee • , without speaking a word, and spurned and bea • him welfavour'dly, and after went to the Asse which carried our victuals, and taking away all the Bread and Cheese that was there, hee fled into the Mountain with wonderfull speed. When we heard of this, some of us Goat-heards, we went to search for him, and spent therein almost two dayes in the most solitary places of this Mountain, and in the end found him lurking in the hollow part of a very tall and great Corke-tree; who as soon as he perceived us, came forth to meet us with great staidnesse; His apparrell was all torn; his visage disfigured, and toasted with the Sunne in such manner, as we could scarce know him, if it were not that his attire, although rent, by the notice we had of it, did give us to understand that he was the man for whom we sought. He saluted us courteously, and in brief and very good reasons he said, that we ought not to mar vell, seeing him goe in that manner; for that it behoved to doe so, that he might ac complish a certain penance injoyned to him, for the many sinns hee had committed. We prayed him to tell us what he was; but we could never perswade him to it. Wee requested him likewise, that whensoever hee had any need of meat (without which hee could not live) hee should tell us where we might finde him, and wee would bring it to him with great love and dilligence; and that if he also did not like of this motion, that he would at least wise come and ask it, and not take it violently, as he had done before from our Sheepheards. He thanked us very much for our offer, and intreated pardon of the assults passed, and promised to ask it from thence forward for Gods sake, without giving annoyance to any one. And touching his dwelling or place of abode, he said, That he had none other then that where the night overtook him, and ended his Discourse with so feelling laments, that we might well be accounted stones which heard him, if therein we had not kept him company, considering the state wherein wee had seen him first; and that wherein now he was. For as I said, he was a very comely and gracious young man, and shewed by his courteous and orderly speech, that he was well borne, and a Court-like person: For though wee were all Clowns, such as did hear him, his Gentility was such as could make it self known, even to rudenesse it self: And being in the best of his Discourse, he stopt and grew silent, fixing his eyes on the ground a good while, wherein we likewise stood still suspended, expecting in what that distraction would end, with no little compassion to behold it; for we easily perceived that some accident of madness had surprized him, by his staring & beholding the earth so fixedly, without once moving the eye-lid; And other times by the shutting of them, the byting of his lips, and bending of his brows. But very spee dily after, he made us certain thereof himself: for rising from the ground (wheron he had thrown himself a little before) with great furie, he set upon him that sate next unto him, with such courage and rage, that if wee had not taken him away, he would have slain him with blows and bites; and hee did all this, saying, O treacherous Fer nando, here, here thou shalt pay me the injurie that thou did'st me; these hands shall rent out the heart, in which doe harbour and are heaped all evills together, but princi pally fraud and deceit: And to these hee added other words, all addrest to the dis praise of that Fernando, and to attach him of treason and untruth. Wee tooke from him at last, not without difficulty, our fellow, and hee without saying a word departed from us, embushing himselfe presently among the bushes and brambles, leaving us wholly disabled to follow him in those rough and unhaunted pla ces. By this wee gathered that his madnesse comes to him at times, and that some one called Fernando, had done some ill worke of such weight, as the termes shew, to which it hath brought him. All which hath after beene yet confirmed as often (which were many times) as hee came out to the fields, sometimes to demand meat of the Sheep heards, and other times to take it of them perforce; for when hee is taken with this fit of madnesse, although the Sheepheards doe offer him meat willingly, yet will not hee receive, unlesse hee take it with buffets: and when hee is in his right sense, hee asks it for Gods sake, with courtesie and humanitie, and renders many thanks, and that not without teares. And in very truth, Sir, I say unto you, quoth the Goat-heard, that I and foure others, whereof two are my men, other two my friends, resolved yester day to search untill wee found him, and being found, either by force or faire meanes, wee will carry him to the towne of Almodaver, which is but eight leagues from hence, and there will wee have him cured, if his disease may bee holpen, or at least wee shall learne what hee is, when hee turnes to his wits, and whether hee hath any friends to whom notice of his misfortune may bee given. This is, Sirs, all that I can say concer ning that which you demand of mee; and you shall understand that the owner of those things which you saw in the way, is the very same, whom you saw passe by you so na ked and nimble: for Don-Quixote had told him by this, that hee had seen that man goe by, leaping among the Rocks. Don-Quixote rested marvailously admired at the Goatheards tale, and with greater desire to know who that unfortunate mad-man was, purposed with himselfe, as he had already resolved, to search him throughout the Mountaines, without leaving a corner or Cave of it unsought, untill hee had gotten him. But Fortune disposed the matter better then hee expected; for hee appeared in that very instant in a clift of a Rock, that answered to the place where they stood speaking, who came towards them, murmu ring somwhat to himselfe, which could not bee understood neere at hand, and much lesse a farre off: His aparrell was such as wee have delivered, only differing in this, as Don-Quixote perceived when hee drew neerer, that hee wore on him, although torne, a leather Jerkin, perfumed with Amber; by which hee throughly collected, that the person which wore such attire was not of the least qualitie. When the young man came to the place where they discoursed, hee saluted them with a hoarce voice, but with great courtesie: and Don-Quixote returned him his gree tings with no lesse complement; and alighting from Rozinante, hee advanced to im brace him with very good carriage and countenance, and held him a good while streightly betweene his armes, as if hee had known him of long time. The other, whom wee may call The unfortunate Knight of the Kock, as well as Don-Quixote the Knight of the illfavored face; after hee had permitted himselfe to bee imbraced a while, did step a little off from our Knight, and laying his hand on his shoulders, began to be hold him earnestly, as one desirous to call to minde whether hee had ever seene him be fore; being perhaps no lesse admired to see Don-Quixotes figure, proportion and Armes, then Don-Quixote was to view him. In resolution, the first that spoke after the imbracing, was the ragged Knight, and said what wee will presently recount. CHAP. X. Wherein is prosecuted the Adventure of Sierra Morena. T HE Historie affirmes, that great was the attention wherewithall Don-Quixote listned to the unfortunate Knight of the Rock, who be gan his speech on this manner: Truly, good Sir, whatsoever you bee (for I know you not) I doe with all my heart gratifie the signes of affection and courtesie which you have used towards mee, and wish heartily that I were in termes to serve with more then my will, the good-will you beare towards mee, as your courteous entertain ment denotes; but my fate is so niggardly, as it affords mee no other meanes to repay good works done to mee, then only to lend mee a good desire sometime to satisfie them. So great is mine affection, replied Don-Quixote, to serve you, as I was fully resol ved never to depart out of these Mountaines untill I had found you, and known of your selfe whether there might bee any kinde of remedy found for the griefe that this your so unusuall a kinde of life argues doth possess your soule; and if it were requisite, to search it out with all possible diligence: and when your disasters were knowne of those which clap their doores in the face of comfort, I intended in that case to beare a part in your lamentations, and plaine it with the dolefull note; for it is a consolation in afflictions, to have one that condoles in them. And if this my good intention may merit any acceptance, or bee gratified by any courtesie, let mee intreat you Sir, by the excesse thereof, which I see accumulated in your bosome; and joyntly I conjure you by that thing which you have, or doe presently most affect; that you will please to dis close unto mee who you are, and what the cause hath beene that perswaded you to come to live and die in these Desarts, like a bruite beast, seeing you live among such, so alie nated from your selfe, as both your attyre & countenance demonstrate. And I doe vow (quoth Don-Quixote) by the high order of Chivalry, which I (although unwor thy and a sinner) have received; and by the profession of Knighes Errant, that if you doe pleasure mee herein, to assist you with as good earnest as my profession doth binde mee, eyther by remedying your disaster, if it can bee holpen; or else by assisting you to lament it, if it bee so desperate. The Knight of the Rock, who heard him of the Illfavored face speake in that manner, did nothing else for a great while, but behold him again and again, and re-behold him from top to toe, And after viewing him well hee said, If you have any thing to eate, I pray you give it mee for Gods sake, and after I have eaten I will satisfie your demand throughly, to gratifie the many courtesies and undeserved proffers you have made unto mee. Sancho, and the Goatheard presents the one out of his Wallet, the other out of his Scrip, tooke some meate and gave it to the Knight of the Rock to allay his hunger, and hee did eate so fast, like a distracted man, as hee left no intermission betweene bit and bit, but clapt them up so swiftly, as hee rather seemed to swallow then to chew them; and whilest hee did eate, neither hee or any of the rest spake a word; and ha ving ended his dinner, hee made them signes to follow him, as at last they did, unto a little Meadow seated hard by that place, at the fold of a Mountaine, where being ari ved, hee stretched himselfe on the grasse, which the rest did likewise in his imitation, without speaking a word, untill that hee after setling himselfe in his place, began in this manner; If Sirs, you please to heare the exceeding greatnesse of my disasters briefly re hearsed, you must promise mee, that you will not interrupt the file of my dolefull nar ration, with either demand or other thing; for in the very instant that you shall doe it, there also must remaine that which I say depending. These words of our ragged Knights, called to Don-Quixotes remembrance the tale which his Squire had told unto him, where hee erred in the account of his Goates which had passed the River, for which that Historie remained suspended. But returning to our ragged man, hee said; This prevention which now I give, is to the end that I may compendiously passe over the discourse of my mishaps; for the revoking of them to remembrance, only serves mee to none other stead, then to increase the old, by adding of new misfortunes; and by how much the fewer your questions are, by so much the more speedily shall I have finished my pittifull discourse; and yet I meane not to omit the essentiall point of my woes untouch't, that your desires may bee herein sufficiently satisfied. Don-Quixote in his owne, and his other companions name, promised to perform his request, where upon he began his relation on this manner. My name is Cardenic, the place of my byrth, one of the best Cities in Andaluzia, my linage noble, my parents rich, and my misfortunes so great, as I thinke my parents have ere this deplored, and my kinsfolke condoled them; being very little able with their wealth to redresse them; for the goods of fortune are but of small vertue to re medie the disasters of Heaven. There dwelt in the same Citie a Heaven, wherein love had placed all the glorie that I could desire: so great is the beauty of Luscinda, a dam zel as noble and rich as I, but more fortunate, and lesse constant then my honourable desires expected. I loved, honoured and adored this Luscinda, almost from my very infancy, and shee affected mee likewise, with all the integritie and good will which with her so young yeeres did accord. Our parents knew our mutuall amitie, for which they were nothing agrieved, perceiving very well, that although wee continued it, yet could it have none other end but that of Matrimonie; a thing which the equalitie of our blood and substance, did of it selfe almost invite us to. Our age and affection increa sed in such sort, as it seemed fit for Luscinda's father, for certaine good respects, to de ny mee the entrance of his house any longer; imitating in a manner therein Tisbi, so much solemnized by the Poets, her parents, which hindrance served only to add flame to flame, and desire to desire: for although it set silence to our tongues, yet would they not impose it to our Pens, which are wont to expresse to whom it pleased, the most hidden secrecies of our souls, with more libertie then the tongue; for the pre sence of the beloved doth often distract, trouble, and strike dumb the boldest tongue and firmest resolution. O Heavens! how many Letters have I written unto her? What cheerfull and honest answers have I received? How many Ditties and amorous Verses have I composed, wherein my soul declared and published her passions, declined her inflamed desires, entertained her remembrance, and recreated her will? In effect, perceiving my self to be forced, and that my soul consumed with a perpetuall desire to behold her, I resolved to put my desires in execution, and finish in an instant that which I deemed most expedient for the better atchieving of my desired, and de served reward; which was (as I did indeed) to demaund her of her father for my lawfull Spouse. To which he made answer, That he 'did gratifie the good will which I shewed by honouring him, and desire to honour my self with pawns that were his: But seeing my Father yet lived, the motion of that matter properly most concerned him: For if it were not done with his good liking and pleasure, Luscinda was not a woman to be taken or given by stealth. I rendred him thanks for his good will, his words seeming unto me very reasonable, as that my father should agree unto them, as soon as I should explain the matter; and therefore departed presently to acquaint him with my desires; who at the time which I entred into a chamber, wherein he was, stood with a letter open in his hand; and espying me, e're I could break my minde unto him, gave it me, saying; By that Letter, Cardenio, you may gather the desire that Duke Ricardo bears, to doe you any pleasure or favour. This Duke Ricardo, as I think you know Sirs already, is a Grandee of Spain, whose Dukedome is seated in the best part of all Andaluzia. I took the Letter and read it, which appeared so urgent, as I my self accounted it would be ill done, if my father did not accomplish the contents thereof, which were indeed, that he should presently ad dresse me to his Court, to the end I might be companion (and not servant) to his eldest sonne; and that hee would incharge himself with the advancing of me to such preferments as might be answerable unto the value and estimation hee made of my person. I past over the whole Letter, and was strucken dumb at the reading thereof; but chiefly hearing my Father to say, Cardenio, thou must depart within two dayes, to accomplish the Dukes desire; and omit not to render Almighty God thanks, which doth thus open the way, by which thou mayest attain in fine to that which I know thou doest merit: And to these words added certain others of Fatherly counsell and direction. The term of my departure arrived, and I spoke to my Luscinda on a cer tain night, and recounted unto her all that passed, and likewise to her father, intreat ing him to overslip a few dayes, and defer the bestowing of his daughter else-where, untill I went to understand Duke Ricardo his will; which he promised me, and shee confirmed it with a thousand oaths and promises. Finally, I came to Duke Ricardo 's Court, and was so friendly received and enter tained by him, as even very then envie began to exercise her accustomed Function, be ing forthwith emulated by the ancient Servitors; perswading themselves, that the tokens the Duke shewed to doe me favours could not but turn to their prejudice. But hee that rejoyced most at mine arrivall was a second sonne of the Dukes, called Fer nando, who was young, gallant, very comely, liberall and amorous; who within a while after my coming, held me so deerly, as every one wondred thereat: And though the elder loved me well, and did me favour; yet was it in no respect comparable to that wherewithall Don Fernando loved and treated me. It therefore befell, that as there is no secresie amongst friends so great, but they will communicate it the one to the other; and the familiarity which I had with Don Fernando was now past the limits of favour, and turned into dearest amitie: He revealed unto me all his thoughts; but chiefly one of his Love, which did not a little molest him: For he was enamoured on a Farmers daughter that was his Fathers Vassall, whose parents were marvellous rich, and shee her self so bautifull, warie, discret, and honest, as never a one that knew her could absolutely determine wherein, or in which of all her perfections shee did most excell, or was most accomplished. And those good parts of the beautifull Countrey maide, reduced Don-Fernando his desires to such an exigent, as hee resolved that hee might the better gaine her good will, and conquer her integritie, to passe her a promise of marriage; for otherwise hee should labour to effect that which was impossible, and but strive against the streame. I, as one bound thereunto by our friendship, did thwart and disswade him from his purpose with the best reasons, and most efficacious words I might: and seeing all could not prevaile, I determined to acquaint the Duke Ricardo his father therewithall; But Don Fernando being very crafty and discreete, su spected and feared as much, because hee considered that in the law of a faithfull servant, I was bound not to conceale a thing that would turne so much to the prejudice of the Duke my Lord, and therefore both to divert and deceive mee at once, that hee could finde no meanes so good, to deface the remembrance of that beautie out of his minde, which held his heart in such subjection, then to absent himselfe for certaine moneths; and hee would likewise have that absence to be this, That both of us should depart to gether, and come to my fathers house, under prettence (as he would informe the Duke) that he went to see and cheap • n certain great horses that were in the City wherein I was borne; a place of breeding the best horses in the world. Scarce had I heard him say this (when borne away by the naturall propension each one hath to his Countrey, and my love joyn'd) although his designment had not been so good, yet would I have ratified it, as one of the most expedient that could be ima gined, because I saw occasion and oportunity so fairly offered, to return and see again my Luscinda. And thereof set on by this thought and desire, I approved his opinion, and did quicken his purpose, perswading him to prosecute it with all possible speed; for absence would in the end work her effect in despight of the most forcible and ur gent thoughts; And when he said this to me, he had already, under the title of a hus band (as it was afterward known) reaped the fruits of his longed desires, from his beautifull Countr • y-Maid, and did only await an oportunity to reveal it without his own detriment, fearfull of the Duke his fathers indignation, when he should under stand his erro • r. It afterward hapned, that as love in young men is not for the most part Love, but last, the which (as it ever proposeth to it self as his last end and period, is delight) so as soon as it obteineth the same, it likewise decayeth and maketh forcibly to retire that which was tearmed Love; for it cannot transgresse the limits which Nature hath assigned it which boundings are meares, Nature hath in no wise allotted to true and sincere affe ction. I would say, that as soon as Don Fernando had injoyed his Countrey-Lasse, his desires weakned, and his importunities waxed cold; and if at the first he • eigned an excuse to absent himself, that he might with more facility compasse them, he did now in very good earnest procure to depart, to the end hee might not put them in execu tion. The Duke gave him licence to depart, and commanded me to accompany him. Wee came to my Citie, where my Father entertained him according 〈◊〉 talling. I saw Luscinda, and then again were reviv'd (although indeed they were neither dead nor mortified) my desires, and acquainted Don Fernando (alas, to my totall ruine) with them, because I thought it was not lawfull by the law of amity to keep any thing concealed from him: There I dilated to him, on the Beauty, Wit, and Discretion of Luscinda, in so ample manner, as my prayses stirred in him a desire to view a Damzell so greatly adorned, and inriched with so rare endowments: And this his desire I (through my misfortune) satisfied, shewing her unto him by the light of a candle, at a window where wee two were wont to pa • le together; where he beheld her to bee such as was sufficient to blot out of his memory all the beauties which ever hee had viewed before. Hee stood mute, beside himself, and ravished; and moreover rested so greatly enamoured, as you may perceive in the discourse of this my do • efull narration: And to inflame his desires the more (a thing which I fearfully avoyded, and only discovered to heaven) fortune so disposed; that hee found after me one of her Letters, wherein she requested that I would demand her of her father for wife, which was so discreete, honest and amorously penned, as he said after reading it, that in Luscinda alone were included all the graces of Beauty and Understanding joyntly, which were divided and separate in all the other women of the world. Yet in good sooth I will here confesse the truth, that although I saw cleerely how de servedly Luscinda was thus extold by Don Fernando, yet did not her prayses please mee so much pronounced by him; and therefore began to feare and suspect him, because he let no moment overslip us, without making some mention of Luscinda, and would still himselfe begin the Discourse, were the occasion ever so far fetched, a thing which rowsed in mee I cannot tell what jealousie; not that I did feare any traverse in Luscindaes loyalty, but yet for all my Fates made mee the very thing which they most assured mee: and Don Fernando procured to read all the papers I sent to Luscinda, or shee to mee, under pretext that hee tooke extraordinary delight to note the witty con ceits of us both. It therefore fell out, that Luscinda having demanded of mee a booke of Chivalry to read, wherein shee took marveilous delight, and was that of Amadis du Gaule. Scarce had Don-Quixote well heard him make mention of bookes of Knighthood, when hee replyed to him. If you had, good sir, but once told mee at the beginning of your historicall narration, that your Lady Luscinda was affected to the reading of Knightly Adventures, you needed not to have used any amplification to indeer or make plaine unto mee the eminencie of her wit, which certainly could not in any wise bee so excellent and perspicuous as you have figured it, if shee wanted the propension and fee ling you have rehearsed, to the perusing of so pleasing discourses; so that henceforth, with mee, you neede not spend any more words to explane and manifest the height of her beauty, worths and understanding, for by this only notice I have received of her devo tion to bookes of Knighthood, I doe confirme her for the most faire and accomplished woman for all perfections in the world; and I would to God, good Sir, that you had also sent her together with Amadis, the Histories of the good Don Rugel of Grecia, for I am certaine, the Lady Luscinda would have taken great delight in Darayda and Ga raya, and in the witty conceits of the Sheepheard Darinel, and in those admirable ver ses of his Bucolicks, sung and rehearsed by him with such grace, discretion and libertie. But a time may come, wherein this fault may bee recompenced, if it shall please you to come with mee to my Village; for there I may give you three hundred Bookes, which are my Soules greatest contentment, and the entertainment of my life; although I doe now verily beleeve that none of them are left, thanks bee to the malice of evill and en vious Enchanters. And I beseech you to pardon me this transgression of our agreement at the first, promised not to interrupt your Discourses; for when I heare any motion made of Chivalry or Knights Errant, it is no more in my power to omit to speake of them, then in the Sunne-beames to leave off warming, or in the Moones to render things humid. And therefore I intreate pardon, and that you will prosecute your Hi story, as that which most imports us. Whilest Don-Quixotes spoke those words, Cardenio hanged his head on his breast, giving manifest tokens that hee was exceeding sad. And although Don-Quixote reque sted him twice to follow on with his Discourse, yet neither did he lift up his head, or answere a word, till at last, after hee had stood a good while musing, hee held up his head and said; It cannot bee taken out of my minde, nor is there any one in the world can deprive me of the conceit, or make me beleeve the contrary; and hee were a bottle-head, that would think or beleeve otherwise then that the great villain Mr. Elisabat the Barbar kept Queen Madasima as his Lemman. That is not so, I vow by such and such, quoth Don-Quixote in great choler (and as hee was wont, rapt out three or foure round oathes) It is great malice, or rather vil lany to say such a thing. For Queene Madasima was a very noble Lady, and it ought not to bee presumed that so high a Princesse would fall in love with a Quack-salver, and whosoever thinks the contrary, lies like an arrant Villaine, as I will make him under stand a horseback or a foote, armed or disarmed, by night or by day, or as he best liketh. Cardenio stood beholding him very earnestly as hee spoke these words, whom the acci dent of his madnesse had by this possessed, and was not in plight to prosecute his Histo ry, nor would Don-Quixote give eare to it, he was so mightily disgusted to hear Queen Madasima detracted. A marvellous accident! for hee took her defence as earnestly, as if she were verily his true and naturall Princesse, his wicked books had so much distracted him. And Cardenio being by this furiously madd, hearing himself answered with the lye, and the denomination of a Villaine, with other the like outrages, hee took the rest in ill part; and lifting up a stone that was neer unto him, gave Don-Quixote such a blow there withall, as he overthrew him to the ground on his back. Sancho Panca seeing his Ma ster so roughly handled, set upon the fool with his fist shut; and the ragged man re ceived his assault in such manner, as he likewise overthrew him at his feet with one fist, and mounting afterward upon him, did work him with his feet like a piece of dough: And the Goat-heard who thought to succour him, was like to incur the same danger. And after he had overthrown and beaten them all very well, he departed from them and entred into the wood very quietly. Sancho arose, and with rage to see himself so belaboured without desert, he ran upon the Goat-heard to be revenged on him, say ing that he was in the fault, who had not premonished them, how that mans raving fits did take him so at times; for had they been advertised thereof, they might have stood all the while on their guard. The Goat-heard answered, that he had already advised them thereof; and if he had not been attentive thereunto, yet he was therefore nothing the more culpable. Sancho Panca replyed, and the Goat-heard made a rejoynder thereunto; but their disputation ended at last in the catching hold of one anothers beards, and be-fisting themselves so uncompassionately, as if Don-Quixote had not pacified them, they would have torne one another to pieces. Sancho holding still the Goat-heard fast, said unto his Lord, Let me alone, Sir Knight of the Ill-favoured face; for on this man who is a Clown as I am my self, and no dubed Knight, I may safely satisfie my self of the wrong hee hath done me, by fighting with him hand to hand like an honourable man. It is true, quoth Don-Quixote, but I know well, that hee is in no wise culpa ble of that which hath hapned. And saying so, appeased them, and turned a gain to demand of the Goat-heard, whether it were possible to meet again with Cardenio; for he remained possessed with an exceeding desire to know the end of his History. The Goat-heard turned again to repeat what he had said at the first, to wit, that he knew not any certain place of his abode; but if hee haunted that Commark any while, he would some time meet with him, either in his madd or modest humour. CHAP. XI. Which treates of the strange Adventures that happened to the Knight of the Mancha, in Sierra Morena; and of the pennance he did there, in imitation of Beltinebros. D On-Quixote tooke leave of the Goatheard, and mounting once againe on Rozinante, hee commanded Sancho to follow him, who obeyed but with a very ill will; and thus they travelled by little and little, entring into the thickest and roughest part of all the Mountaine, and Sancho went almost burst with a desire to reason with his Master, and therefore wished in minde that hee would once begin, that he might not transgresse his commandement of silence imposed on him, but growing at last wholly impotent to containe himselfe speechlesse any longer: Good Syr Don-Quixote. I pray you give mee your blessing, and license; for I meane to de dart from this place, and returne to my house, my wife and children, with whom I shall bee, at least, admitted to reason and speake my pleasure; for that you would de sire to have mee keepe you company through these Desarts, night and day, and that I may not speake when I please, is but to bury mee alive. Yet if Fortune had so happily disposed our affaires, as that beasts could speake as they did in Guisopetes time, the harme had beene lesse, for then would I discourse a while with Rozinante (seeing my • iggardly fortune hath not consented I might doe it with mine Asse) what I thought good, and in this sort would I weave my mishaps; for it is a stubborne thing, and that cannot bee borne with patience, to travell all the dayes of our life, and not to encoun ter any other thing then tramplings under feete, tossings in Coverlets, blowes of stones and buffets, and bee besides all this forced to sow up our Mouthes, a man daring not to breake his minde, but to stande mute like a poste. Sancho, I understand thee now, quoth Don-Quixote, thou diest with longing to speake that which I have forbidden thee to speake; account therefore that commandement revoked, and say what thou plea sest, on condition that this revocation be only available and of force whilest we dewll in these Mountaines, and no longer. So bee it, quoth Sancho, let mee speake now, for what may ••• er befall God only knowes, and then beginning to take the benefit of his license, hee said, I pray you tell mee, what benefit could you reape by taking Queene Magimasaes part? Or what was it to the purpose that that Abbat was her friend or no? For if you had let it slip, see ing you were not his Judge, I verily beleeve that the foole had prosecuted his tale, and wee should have escaped the blow of the stone, the trampling under feete and spurnings; yea, and more then five or six good buffets. Yfaith Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, if thou knowest as well as I did, how honourable and principall a Lady was Queen Ma dasima, thou wouldst rather say that I had great patience, seeing I did not strike him on the mouth, out of which such blasphemies issued; for it is a very great dishonour to aver or thinke that any Queene would fall in love with a Barber. For the truth of the History is, that Master Elisabat, of whom the mad man spoke, was very prudent, and a man of a sound judgemen, and 〈◊〉 the Queene as her Tutor and Physitian; but to thinke that shee was his Lemman, is a madnesse worthy the severest punishment: and to the end thou maist see that Cardenio knew not what hee said, thou must understand that when he spoke it, he then was wholy beside himself. That's it which I say, quoth Sancho, that you ought not to make recount of words spoken by a Foole; for if fortune had not assisted you, but addressed the stone to your head, as it did to your breast, wee should have remained in good plight, for having tur ned so earnestly in that my Ladies defence, whom God confound: and think you that Cardenio would not escape the dangers of the Law, by reason of his madnesse? Any Knight Errant, answered Don-Quixote, is bound to turn for the honour of women, of what quality soever, against • mad or unmad men: How much more for Queens of so high degree and worth, as was Queen Madesina, to whom I bear particular affections for her good parts? For besides her being marvellous beautifull, shee was moreover very prudent and patient in her calamities, which were very many, and the company and counsells of Master Elisabat proved very beneficiall and necessary, to induce her to bear her mishaps with prudence and patience: and hence the ignorant and ill-meaning Vulgar took occasion to suspect and affirm, that shee was his friend: but I say again they lie, and all those that doe either think or say it, doe lie a thousand times. Why, quoth Sancho, I neither say it nor think it; let those affirm any such thing, eat that • ye and swallow it with their bread • and if they of whom you spoak lived lightly, they have given account to God thereof by this: I come from my Vineyard; I know nothing: I am not afraid to know other mens lives: For he that buyes and lyes, shall feel it in his purse: How much more seeing I was borne naked, aud am now naked, I can neither win nor lose? A man is but a man, though he have a hose on his head; but howsoever, what is that to me? And many think there is a Sheep where there is no Fleece. But who shall bridle a man's understanding when men are prophane? Good God, quoth Don-Quixote! how many follies hast thou inserted here? and how wide from our purpose are those proverbs which thou hast recited? Honest Sancho, hold thy peace, and from henceforth indeavour to serve thy Master, and doe not meddle with things which concern thee nothing; and under stand with all thy five Senses, that whatsoever I have done, doe, or shall doe, is wholly guided by reason, and conformable to the rules of Knighthood, which I know better then all the other Knights that ever profest them in the world. Sir, quoth Sancho, and it is a good rule of Chivalry, that wee goe wandring and lost among these Mountains in this sort, without path or way, in the search of a mad-man, to whom peradventure after hee is found, will return a desire to finish what hee began, not of his tale, but of your head and my ribs, by indeavouring to break them soundly and thorowly. Peace I say Sancho, once again, quoth Don-Quixote; for thou must wit, that the desire of finding the mad-man alone brings me not into these parts so much, as that which I have in my minde to atchieve a certain Adventure, by which I shall acquire eternall renown and fame, throughout the universall face of the earth; and I shall therewithall seal all that which may render a Knight Errant compleat and famous. And is the Adventure very dangerous, quoth Sancho Panca? No, answered the Knight of the Ill-favoured face, although the Die might runne in such sort, as wee might cast a hazard instead of an incounter; but all consists in thy diligence. In mine, quoth Sancho? Yes (quoth Don-Quixote) for if thou returnest speedily from the place whereunto I mean to send thee, my pain will also end shortly, and my glory commence very soon after: and because I will not hold thee long suspended, awaiting to hear the effect of my words, I would have thee to know, that the famous Amadis du Gaule was one of the most accomplished Knights Errant. I doe not say well, saying he was one; for hee was the only, the first, and prime Lord of as many as lived in his age. An evill yeer and a worse moneth for Don Belianis, or any other that shall dare presume to compare with him; for I swear, that they all are questionlesse deceived. I also say, that when a Painter would become rare and excellent in his Art, hee procures to imi tate the patterns of the most singular Masters of his Science: And this very rule runns currant throughout all other Trades and Exercises of account, which serve to adorn a well disposed Commonwealth; and so ought and doth he that means to obtain the name of a prudent and patient man, by imitating Vlysses, in whole person and dan gers doth Homer delineate unto us the true pourtraiture of patience and sufferance; as likewise Virgil demonstrates under the person of Eneas, the duty and valour of a pious sonne, and the Sagacity of a hardy and expert Captain, not shewing them such as indeed they were, but as they should be, to remain as an example of Virtue, to ensuing Posterities. And in this very manner was Amadis the Noth-star and Sunne of valourous and amorous • Knights, whom all we ought to imitate which march under the ensignes of Love and Chivalry. And this being so manifest as it is, I finde, friend Sancho, that the Knight Errant who shall imitate him most, shall likewise bee neerest to attain the perfection of Armes: And that wherein this Knight bewrayed most his Prudence, Valour, Courage, Patience, Constancie and Love, was when he retyred himself to doe penance, being disdained by his Lady Oriana, to the Poor Rock, changing his name unto that of Beltenebros, a name certainly most significative and proper for the life which he had at that time willingly chosen. And I may more easily imitate him herein, then in cleaving of Gyants, beheading of Serpents, killing of Monsters, over-throwing of Armies, putting • Navies to flight, and finishing of Inchantments. And seeing that this Mountain is so fit for that purpose, there is no reason why I should overslip the occasion, which doth so commodiously proffer me her Locks. In effect, quoth Sancho, what is it you meane to doe in these remote places? Have not I told thee already, said Don-Quixote, that I meane to follow Amadis, by play ing here the despayred, wood, and furious man? To imitate likewise the valiant Or lando, where hee found the tokens by a Fountaine that Angelica the faire had abused he • selfe with Medozo, for greefe whereof hee ran mad, and pluckt up Trees by their roots, troubled the water of cleere Fountaines, slew Sheepheards, destroyed their Flocks, fi red the sheep- • olds, overthrew houses, trayled Mares after him, and committed a hundred thousand other insolencies worthy of eternall fame and memorie? And al though I meane not to imitate Roldan, or Orlands, or Rowland (for hee had all these names) exactly in every mad pranke that hee played: Yet will I doe it the best I can, in those things which shall seeme unto mee most essentiall. And perhaps I may rest contented with the only imitation of Amadis, who without indammaging any by his ravings, and only using these of feeling laments, ariving to as great fame thereby as any one whatsoever. I beleeve, replied Sancho, that the Knights which performed the like penances, were moved by some reasons to doe the like austerities and follies; but good Sir, what occa sion hath beene offered unto you to become madd? What Lady hath disdayned you? Or what arguments have you found, that the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso hath ever dallied with Moore or Christian? There is the point, answered our Knight, and therein con sists the perfection of mine affaires; for that a Knight Errant doe runne madd upon any just occasion, deserves neither prayse nor thanks; the wit is in waxing madd without cause, whereby my Mistresse may understand, that if drie I could doe this, what would I have done being watered? How much more seeing I have a just motive through the proli • e absence that I have made from my ever supremest Lady Dulcinea of Toboso? For as thou mightest have heard read in Marias Ambrosio his Sheepheard, To him that absent is, All things succeede amiss. So that friend Sancho, I would not have thee lavish time longer in advising, to let slip so rare, so happy and singular an imitation. I am madd, and will bee madd, untill thou returne againe with answere upon a Letter, which I meane to send with thee to my Lady Dulcinea; and if it bee such as my loyalty deserves, my madnesse and penance shall end; but if the contrary, I shall runne madd in good earnest, and bee in that state that I shall apprehend nor feele any thing. So that howsoever I bee answered, I shall issue out of the conflict and paine wherein thou leavest me by joying the good thou shalt bring mee, as wise, or not feeling the evill thou shalt denounce, as mad. But tell mee Sancho, keepest thou charily yet the helmet of Mambrino, which I saw thee take up from the ground the other day, when that ungratefull fellow thought to have brok en it into pieces, but could not; by which may be collected the excellent temper thereof? Sancho answered to this demand, saying, I cannot suffer or bear longer, Sir Knight of the Ill-favoured face, nor take patiently many things which you say; and I beginne to suspect by your words, that all that which you have said to mee of Chivalry, and of gaining Kingdomes and Empires, of bestowing Islands and other gifts and great things, as Knights Errant are wont, are all matters of ayre and lies, all couzenage or couzening, or how else you please to term it: for he that shall hear you name a Barbers Bason, Mambrino 's Helmet, and that you will not abandon that errour in more then four dayes; what other can he think, but that hee who affirms such a thing doth want wit and discretion? I carry the Bason in my Bagge all battered and boared, and will have it mended, and dresse my beard in it at home, if God shall doe me the favour that I may one day see my Wife and Barnes. Behold, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, I doe likewise swear, that thou haste the shallowest pate that ever any Squire had or hath in the World: is it possible, that in all the time thou hast gone with me, thou couldest not perceive, that all the Adven ters of Knights Errant doe appear Chimera's, follies, and desperate things, being quite contrary? Not that they are indeed such; but rather by reason that wee are still haunt ed by a crue of Inchanters, which change and transforme our acts making them seem what they please, according as they like to favour or annoy us. And so this which seems to thee a Barbers Bason, is in my conceit Mambrino his Helmet, and to another will appear in some other shape. And it is doubtlesly done by the profound Science of the wise man my friend, to make that seem a Bason, which really and truely is Mambrino 's Helmet; because that it being so precious a Jewell, all the world would pursue me to deprive me of it; but now seeing that it is to like a Barbers Bason, they indeavour not to gain it, as was cleerly shewed in him that thought to break it the other day, and would not carry it with him, but left it lying behinde him on the ground; for yfaith hee had never left it, did he know the worthinesse thereof. Keep it friend, for I need it not at this present, wherein I must rather di • arme my self of the Armes I weare, and remain as naked as I was at the hour of my birth, if I shall take the humour rather to imitate Orlando in doing of my penance, then Amadis. Whilest thus hee discoursed, hee arived to the foote of a loftie Mountaine, which stood like a hewn Rock, divided from all the rest, by the skyrt whereof glyded a smooth River, hemmed in on every side by a greene and flourishing Meadow, whose verdure did marveilously delight the greedy beholding eye. There were in it also many wilde Trees, and some plants and floures, which rendred the place much more pleasing. The Knight of the illfavored face made choice of this place to accomplish therein his penance, and therefore as soone as hee had viewed it, hee began to say with a loud voice, like a distracted man, these words ensuing. This is the place where the humor of mine eyes shall increase the liquid veines of this Chrystall Current, and my continu all and deepe sighes shall give perpetuall motion to the leaves of these mountanie Trees, in testimony of the paine which my oppressed heart doth suffer. O you, whosoever ye bee, Rusticall Gods, which have your Mansion in this inhabitable place, give care to the plaints of this unfortunate Lover, whom a long absence, and a few imagined suspi cions have conducted to deplore his state among these Desarts, and make him exclame on the rough condition of that Ingrate and Faire, who is the top, the su ••• , the peri od, terme and end of all humane beauty. O ye Napeas and Driades, which doe wont edly inhabite the Thickets and Groves, so may the nimble and lascyvious Satyres, by whom (although in vaine) you are beloved, never have power to interrupt your sweet rest, as you shall assist mee to lament my disasters, or at least attend them, whilest I dolefully breathe them. O Dulcinea of Toboso, the day of my night, the glory of my paine, North of my travells, and starre of my Fortunes; so heav'n enrich thee with the highest, whensoever thou shalt demand it, as thou wilt consider the place and passe, unto which thine absence hath conducted mee, and answere my faith and desires in com passionate and gracious manner. O solitary Trees (which shall from henceforward keepe company with my solitude) give tokens with the soft motion of your boughs, that my presence doth not dislike you. O thou my Squire, and gratefull companion in all prosperous and adverse successes, beare well away what thou shalt see mee doe here, to the end that thou mayest after promptly recount it as the totall cause of my ruine. And saying so, he alighted from Rozinante, and taking off in a trice his bridle and sad dle, he struck him on the buttock, saying, Hee gives thee Liberty that wants it himself; O horse! as famous for thy works as thou art unfortunate by thy Fates: Goe where thou pleasest; for thou bearest written in thy forehead, how that neither the Hippo griphon of Astolpho, nor the renowned Frontino, which cost Bradamant so deerly, could compare with thee for swiftnesse. When Sancho had viewed and heard his Lord speak thus, hee likewise said, Good be • ide him that freed us from the pains of unpannelling the gray Asse; for if he were here yfaith he should also have two or three claps on the buttocks, & a short Oration in his praise: yet if he were here, I would not permit any other to unpannell him, seeing there was no occasion why; for he good Beast was nothing subject to the passions of Love, or despair, no more then I, who was his Master when it pleased God: And in good sooth, Sir Knight of the Ill-favoured face, if my departure and your madnesle bee in good earnest, it will bee needfull to saddle Rozinante again, that he may supply the want of mine Asse; for it will shorten the time of my departure and return again: And if I make my voyage afoot, I know not when I shall arrive there, or return here back unto you; for in good earnest I am a very ill footman. Let it be as thou likest, quoth Don-Quixote, for thy designe displeaseth me nothing; and therefore I resolve that thou shalt depart from hence after three dayes; for in the mean space thou shalt behold what I will doe and say for my Ladies sake, to the end thou mayest tell it to her. Why, quoth Sancho, what more can I view then that which I have seen already? Thou art altogether wide of the matter, answered Don-Quixote, for I must yet teare mine apparrell, throw away mine Armour, and beat my head about these Rocks, with many other things of that kinde that will strike thee into admiration. Let me beseech you, quoth Sancho, see well how you give your self those knocks about the Rocks; for you might happen upon some one so ungracious a Rock, as at the first rap would dissove all the whole Machina of your Adventures and Pen ance; and therefore I would be of opinion, seeing that you doe hold it necessary that some knocks be given with the head, and that this enterprize cannot be accomplished without them, that you content your self, seeing that all is but seigned, counterfeited, and a Jest, that you should, I say, content your self with striking it on the water, or on some other soft thing, as Cotten, or Wooll, and leave to my charge the exaggera tion thereof; for I will tell to my Lady, that you strike • your head against the point of a Rock which was harder then a Diamond. I thank thee, Sancho, for thy good will, quoth Don-Quixote; but I can assure thee that all these things which I doe, are no Jests, but very serious Earnests; for otherwise wee should transgresse the Statutes of Chivalry, which command us not to avouch any untruth, on pain of relapse, and to doe one thing for another, is as much as to lye. So that my head-knocks must be true, firm, and sound ones, without any sophisticall or fantasticall shaddow: and it will be requisite that thou leave me some lint to cure me, seeing that Fortune hath deprived us of the Balsamum which we lost. It was worse to have lost the Asse, quoth Sancho, seeing that at once with him we have lost our Lint, and all our other provision: and I intreat you most earnestly not to name again that accursed drink; for in only hearing it mentioned, you not only turn my guts in me, but also my soul. And I request you moreover, to make account that the terme of three dayes is already expired, wherein you would have me take notice of your fol lies; for I declare them already for seen, and will tell wonders to my Lady; where fore goe write your Letter, and dispatch me with all haste; for I long already to re turn, and take you out of this Purgatory wherein I leave you. Doest thou call it a Purgatory, Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? Thou had'st done better, had'st thou called it Hell; or rather worse, if there be any thing worse then that. I call it so (quoth Sancho) Quia in inferno nulla est retentio, as I have heard say. I unddrstand not, said Don-Quixote, what retentio meaneth. Retentio (quoth Sancho) is that, whosoever is in Hell, never comes, nor can come out of it. Which shall fall out contrary in your person, or my feet shall goe ill, if I may carry spurs to quicken Rozinante: and that I may safely arrive before my Lady Dulcinea in To boso, for I will recount unto her such strange things of your follies and madnesse (for they be all one) that you have, and doe daily, as I will make her as soft as a Glove, although I found her at the first harder then a Cork tree: with whose sweet and hony answer, I will return in the ayre as speedily as a Witch, and take you out of this Purgatory, which is no Hell, although it seems one, seeing there is hope to escap from it; which as I have said, they want which are in hell: and I beleeve you will not contradict me herein. Thou hast reason, answered The Knight of the illfavoured face, but how shall I write the Letter, and the warrant for the receipt of the Colts also? added Sancho. All shall bee inserted together, quoth Don-Quixote; and seeing wee have no paper, wee may doe well, imitating the ancient men of times past, to write our minde in the leaves of Trees or waxe, yet waxe is as hard to bee found here as paper. But now that I remem ber my selse, I know where wee may write our minde well, and more then well, to wit, in Cardinio's Tablets, and thou shalt have care to cause the letters to bee written out againe fairely, in the first Village wherein thou shalt finde a Schoole master; or if such a one bee wanting, by the Cleark of the Church; and beware in any sort that thou give it not to a Notary or Court-Clearke to bee copied, for they write such an intan gling-confounding processe Letter, as Satan himself would scarce bee able to reade it. And how shall wee doe for want of your name and subscription, quoth Sancho? Why answered Don-Quixote, Amadis was never wont to subscribe to his Letters. I, but the warrant to receive the three Asses must forcibly bee subsigned; and if it should af terward bee copied, they would say the former is false, and so I shall rest without my Colts, The Warrant shall bee written and firmed with my hand in the Tablets, which as soone as my Neece shall see, shee shall make no difficulty to deliver thee them. And as concerning the love-letter, thou shalt put this subscription to it; Yours untill death, The Knight of the ill-favored face; and it makes no matter though it bee written by any stranger; for as much as I can remember, Dulcinea can neyther write nor read, nor hath shee seene any Letter, no, not so much as a Character of my writing all the dayes of her life: For my love and hers have beene ever Platonicall, never extending them selves farther then to an honest regard and view the one of the other, and even this same so rarely, as I dare boldly sweare, that in these dozen yeeres which I love her more deerely then the light of these mine eyes, which the earth shall one day devour. I have not seen her four times, and perhaps of those same four times shee hath scarce perceived once that I beheld her. Such is the case and closenesse wherewithall her parents Lorenco Corcuelo and her Mother Aldonca Nogales, have brought her up. Ta, ta, quoth Sancho, that the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso is Lorenco Corcuelo his Daughter, called by another name Aldonca Loreno? The same is shee, quoth Don-Quixote, and it is shee that merits to bee Empresse of the vast Universe. I know her very well, replyed Sancho, and I dare say, that she can throw an Iron barr as well as any the strongest Lad in our Parish. I vow by the giver, that 'tis a Wench of the mark, tall and stout, and so sturdy withall, that she will bring her chinn out of the mire, in despite of any Knight Errant, or that shall err, that shall honour her as his Lady. Out upon her, what a strength and voyce shee hath? I saw her on a day stand on the topp of the Church steeple, to call certain servants of her Fathers, that laboured in a fallow field; and although they were half a league from thence, they heard her as well as if they were at the foot of the Steeple: And the best that is in her is, that shee is nothing coy; for shee hath a very great smack of Courtship, and playes with every one, and Jibes and Jests at them all. And now I affirm, Sir Knight of the Ill • favoured face, that not only you may, and ought to commit raving follies for her sake; but eke you may with just title also despair and hang your self: For none shall hear thereof, but will say you did very well, although the Divell carried you away. And fain would I bee gone, if it were for nothing else but to see her: for it is many a day since I saw her, and I am sure shee is changed by this; for womens beauty is much impaired by going alwaies to the field, exposed to the Sunne and weather. And I will now, Sir Don-Quixote, confesse a truth unto you, that I have lived untill now in a marvellous errour, thinking well and faithfully that the Lady Dulcinea was some great Princesse, on whom you were enamoured, or such a person as merited those rich presents which you bestowed on her, as well of the Biscaines, as of the Slaves, and many others that ought to bee, as I suppose, correspondent to the many victories which you have gained, both now and in the time that I was not your Squire. But pondering well the matter, I cannot conceive why the Lady Aldonea Lorenco; I mean the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, of these should care whether these vanquished men which you send or shall send, doe goe and kneel before her. For it may befall, that she at the very time of their arrivall bee combing of Flax or threshing in the Barn, whereat they would be ashamed, and shee likewise laugh, and bee somewhat displeased at the present. I have oft told thee, Sancho, many times that thou art too great a prattler, quoth Don-Quixote, and although thou hast but a grosse wit, yet now and then thy frumps nip • : But to the end thou mayest perceive the faultinesse of thy brain, and my discre tion, I will tell thee a short History, which is this: There was once a widow fair, young, free, rich, and withall very pleasant and jocund, that fell in Love with a cer tain round and well-set servent of a Colledge: his Regent came to understand it; and therefore said on a day to the Widow, by the way of fraternall correction, Mistriss, I doe greatly marvell, and not without occasion, that a woman so principall, so beau tifull, so rich, and specially so wittie, could make so ill a choise, as to waxe enamoured on so foul, so base, and foolish a man as such a one, we having in this house so many Masters of Art, Graduates and Divines, amongst whom you might have made choise as among Peers, saying. I will take this, and I will not have that. But shee answered him thus, with a very pleasant and good grace: You are, Sir, greatly deceived, if you deem that I have made an ill choise in such a one, let him seem never so great a fool: for to the purpose that I mean to use him, hee knows as much or rather more Philo sophy then Aristotle. And so, Sancho, is likewise Dulcinea of Toboso as much worth as the highest Princesse of the World, for the effect I mean to use her: For all the Poets which celebrate certain Ladies at pleasure, thinkest thou that they all had Mi strisses? No: Doest thou believe that the Amarillis, the Files, Silvias, Dianas, Galateas, Alcidas, and others such like, wherewithall the Books, Ditties, Barbers Shops, and Theaters are filled, were truely Ladies of flesh and bones, and their Mistrisses which have and doe celebrate them thus? No certainly, but were for the greater part • eigned, to serve as a subject of their Verses, to the end the Authours might be ac counted amorous, and men of courage enough to bee such. And thus it is also suffi cient for me to believe and think that the good Aldonca Lorenco is fair and honest: As for her Parentage it matters but little; for none will send to take information thereof, to give to her an habit; and I make account of her as of the greatest Princesse in the World: For thou oughtest to know, Sancho, if thou knowest it not already, that two things alone incite men to love more then all things else, and those be sur passing beauty, and a good name: And both these things are found in Dulcinea in their prime; For none can equall her in fairnesse, and few come neer her for a good report. And for a finall conclusion, I imagine, that all that which I say, is really so, without adding or taking ought away. And I doe imagine her in my fantasie to bee such, as I could with her, as well in beauty as principality: And neither can Helen approach, nor Lucrece come neer her; no, nor any of those other famous women, Greek, Barbarous, or Latine, of foregoing ages. And let every one say what hee pleaseth; For though I should be reprehended for this by the ignorant, yet shall I not therefore be chastised by the more observant and rigorous sort of men. I avouch, quoth Sancho, that you have great reason in all that you say, and that I am my self a very Asse, But alas! why doe I name an Asse with my mouth, seeing one should not mention a Rope in ones house that was hanged? but give me the Letter, and farewell, for I will change. With that Don-Quixote drew out his Tablets, and going aside, began to indite his Letter with great gravity; which ended, he called Sancho to read it to him, to the end he might bear it away in memory, left by chance hee did lose the Tablets on the way, for such were his crosse fortunes, as made him fear every event. To which Sancho answered, saying, Write it there twice or thrice in the book, and give me it after; for I will carry it safely by Gods grace. For to think that I will be able ever to take it by rote, is a great folly; for my memory is so short, as I doe many times forget mine own name: But yet for all that read it to me, good Sir; for I would bee glad to hear it, as a thing which I suppose to be as excellent, as if it were cast in a mould. Hear it then, said Don-Quixote, for thus it sayes. The Letter of DON-QUIXOTE to DULCINEA of Toboso. Soveraign Ladie, THE wounded by the poynt of absence, and the hurt by the Darts of thy heart, sweetest Dulcinea of Toboso, doth send thee that health which hee wanteth himself. If thy beauty disdain me; if thy valour turn not to my benefit; if thy disdains con vert themselves to my harm, maugre all my patience, I shall bee ill able to sustein this care; which, besides that it is violent, is also too durable. My good Squire, Sancho, will give thee certain relation, O beautifull, ingrate, and my deerest beloved enemy of the State wherein I remain for thy sake: If thou please to favour me, I am thine; and if not, doe what thou likest: For by ending of my life, I shall both satisfie thy Cruelty and my Desires. Thine untill death, The Knight of the Illfavored face. By my fathers life, quoth Sancho, when he heard the Letter, it is the highest thing that ever I heard. Good God • how well doe you say every thing in it? and how excel lently have you applyed the subscription of The Knight of the Ill-favoured face? I say a gain in good earnest that you are the Divell himself, and there's nothing but you know it. All is necessary, answered Don-Quixote, for the Office that I professe. Put then (quoth Sancho) in the other side of that leafe, the Warrant of the three Colts, and firm it with a legible Letter, that they may know it at the first sight. I am pleased, said Don-Quixote; and so writing it, he read it after to Sancho, and it said thus. YOV shall please, good Neece, for this first of Colts, to deliver unto my Squire Sancho Pança, three of the five that I left at home, and are in your charge; the which three Colts I command to bee delivered to him, for as many others counted and received here: for with this, and his acquittance, they shall bee justly delivered. Given in the bowels of Sierra Morena, the two and twentieth of August, of this present yeer. It goes very well (quoth Sancho; ) subsign it therefore, I pray you. It needs no seal (quoth Don-Quixote ) but only my Rubrick, which is as valible as if it were sub scribed; not only for three Asses, but also for three hundred. My trust is in you, an swered Sancho, permit me, for I will goe saddle Rozinante, and prepare your self to give me your blessing; for I purpose presently to depart before I see any madd prank of yours; for I will say that I saw you play so many, as no more can bee desired. I will have thee stay, Sancho (and that because it is requisite) at least to see me stark naked, playing a dozen or two of raving tricks; for I will dispatch them in lesse then half an hour; because that thou having viewed them with thine own eyes, mayest safely swear all the rest that thou pleasest to add; and I assure thee, that thou canst not tell so many as I mean to perform. Let me intreat you, good Sir, that I may not see you naked, for it will turn my stomack, and I shall not bee able to keep my self from weeping; and my head is yet so sore since yester night through my lamentations, for the losse of the gray beast, as I am not strong enough yet to indure new plaints; but if your plea sure bee such, as I must necessarily see some follies, doe them in Ioves name in your clothes briefly, and such as are most necessary; chiefly, seeing none of these things are requisite for me: And as I have said, wee might excuse time (that shall now bee la vished in these trifles) to return speedily with the news you desire and deserve so much. And if not, let the • ady Dulcinea provide her self well; for if shee answer not accor ding to reason, I make a solemn vow to him that I may, that I'le make her disgorge out of her stomack a good answer, with very kicks and fists: For how can it bee suffered that so famous a Knight Errant as your self should thus runn out of his wits, without, nor for what, for one? Let not the Gentlewomen constrain me to say the rest; for I will out with it, and venter all upon twelve, although it never were sold. In good faith, Sancho (quoth Don-Quixote) I think thou art grown as mad as my self. I am not so mad, replyed Sancho, but I am more cholerick. But setting that aside, say, What will you eat untill my return? Doe you mean to doe as Cardenio, and take by the high-wayes side perforce from the Sheepheards? Care thou not for that, replyed Don-Quixote; for although I had it, yet would I not eat any other thing then the Hearbs and Fruits that this Field and Trees doe yield; for the perfection of mine affair consists in fasting, and the exercise of other castigations. To this Sancho replyed, Doe you know what I fear? that I shall not finde the way to you again here where I leave you, it is so difficult and obscure. Take well the marks, and I will en devour to keep here-about, quoth Don-Quixote, untill thou come back again; and will moreover about the time of thy return mount to the tops of these high Rocks, to see whether thou appearest: but thou shouldest doe best of all, to the end thou mayest not stay and misse me, to cut down here and there certain boughs, and strew them on the way as thou goest, untill thou beest out in the Plains, and those may after serve thee as bounds and marks, by which thou mayest again finde me when thou returnest, in imitation of the clue of Theses Labyrinth. I will doe so, quoth Sancho, and then cutting downe certaine boughes, hee deman ded his Lords blessing, and departed not without teares on both sides. And mount ing upon Rozinante, whom Don-Quixote commended very seriously to his care, that hee should tender him as hee would his owne person, hee made on towards the Plaines, strewing here and there on the way his branches, as his Master had advised him; and with that departed, although his Lord importuned him to behold two or three follies ere hee went away: But scarce had hee gone a hundred paces, when hee returned and said, I say Sir, that you said well, that to the end I might sweare with a safe Consci ence that I have seene you play these mad tricks, it were necessary that at least I see you doe one, although that of your abode here, is one great enough. Did not I tell thee so, quoth Don-Quixote? Stay Sancho, for I will doe it in the space of a Creede; and taking off with all haste his ho • e, hee remained the halfe of him maked, and did instantly give two or three jerks in the ayre, and two tumbles ove • and over on the ground, with his head downeward, and his legs aloft, where hee dis covered such things, as Sancho, because he would not see them againe, turned the bri dle and rode away, resting contented and satisfied that hee might sweare that his Lord was madd. And so wee will leave him travelling on his way, untill his returne, which was very soone after. CHAP. XII. Wherein are prosecuted the prankes played by Don-Quixote in his amorous humors, in the Mountaines of Sierra Mo rena. A ND turning to recount what The Knight of the ill-favoured face did when hee was all alone, the History sayes, that after Don-Quixote had ended his friskes and leapes, naked from the gyrdle downward, and from that upward aparelled; seeing that his Squire Sancho was gone, and would behold no more of his mad pranks; hee ascended to the top of a high Rock, and began there to thinke on that whereon hee had thought often times before, without ever making a full reso lution therein, to wit, whether were it better to imitate Orlando in his unmeasurable furies, then Amadis in his melancholy moodes; and speaking to himselfe would say, If Orlando was so valorous and good a Knight, as men say, what wonder seeing in fine hee was inchanted and could not bee slaine, if it were not by clapping a pinne to the soale of his foot; and therefore did weare shooes still that had seven folds of yron in the soales? although these his draughts stood him in no stead at Roncesuales against Ber nardo del Carpio, which understanding them, pressed him to death betweene his armes. But leaving his valour apart, let us come to the losing of his wits, which it is certaine hee lost through the signes hee found in the Forrest, and by the news that the Sheep-heard gave unto him, that Angelica had slept more then two noone-tydes with the lit tle Moore Medoro of the curled locks, him that was Page to King Argamante: and if hee understood this, and knew his Lady had played beside the cushion, what wonder was it that hee should runne madd? But how can I imitate him in his furies, if I can not imitate him in their occasion? for I dare sweare for my Dulcinea of Toboso, that all the dayes of her life shee hath not seene one Moore, even in his owne attyre as hee is, and shee is now right as her mother bore her: and I should doe her a manifest wrong, if upon any false suspicion I should turne madd, of that kinde of folly that did distract furious Orlando. On the otherside, I see that Amadis du Gaule, without losing his wits, or using a ny other raving tricke, gained as great fame of being amorous, as any one else whatso ever. For that which his Historie recites was none other, then that seeing himself dis dained by his Lady Oriana, who had commanded him to withdraw himselfe from her presence, and not appeare againe in it untill shee pleased: hee retyred himselfe in the company of a certaine Hermit, to the poore-Rock, and there crammed himselfe with weeping, untill that heav'n assisted him in the midst of his greatest cares and necessitie. And this being true, as it is, why should I take now the paines to stripe my selfe all na ked, and offend these Trees, which never yet did mee any harme? Nor have I any reason to trouble the cleere waters of these brookes, which must give mee drinke when I am thirsty. Let the remembrance of Amadis live, and bee imitated in ev'ry thing as much as may bee, by Don-Quixote of the Mancha: of whom may bee said what was said of the other, that though hee atchieved not great things, yet did hee die in their pursuite. And though I am not contemned or disdained by my Dulcinea, yet it is sufficient as I have said already, that I bee absent from her; therefore hands to your take, and yee famous actions of Amadis, occur to my remembrance, and instruct me where I may best beginne to imitate you. Yet I know already, that the greatest thing hee did use was Prayer, and so will I. And saying so, hee made him a payre of Beades of great Gaules, and was very much vexed in minde for want of an Eremite, who might heare his confession, and comfort him in his afflictions; and therefore did enter taine himselfe walking up and downe the little greene field, writing and graving in the rindes of Trees, and on the smoothe sands many verses, all accommodated to his sad nesse, and some of them in the prayse of Dulcinea, But those that were found tho rowly finished, and were legible after his owne finding againe in that place, were only these ensuing. OYe Plants, ye Hearbs, and ye Trees, That flourish in this pleasant site; In loftie and verdant degrees, If my harmes doe you not delight, Hea • e my holy Plaints, which are these. And let not my griefe you molest, Though it ever so feelingly went, Since here for to pay your rest, Don-Quixote his teares hath addrest, Dulcineaes want to lament of Toboso. In this very place was first spied The loyallest Lover and true, Who himselfe from his Lady did • ide: But yet felt his sorrowes anew, Not knowing whence they might 〈◊〉 Love doth him cruelly wrest; With a passion of evill discent; Which rob'd Don-Quixote of rest, Till a pipe with teares was full prest, Dulcineaes want to lament of Toboso. Hee searching Adventures blinde, Among these dearne Woods and Rocks, Still curseth an pi • ttilesse mind; For a Wretch amidst bushie lo • ks, And Crags may misfortunes find. Love, with his whip, wounded his brest, And not with soft hands him pent, And when hee his Noddle had prest, Don-Quixote his teares did forth wrest, Dulcineaes want to lament of Toboso. The addition of Toboso to the name of Dulcinea, did not cause small laughter in those which found the Verses recited, because they imagined that Don-Quixote conceived, that if in the naming of Dulcinea hee did not also add that Of Toboso, the time could not bee understood; and in truth it was so, as hee himself did afterward confesse. Hee composed many others; but as we have related, none could be well copied or found intire but these three Stanza's. In this, and in sighing, and invoking the Fa • nes and Silvanes of these woods, and the Nymphs of the adjoyning streams, with the doloro • s and hollow Ecch • , that it would answer, and they consort and listen unto him; and in the search of some hearbs to sustein his languishing forces, he entertained himself all the time of Sancho his absence; who had he staid three weeks away as hee did but three dayes, The Knight of the Ill-favoured face should have remained so disfigured, as the very mother that bore him would not have known him. But now it is congruent, that leaving him swallowed in the gulfs of sorrow and verifying, we turn and recount what hapned to Sancho Panca in his Embassage; which was, that issuing out to the high-way, hee presently took that which led towards Toboso, and arrived the next day following to the Inn where the disgrace of the Coverlet befell him; and scarce had he well espied it, but presently hee imagined that he was once again flying in the aire; and therefore would not enter into it, although his arrivall was at such an hour as hee both might and ought to have stayed, being dinner time, and he himself likewise possest with a marvelous longing to taste some warme meat; for many dayes past he had fed altogether on cold Viands. This desire enforced him to approach to the Inn, remaining still doubtfull, notwithstanding, whether hee should enter into it or no. And as hee stood thus suspended, there issued out of the Inn two persons which presently knew him, and the one said to the other, Tell me, Master Licentiate, is not that horseman that rides there Sancho Panca, hee whom our Adventurers old woman said departed with her Master for his Squire? It is, quoth the Licentiat, and that is our Don-Quixote his horse: And they knew him so well, as those that were the Curate and Barber of his own Village, and were those that made the search and formall pro cesse against the Books of Chivalry: and therefore as soon as they had taken full no tice of Sancho Panca and Rozinante, desirous to learn news of Don-Quixote, they drew neer unto him; and the Curate called him by his name, saying, Friend Sancho Panca, where is your Master? Sancho Panca knew them instantly, and desirous to conceal the place and manner wherein his Lord remained, did answer them, that his Master was in a certain place with-held by affairs for a few dayes, that were of great consequence and concerned him very much, and that hee durst not for both his eyes discover the place to them. No, no (quoth the Barber) Sancho Panca, if thou doest not tell us where hee sojourneth, wee must imagine (as wee doe already) that thou hast rob'd and slain him, specially seeing thou commest thus on his horse; and therefore thou must in good faith get us the horses owner, or else stand to thine answer. Your threats fear me nothing, quoth Sancho, for I am not a man that Robs or Murthers any one: every man is slain by his destinie, or by God that made him. My Lord remains doing of penance in the midest of this Mountain • with very great pleasure. And then hee presently recounted unto them, from the beginning to the end, the fashion wherein he had left him, the Adventures which had befaln, and how hee carried a Letter to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, who was Larenco Corcuelo his daughter, of whom his Lord was enamoured up to the Livers. Both of them stood greatly admired at Sancho 's relation, and although they knew Don-Quixote 's madnesse already, and the kinde thereof, yet as often as they heard speak thereof, they rested newly amazed. They requested Sancho to shew them the Letter that he carried to the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. Hee told them that it was written in Tablets, and that hee had expresse order from his Lord to have it fairly copied out in paper, at the first Village whereunto he should arrive. To which the Curate answered, bidding shew it unto him, and he would write out the copie very fairly. Then Sancho thrust his hand into his bosome, and searched the little book, but could not finde it, nor should not, though hee had searched till Dooms-day; for it was in Don-Quixote 's power, who gave it not to him, nor did hee ever remember to demand it. When Sancho perceived that the book was lost, hee waxed as wan & pale as a dead man, and turning again very speedily to feel all the parts of his body, hee saw cleerly that it could not bee found; and therefore without making any more adoe, hee laid hold on his own beard with both his fists, and drew almost the one half of the hair away, and afterward bestowed on his face and nose in a momento half a dozen such cuffs, as hee bathed them all in blood: which the Curate and Barber beholding, they asked him what had befalne him, that hee intreated himself so ill? What should befall me, an swered swered Sancho, but that I have lost at one hand, and in an instant three Colts, whereof the least was like a Castle? How so, quoth the Barber? Marry, said Sancho, I have lost the Tablets wherein were written Dulcineas Letter, and a schedule of my Lords, addrest to his Neece, wherein hee commanded her to deliver unto me three Colts, of four or five that remained in his house: And saying so, hee recounted the losse of his gray Asse: The Curate comforted him, and said, that as soon as his Lord were found, hee would deal with him to renew his grant, and write it in Paper, according to the common use and practise; for as much as those which were written in Tablets, were of no value, and would never be accepted nor accomplished. With this Sancho took courage, and said, if that was so, he cared not much for the losse of Dulcineas Letter; for he knew it almost all by rote. Say it then, Sancho, quoth the Barber, and we will after write it. Then Sancho stood still and began to scratch his head, to call the Letter to memory, and now would hee stand upon one leg, and now upon another. Sometimes hee looked on the earth, other whiles upon Heaven, and after he had gnawn off almost the half of one of his nails, and held them all the while suspended, expecting his recitall thereof, he said after a long pause; On my soul, Ma ster Licentiate, I give to the Divell any thing that I can remember of that Letter, al though the beginning was thus; High and un • avorie Lady. I warrant you, quoth the Barber, he said not, but super-humane or Sovereigne Ladie. It is so, quoth Sancho, and presently followed, if I well remember. He that is woun ded and wants sleepe, and the hurt man doth kisse your worships hands, ingrate and very scornefull faire. And thus hee went roving untill hee ended in Yours untill death, The Knight of the ill-favoured face. Both of them tooke great delight to see Sancho 's good memorie, and praysed it to him very much, and requested him to repeate the Letter once or twice more to them, that they might also beare it in memorie, to write it at the due season. Sancho turned to recite it againe and againe, and at every repetition said other three thousand Errors. And after this hee told other things of his Lord, but spoke not a word of his owne tossing in a Coverlet, which had befaln him in that Inne, into which hee refused to enter. Hee added besides, how his Lord, in bringing him a good dispatch from his Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, would forthwith set out to endeavour how hee might become an Emperour, or at the least a Monarch; for they had so agreed betweene themselves both, and it was a very easie matter for him to become one, such was the valour of his Person and strength of his arme. And that when hee were one, hee would procure him a good marriage; for by that time hee should bee a widower at the least; and hee would give him one of the Emperours Ladies to wife, that were an Inheritrix of some great and rich state on the firme land, for now hee would have no more Islands. And all this was related so seriously by Sancho, and so in his perfect sence, hee scratching his nose ever and anon as hee spoke, so as the two were stricken into a new amazement, pondering the vehemencie of Don-Quixotes frenzie, which carried quite away with it, in that sort, the judgement of that poore man, but would not labour to dispossesse him of that Errour, because it seemed to them, that since it did not hurt his Conscience, it was better to leave him in it; that the recitall of his fol lies might turn to great recreation, and therefore exhorted him to pray for the health of his Lord; for it was a very possible and contingent thing to arive in the processe of time to the dignity of an Emperor, as he said, or at least, to that of an Archbishop, or other calling equivalent to it. Then Sancho demanded of them, Sirs, if fortune should turne our affaires to another course, in such sort as my Lord abandoning the purpose to purchase an Empire, would take in his head that of becomming a Cardinall, I would faine learne of you here, what Cardinalls-Errant are wont to give to their Squires? They are wont to give them (quoth the Curate) some simple Benefice, or some Parsonage, or to make them Clerkes or Sextons, or Vergers of some Church, whose living amount to a good penny rent, beside the profit of the Altar, which is oft-times as much more. For that it is requisite (quoth Sancho) that the Squire bee not married, and that hee know how to helpe Masse at least: and if that bee so unfortunate I, that both am married, and knows not besides the first letter of the A, B, C. what will then become of me, if my Master take-the humour to bee an Arch-Bishop, and not an Emperour, as is the Custome and use of Knights Errant? Doe not afflict thy minde for that, friend Sancho (quoth the Barber) for wee will deal with thy Lord here, and wee will counsell him, yea wee will urge it to him as a matter of con science, that hee become an Emperour, and not an Arch-Bishop; for it will bee more easie for him to bee such a one, by reason that hee is more valorous then learned. So me thinks (quoth Sancho) although I know he hath ability enough for all. That which I mean to doe for my part is, I will pray unto our Lord to conduct him to that place wherein he may serve him best, and give me greatest rewards. Thou speakest like a discreet man (quoth the Curate) and thou shalt doe therein the dutie of a good Chri stian. But that which wee must indeavour now, is to devise how wee may winn thy Lord from prosecuting that unprofitable penance hee hath in hand, as thou sayest: And to the end wee may think on the manner how, and eat our dinner withall, seeing it is time, let us all enter into the Inn. Sancho bade them goe in, and hee would stay for them at the door, and that he would after tell them the reason why he had no minde to enter, neither was it in any sort convenient that he should; but he intreated them to bring him somewhat forth to eat that were warm, and some Provand for Rozinante. With that they departed into the lodging, and within a while after the Barber brought forth unto him some meat: And the Curate and the Barber, after having pondered well with themselves what course they were to take to attain their design; the Curate fell on a device very fit both for Don-Quixotes humour, and also to bring their purpose to passe; and was, as he told the Barber, that hee had bethought him, to apparell him self like a Lady Adventurous, and that he therefore should doe the best that he could to fit himself like a Squire, and that they would goe in that habit to the place where Don-Quixote sojourned, feigning that she was an afflicted and distressed Damzell, and would demand a boon of him, which hee as a valorous Knight Errant would in no wise denye her; and that the gift which hee meaned to desire, was to intreat her to follow her where she would carry him, to right a wrong which a naughty Knight had done unto her; and that shee would besides pray him not to command her to unmask her self, or inquire any thing of her estate, untill hee had done her that right • against that bad Knight. And by this means he certainly hoped that Don-Quixote would grant all that he requested in this manner: And in this sort they would fetch him from thence and bring him to his Village, where they would labour with all their power, to see whether his extravagant frenzie could bee recovered by any remedy. CHAP. XIII. How the Curate and the Barber put their Designe in practise, with many other things, worthy to be recorded in this famous History. T HE Curates invention disliked not the Barber, but rather pleased him so well as they presently put it in execution. They borrowed there fore of the Inn-keepers wife a Gown and a Kerchief, leaving her in pawn thereof a fair new Cassock of the Curates. The Barber made him a great beard of a pyed Oxes tayle, wherein the Inn-keeper was wont to hang his Horse-combe. The Hostesse demanded of them the occasion why they would use these things? The Curate recoun ted in brief reasons of Don-Quixotes madnesse, and how that disguisement was requisite, to bring him away from the Mountain, wherein at that present he made his abode. Presently the Inn-keeper and his wife remembred themselves how hee had been their guest, and of his Balsamum, and was the tossed Squires Lord; and then they rehearsed again to the Curate all that had passed between him and them in that Inn, without omitting the accident that had befallen Sancho himself; and in conclusion the Hostesse tricked up the Curate so handsomely, as there could bee no more de • ired; for she at tired him in a Gown of broad-cloth, laid over with guards of black Velvet, each being a span bredth, full of gashes and cuts; the bodies and sleeves of green Velvet, welted with white sattin; which gown and doublet, as I suspect, were both made in the time of of King Bamba. The Curate would not permit them to vaile and be kerchif him, but set on his head a white-quilted-linnen-night-cap, which hee carried for the night, and girded his fore-head with a black Taffata garter, and with the other hee masked his face wherewithall he covered his beard and visage very neatly; then did hee incask his pate in his hat, which was so broad, as it might serve him excellently for a Quitasoll; and lapping himself up handsomly in his long cloak, hee went to horse, and rode as wo men use. Then mounted the Barber likewise on his Mule, with his beard hanging down to the girdle, half red and half white, as that which as wee have said was made of the taile of a pyed coloured Oxe: then taking leave of them all, and of the good Mari tornes, who promised (although a sinner) to say a Rosary to their intention, to the end that God might give them good successe, in so Christian and difficult an adventure, as that which they undertooke. But scarce were they gone out of the Inne, when the Curate begann to dread a little that he had done ill, in apparrelling himself in that wise, accounting it a very indecent thing, that a Priest should dight himself so, although the matter concerned him never so much. And acquainting the Barber with his sur mise, hee intreated him that they might change attires, seeing it was much more just that hee, because a Lay-man, should faine the oppressed Lady, and himself would be come his Squire; for so his dignitie would be less prophaned; to which if he would not condescend, he resolved to passe on no farther, although the Divell should carrie therefore Don-Quixote away. Sancho came over to them about this season; and seeing them in that habit hee could not contain his laughter. The Barber (to bee brief) did all that which the Curate pleased, and making thus an exchange of inventions, the Curate instructed him how hee should behave himself, and what words he should use to Don-Quixote to press and move him to come away with him and forsake the pro pension and love of that place which hee had chosen to perform his vain penance. The Barber answered, that he would set every thing in his due poynt and perfection, though he had never lessoned him; but would not set on the array, untill they came neer to the place where Don-Quixote abode; and therefore folded up his clothes, and Master Parson his beard, and forthwith went on their way, Sancho Panca playing the guide, who recounted at large to them all that had hapned with the mad-man whom they found in the Mountain; concealing notwithstanding the booty of the Malet, with the other things found therein: for although otherwise most simple, yet was our young man an ordinary vice of fools, and had a spice of covetousness. They arrived the next day following to the place where Sancho had left the tokens of boughs, to finde that wherein his Master sojourned: and having taken notice thereof, hee said unto them that that was the entry; and therefore they might doe well to appar rell themselves, if by change that might be a mean to procure his Lords liberty; for they had told him already, that on their going and apparrelling in that manner consisted wholly the hope of freeing his Lord, out-of that wretched life hee had chosen; and therefore did charge him on his life, not to reveal to his Lord in any case what they were, nor seem in any sort to know them: and that if he demanded (as they were sure hee would) whether hee had delivered his Letter to Dulcinea, hee should say hee did, and that by reason she could not read, shee answered him by word of mouth, saying, that shee commanded, under pain of her indignation, that presently abandoning so austere a life, hee would come and see her; for this was most requisite, to the end that moved therewithall, and by what they meant likewise to say unto him, they made cer tain account to reduce him to a better life; and would besides perswade him to that course instantly, which might set him in the way to become an Emperour or Monarch; for as concerning the being an Archbishoppe he needed not to feare it at all. Sancho listned to all the talke and instruction, and bore them away well in memorie, and gave them great thanks for the intention they had to counsell his Lord to become an Emperour, and not an Archbishop; for as hee said, hee imagined in his simple judge ment, that an Emperour was of more abilitie to reward his Squire then an Archbishop Errant. Hee likewise added, that hee thought it were necessarie hee went somwhat be fore them to search him, and deliver his Ladies answere; for perhaps it alone would be sufficient to fetch him out of that place, without puting them to any farther paines. They liked of Sancho Pancaes device, and therefore determined to expect him untill his return with the news of finding his Master. With that Sancho entred in by the Clifts of the Rocks (leaving them both behinde together) by which ran a little smoothe streame, to which other Rocks, and some trees that grew neere unto it, made a fresh and plea sing shadow. The heats, and the day wherein they arived there, was one of those of the moneth of August, when in those places the heate is intolerable: the hour, a bout three in the afternoon. All which did render the place more gratefull, and invited them to remain therein untill Sancho's return. Both therefore resting there quietly under the shadow, there arrived to their hearing the sound of a voyce, which without being accompanied by any instrument, did resound so sweet and melodi ously, as they remained greatly admired, because they esteemed not that to be a place wherein any so good a Musician might make his abode. For although it is usually said, that in the Woods and Fields are found Shepheards of excellent voyces, yet is this rather a Poeticall indeerment, then an approved truth; and most of all when they perceived that the verses they heard him singing were not of rustick composition, but rather of delicate and Courtly invention. The truth whereof is confirmed by the verses, which were these: WHo doth my Weale diminish thus and staine? Disdaine. And say by whom, my woes augmented be? By Iealousie. And who my patience doth by triall wrong? An absence long. If that be so then for my grievous wrong, No remedie at all I may obtain • Since my best hopes I cruelly finde slain By Disdain, Iealousie, and Absence long. Who in my minde, those dolours still doth move? Dire Love. And who my glories ebb doth most importune? Fortune. And to my Plaints, by whom increase is giv'n? By Heav'n. If that be so, then my mistrust jumps ev'n, That of my wondrous evill I must die; Since in my harme joyn'd and united be, Love, wavering Fortune, and a rig'rous Heaven. Who better hap can unto me bequeath? Death. From whom his favours doth not Love estrange? From change. And his too serious harms, who cureth wholy? Folly. If that bee so, it is no wisedome truly, To think by humane means to cure that care, Where th'only Antidotes, and Med'cines are, Desired Death, light Change, and endlesse Folly. The hour, the time, the solitarinesse of the place, voice, and art of him that sung, struck wonder and delight in the Hearers mindes, which remained still quiet, listning whether they might hear any thing else: But perceiving that the silence continued a prettie while, they agreed to issue and seek out the Musician, that sung so harmoniously. And being ready to put their resolution in practise, they were again arrested by the same voyce, the which touched their ears anew with this Sonnet. A SONNET. HOly Amitie! which with nimble wings Thy semblance leaving here on earth behinde, Among the blessed Souls of Heaven, up-flings, To those Imperiall rooms to cheer thy minde: And thence to us is (when thou lik'st) assign'd Iust Peace, whom shadie vail so cover'd brings; As oft, instead of her, Deceit wee find Clad in the weeds of good and vertuous things. Leave Heav'n, O Amitie! doe not permit Foul Fraud, thus openly, thy Robes t'invest; With which, sincere intents destroy does it: For if thy likenesse from't thou do'st not wrest, The World will turn to the first conflict soon, Of Discord, Cha •• , and Confusion. The Song was concluded with a profound sigh; and both the others lent atten tive eare to heare if hee would sing any more; but perceiving that the Musick was converted into throbs and dolefull plaints, they resolved to goe and learn who was the wretch, as excellent for his voyce, as dolorous in his sighs: and after they had gone a little at the doubling of the poynt of a cragg, they perceived one of the very same form and fashion that Sancho had painted unto them, when hee told them the History of Cardenio; which man espying them likewise, shewed no semblance of fear but stood still with his head hanging on his breast like a male-content, not once lifting up his eyes to behold them from the first time, when they unexpectedly arrived. The Curate who was a man very well spoken (as one that had already intelligence of his misfortune; for he knew him by his signes) drew neerer to him, and prayed and perswaded him with short, but very forcible reasons, to forsake that miserable life, left hee should there eternally lose it, which of all miseries would prove the most miserable. Cardenio at this season was in his right sense, free from the furious accident that distra cted him so often; & therefore viewing them both attyred in so strange & unusuall a fa shion from that which was used among those Desarts, he rested somewhat admired; but chiefly hearing them speak in his affair, as in a matter known (for so much he gathered out of the Curates speeches:) and therefore answered in this manner. I perceive well, good Sirs (whosoever you be) that Heaven which hath alwayes care to succour good men; yea even and the wicked many times, hath without any desert, addrest unto me by these Desarts and places so remote from vulgar haunt; persons, which laying be fore mine eyes with quick and pregnant reasons, the little I have to lead this kinde of life, doe labour to remove me from this place to a better: And by reason they know not as much as I doe, and that after escaping this harme, I shall fall into a far greater, they account me perhaps for a man of weak discourse; and what is worse for one wholly devoid of judgement? And were it so, yet is it no marvell; for it seems to me that the force of the imagination of my disasters is so bent and powerfull in my destru ction, that I, without being able to make it any resistance, doe become like a stone, void of all good feeling and knowledge: and I come to know the certainty of this truth, when some men doe recount and shew unto me tokens of the things I have done whilest this terrible accident over-rules me; and after I can doe no more, then be grieved, though in vain, and curse, without benefit, my too froward fortune; and render as an excuse of my madnesse the relation of the cause thereof, to as many as please to hear it: for wise men perceiving the cause, will not wonder at the effects. And though they give me no remedie, yet at least will not condemn me; for it will convert the anger they conceive at my mis-rules, into compassion of my disgraces: And Sirs, if by chance it be so, that you come with the same intention that others did, I re quest you, e're you inlarge farther your discreet perswasions, that you will give eare a while to the relation of my mis-haps; for perhaps when you have understood it, you may save the labour that you would take, comforting an evill wholy incapable of con solation. Both of them, which desired nothing so much as to understand from his own mouth the occasion of his harmes, did intreate him to relate it, promising to doe nothing else in his remedie or comfort, but what himselfe pleased. And with this the sorrowfull Gentleman began his dolefull Historie, with the very same words almost that hee had rehearsed it to Don-Quixote and the Goat-heard a few dayes past, when by occasion of Master Elisabat and Don-Quixotes curiositie in observing the Decorum of Chivalrie, the tale remained imperfect, as our Historie left it above. But now good fortune so dis posed things, that his foolish fit came not upon him, but gave him leisure to continue his Storie to the end; and so ariving to the passage that spoke of the Letter Don Ferdi nando found in the booke of Amadis du Gaule, Cardenio said that hee had it very well in memorie; and the sence was this. LUSCINDA to CARDENIO. I Discover daily in thee worths that obliege and inforces mee to hold thee deere: and therefore if thou desirest to have mee discharge this Debt, without serving a Writ on my Honour, thou mayst easily doe it. I have a Father that knowes thee and loves mee likewise well; who without forcing my Will, will ac complish that which justly thou oughtest to have: if it bee so, that thou esteemest mee as much as thou sayest, and I doe beleeve. This Letter moved mee to demand Luscinda of her father for my wife, as I have al ready recounted; and by it also Luscinda remayned in Don Ferdinandoes opinion crow ned, for one of the most discreete women of her time. And this billet Letter was that which first put him in minde to destroy mee ere I could effect my desires. I told to Don Ferdinando wherein consisted all the difficultie of her fathers protracting of the mariage, to wit, in that my father should first demand her; the which I dared not to mention unto him, fearing lest hee would not willingly consent thereunto; not for that the qualitie, bountie, virtue and beautie of Luscinda were to him unknowne, or that shee had not parts in her able to ennoblish and adorne any other linage of Spayne whatsoe ver: But because I understood by him, that he desired not to marry mee, untill he had seen what Duke Ricardo would doe for me. Finally, I told him that I dared not re veale it to my father, as well for that inconvenience, as for many others that made me so afraid, without knowing what they were, as me thought my desires would never take effect. To all this Don Ferdinando made mee answere, that hee would take upon him to speake to my father, and perswade him to treate of that affaire also with Luscindaes. O ambitious Marius! O cruell Cataline! O facinorous Quila! O trecherous Ga lalon! O trayterous Vellido! O revengefull Iulian! [one, who for the Rape of his daughter, committed by Roderick King of Spayne, brought in the Moores, and destroyed all the Countrie.] O covetous Iudas! Traytor, cruell, revengefull and couzening, what indeserts did this wench commit, who with such plaines discovered to thee the secrets and delights of her heart? What offence committed I against thee? What words did I speake, or councell did I give, that were not all addrest to the increasing of thine honour and profit? But on what doe I (the worst of all Wretches) complain! seeing that when the current of the Starres doth bring with it mishaps, by reason they come downe precipitately from above, there is no earthly force can withhold, or hu mane industry prevent or evacuate them. Who would have imagined that Don Ferdi nando, a noble Gentleman, discreete, oblieged by my deserts, and powerfull to ob taine whatsoever the amorous desire would exact of him, where and whensoever it sei zed on his heart, would (as they say) become so corrupt, as to deprive mee of one only sheepe, which yet I did not possesse? But let these considerations bee laid apart as un profitable, that wee may knit up againe the broken thred of my unfortunate History. And therefore I say that Don Ferdinando beleeving, that my presence was a hindrance to put his treacherous and wicked designe in execution, hee resolved to send mee to his eldest brother, under pretext to get some money of him, for to buy sixe great Horses, that hee had of purpose, and only to the end I might absent my selfe, bought the very same day that hee offered to speake himselfe to my father, and would have mee goe for the money (because hee might bring his treacherous intent the better to passe) could I prevent this Treason? Or could I perhaps but once imagine it? No truely; but rather glad for the good Merchandize hee had made, did make preffer of my selfe to depart for the money very willingly. I spoke that night to Luscinda, and acquainted her with the Agreement past betweene mee and Don Ferdinando, biding her to hope firmly, that our good just desires would sort a wished and happy end. Shee answered mee againe (as little suspecting Don Ferdinandoes treason as my selfe) biding mee to returne with all speede, because shee beleeved that the conclusion of our affections should bee no longer deferred, then my father deferred to speake unto hers. And what was the cause I know not, but as soone as shee had said this unto mee, her eyes were filled with tears, and somwhat thwarting her throat, hindred her from saying many other things, which mee thought shee strived to speak. I rested admired at this new accident, untill that time never seene in her, for alwaies as many times as my good fortune and diligence granted it, wee conversed with all sport and delight, without ever intermedling in our discourses any teares, sighes, com plaints, suspicions or feares. All my speech was to advance my fortune; for having received her from Heaven as my Lady and Mistresse, then would I amplifie her beautie, admire her worth, and prayse her discretion. Shee on the other side would returne mee the exchange, extolling in mee, what shee, as one enamoured, accounted worthy of laud and commendation. After this wee would recount a hundred thousand toyes and chances befaln our neighbours and acquaintance, and that to which my presumption dared farthest to extend it selfe, was sometimes to take her beautifull and Ivorie hands perforce and kisse them as well as I might, thorow the rigorous strictnesse of a nigard ly yron grate which divided us. But the precedent night to the day of my sad depar ture, shee wept, sob'd and sighed, and departed, leaving mee full of confusion and in ward assaults, amazed to behold such new and dolefull tokens of sorrow and feeling in Luscinda. But because I would not murder my hopes, I did attribute all these things to the force of her affection towards mee, and to the griefe which absence is wont to stir in those that love one another deerly, To bee briefe, I departed from thence sor rowfull and pensive, my Soule being full of imaginations and suspicions, and yet know not what I suspected or imagined: Cleere tokens, foretelling the sad successe and mis fortune which attended mee. I arived to the palce where I was sent, and delivered my Letter to Don Ferdinandoes brother, and was well entertayned, but not well dispatch ed; for hee commanded mee to expect (a thing to mee most displeasing) eight dayes, and that out of the Duke his fathers presence; because his brother had written unto him to send him certaine moneys unknowne to his father. And all this was but false Don Ferdinandoes invention, for his brother wanted not money wherewithall to have dispatched mee presently, had not hee written the contrary. This was so displeasing a commandement and order, as almost it brought me to terms of disobeying it, because it seemed to me a thing most impossible to sustein my life so many dayes in the absence of my Luscinda; and specially having left her so sorrowfull as I have recounted; yet notwithstanding I did obey like a good servant, although I knew it would be with the cost of my health. But on the fourth day after I had ar rived, there came a man in my search with a Letter, which he delivered unto me, and by the indorsement I knew it to be Luscinda's; for the hand was like hers: I opened it (not without fear and assailment of my senses) knowing that it must have been some serious occasion which could move her to write unto me, being absent, seeing shee did it so rarely even when I was present. I demanded of the Bearer, before I read, who had delivered it to him? and what time hee had spent in the way? Hee answered me, That passing by chance at mid-day through a street of the City, a very beautifull Lady did call him from a certain window: Her eyes were all be-blubbered with tears, and said unto him very hastily; Brother, if thou beest a Christian, as thou appearest to bee one, I pray thee for Gods sake, that thou doe forthwith addresse this Letter to the place and person that the superscription assigneth (for they bee well known;) and therein thou shalt doe our Lord great service. And because thou mayest not want means to doe it, take what thou shalt finde wraped in that handcerchif: And saying so, shee threw out of the window a hand cerchif, wherein were laped up a hundred Rialls, this Ring of gold which I carry here, and that Letter which I delivered unto you; and presently, without expecting mine answer, shee departed, but first saw me take up the handkerchif and Letter; and then I made her signes that I would accomplish herein her command: and after perceiving the pains I might take in bringing you it, so well considered, and seeing by the indorse ment, that you were the man to whom it was addrest: for, Sir, I know you very well, and also oblieged to doe it by the tears of that beautifull Lady, I determined not to trust any other with it, but to come and bring it you my self in person; and in sixteen hours since it was given unto me, I have travelled the journey you know, which is at least eighteen leagues long. Whilest the thankfull new Messenger spake thus unto me I remained in a manner hanging on his words, and my thighs did tremble in such man ner, as I could very hardly sustein my self on foot: yet taking courage, at last I opened the Letter, whereof these were the Contents THe word that Don Ferdinando hath past unto you to speak to your father, that hee might speak to mine, hee hath accom plished more to his own pleasure then to your profit. For, Sir, you shall understand that hee hath demanded me for his wife; and my fa ther (borne away by the advantage of worths which hee supposes to bee in Don Ferdinando more then in you) hath agreed to his demand in so good earnest, as the espousals shall bee celebrated within these two dayes, and that so secretly and alone, as only the Heavens and some folk of the house shall bee witnesses. How I remain, imagine, and whether it bee convenient you should return, you may consider; And the successe of this affair shall let you to perceive, whether I love you well or no. I beseech Almightie God, that this may arrive unto your hands, before mine shall be in danger to joyn it self with his, which keepeth his pro mised faith so ill. These were, in summe, the contents of the Letter, and the motives that perswaded me presently to depart, without attending any other answer, or other monies: for then I conceived cleerly, that it was not the buy-all of the horses, but that of his de lights, which had moved Don Ferdinando to send me to his brother. The rage which I conceived against him, joyned with the fear to lose the Jewell which I had gained by so many yeers service, and desires, did set wings on me, for I arrived as I had flyen next day at mine owne City, in the houre and moment fit to goe speake to Luscinda. I entred secretly, and left my Mule whereon I rode in the honest mans House that had brought mee the Letter, and my fortune purposing then to bee favourable to mee, disposed so mine affaires, that I found Luscinda siting at that yron-grate, which was the sole witnesse of our Loves. Luscinda knew mee streight and I her, but not as wee ought to know one another: But who is hee in the world that can truely vaunt that hee hath penetrated, and throughly exhausted the confused thoughts and mutable na ture of women? Truly none. I say then, to proceed with my tale, that as soon as Luscinda perceived me, shee said, Cardenio, I am attyred with my wedding Garments, and in the Hall doth wait for me the Traitor Don Ferdinando, and my covetous father with other witnesses, which shall rather bee such of my death, then of mine espousals; bee not troubled deer friend, but procure to bee present at this sacrifice, the which if I cannot hinder by my perswasions and reasons, I carry hidden about me a Ponyard se cretly, which may hinder more resolute forces by giving end to my life, and a begin ning to thee, to know certain the affection which I have ever borne, and doe bear unto thee. I answered her troubled and hastily, fearing I should not have the leisure to re ply unto her, saying, Sweet Ladie, let thy works verifie thy words; for if thou car riest a Ponyard to defend thy credit, I doe here likewise bear a Sword wherewithall I will defend thee, or kill my self, if fortune proove adverse and contrary. I believe that she could not hear all my words, by reason shee was called hastily away, as I per ceived, for that the Bridegroom expected her comming. By this the night of my for rows did throughly fall, and the Sunne of my gladnesse was set; and I remained with out light in mine eyes, or discourse in my understanding. I could not finde the way into her house, nor could I moove my self to any part: yet considering at last how important my presence was, for that which might befall in that adventure, I animated my self the best I could, and entred into the house; and as one that knew very well all the entries and passages thereof, and specially by reason of the trouble and businesse that was then in hand, I went in unperceived of any: And thus without beeing seen, I had the oportunity to place my self in the hollow room of a window of the same Hall, which was covered by the ends of two encountring pieces of Tapestry, from whence I could see all that was done in the Hall, remaining my self unviewed of any. Who could now describe the assaults and surprizals of my heart while I there abode? the thoughts which incountred my minde? the considerations which I had? which were so many and such, as they can neither bee said, nor is it reason they should. Let it suffice you to know, that the Bridegroom entred into the Hall without any ornament, wearing the ordinary array hee was wont, and was accompanied by a Cousin Germane of Lu scinda's, and in all the Hall there was no stranger present, nor any other then the hous hold Servants: Within a while after, Luscinda came out of the Parlour, accompanied by her mother and two waiting maids of her own, as richly attired and deckt as her calling and beauty deserved, and the perfection of Courtly pomp and bravery could afford: my distraction and trouble of minde lent me no time to note particularly the apparrell shee wore, and therefore did only marke the colours, which were Carnation and White; and the splendour which the precious Stones and Jewels of her Tires, and all the rest of her Garments yeelded: yet did the singular beauty of her fair and gol den tresses surpasse them so much, as being in competencie with the precious Stones, and flame of four Links that lighted in the Hall, yet did the splendour thereof seem farr more bright and glorious to mine eyes. O memory! the mortall enemie of mine case, to what end serves it now to represent unto me the uncomparable beauty of that my adored enemie? Were it not better, cruell memory! to remember and represent that which shee did then, that being moved by so manifest a wrong, I may at least in devour to lose my life, since I cannot procure a revenge? Tire not, good Sirs, to hear the digressions I make; for my grief is not of that kinde that may bee rehearsed suc cinctly and speedily, seeing that in mine opinion every passage of it is worthy of a large discourse. To this the Curate answered, that not only they were not tyred or wearied, hearing of him; but rather they received marvellous delight to hear him recount each minuity and circumstance, because they were such as deserved not to bee past over in silence, but rather merited as much attention as the principall parts of the History. You shall then wit (quoth Cardenio) that as they thus stood in the Hall the Curate of the Parish entred, and taking them both by the hand to doe that which in such an act is required at the saying of, Will you Lady Luscinda take the Lord Don Ferdinando, who is here pre sent, for your lawfull Spouse, according as our holy mother the Church commands? I thrust out all my head and neck out of the Tapestry, and with most attentive ears and a trou bled minde setled my self to hear what Luscinda answered, expecting by it the sentence of my death, or the confirmation of my life. O! if one had dared to sally out at that time, and cried with a loud voyce; O Luscinda, Luscinda! see well what thou doest; consider withall what thou owest me! Behold how thou art mine, and that thou canst not bee any others; note that thy saying of yea, and the end of my life shall bee both in one instant. O Traytor Don Ferdinando! Robber of my Glory! Death of my Life! what is this thou pretendest? what wilt thou doe? Consider that thou canst not Christian-like atchieve thine intention, seeing Luscinda is my Spouse, and I am her hus band. O foolish man now that I am absent, and farre from the danger, I say what I should have done, and not what I did. Now after that I have permitted my deer J • well to bee robbed, I exclaim on the Theese, on whom I might have revenged my self, had I had as much heart to doe it as I have to complain. In fine, since I was then a coward and a fool, it is no matter though I now dye ashamed, sorry and frantic • . The Curate stood expecting Luscindaes answer a good while 〈◊〉 shee gave it; and in the end, when I hoped that shee would take out the Ponyard to stab her self, or would unloose her tongue to say some truth, or use some reason or perswasion that might redound to my benefit, I heard her in stead thereof answer with a dismaied and lan guishing voyce the word, I will: And then Don Fernando said the same; and giving her the Ring, they remained tyed with an indissoluble knot. Then the Bridegroom comming to kisse his Spouse, shee set her hand upon her heart, and fell in a trance between her Mothers armes. Now only remains untold the case wherein I was, seeing in that ye • which I had heard my hopes deluded, Luscindaes words and promises Falsisied, and my self wholly disabled to recover in any time the good which I lost in that instant; I rested void of counsell, abandoned (in mine opinion) by heaven, proclaimed an enemie to the earth which up-held me the aire denying breath enough for my sighs, and the water humour sufficient to mine eyes; only the fire increased in such manner, as I burned throughly with rage and jealousie. All the house was in a tumult for this suddain amazement of Luscinda; and as her Mother unclasped her bosome to give her the aire there appeared in it a paper folded up, which Don Fernando presently seized on, and went aside to read it by the light of a torch; and after hee had read it, her sate down in a chair, laying his hands on his cheek, with manifest signes of Melancholy discontent, without bethinking him self of the remedies that were applyed to his Spouse to bring her again to her self. I seeing all the folk of the house thus in an uproar, did adventure my self to issue, not weighing much whether I were seen or no, bearing withall a resolution (if I were per ceived) to play such a rash part, as all the World should understand the just indigna tion of my brest, by the revenge I would take on false Don Fernando, and the mutable and dismayed Traytresse: But my destiny which hath reserved me for greater evills (if possibly there bee any greater then mine owne) ordained that instant my wit should abound, whereof ever since I have so great want; and therefore without will to take revenge of my greatest enemies (of whom I might have taken it with all facilitie, by reason they suspected so little my being there) I determined to take it on my self, and execute in my self the pain which they deserved, and that perhaps with more rigour then I would have used toward them if I had slain them at that time, seeing that the suddain death finisheth presently the pain; but that which doth lingringly torment kills alwaies, without ending the life. To bee short, I went out of the house, and came to the other where I had left my Mule, which I caused to bee sadled, and without biding mine Host adieu, I mounted on her and rode out of the City, without daring, like another Lot, to turne back and behold it; and then seeing my selfe alone in the Fields, and that the darknesse of the night did cover mee, and the silence thereof invite mee to complaine, without respect or feare to bee heard or known; I did let slip my voice, and untyed my tongue with so many curses of Luscinda and Don Ferdinando, as if thereby I might satisfie the wrong they had done mee. I gave her the title of Cruell, Ingratefull, False and Scornefull, but specially of Covetous, seeing the riches of mine Enemy had shut up the Eyes of her affection, to deprive mee thereof, and render it to him with whom fortune had dealt more frankly and liberally; and in the midst of this tune of maledictions and scornes, I did excuse her saying; That it was no marvell that a Mayden kept close in her parents house, made and accustomed alwaies to obey them, should at last condiscend to their Will, specially, seeing they bestowed upon her for husband, so noble, so rich and pro per a Gentleman, as to refuse him, would bee reputed in her, to proceede eyther from want of judgement, or from having bestowed her affections else-where, which things must of force greatly prejudice her good opinion and renowne. Presently would I turne againe to say, that though shee had told them that I was her spouse, they might easily perceive that in choosing mee, shee had not made so ill an election that shee might not bee excused, seeing that before Don Ferdinando offered himselfe, they them selves could not happen to desire, if their wishes were guided by reason, so fit a match for their daughter as my selfe; and shee might easily have said, before shee put her selfe in that last and forcible passe of giving her hand, that I had already given her mine, which I would come out to consesse, and confirme all that shee could any way faine in this Case; and concluded in the end, that little Love, lesse Judgement, much Ambition and desire of greatnesse caused her to forget the Words where withall shee had deceived, entertayned and sustayned mee in my firme hopes and ho nest desires. Using these words, and feeling this unquietnesse in my breast, I travelled all the rest of the night, and struck about dawning into one of the entries of these Mountaines, through which I travelled three dayes at random, without following or finding any path or way, untill I arived at last to certaine Medowes and Fields, that lye, I know not in which part of these Mountaines; and finding there certaine Heards, I demanded of them which way lay the most craggy and inaccessible places of these Rocks, and they directed mee hither; and presently I travelled towards it, with purpose here to end my life: and entring in among those Desarts, my Mule, through wearinesse and hunger, fell dead under mee, or rather as I may better suppose, to disburden himself of so vile and unprofitable a burden as hee carried of mee. I remained a foote, overcome by nature, and pierced through and through by hunger, without having any helpe, or knowing who might succour mee; and remained after that manner, I know not how long, prostrate on the ground, and then I rose againe without any hunger, and I found neere unto mee certaine Goat-heards, who were those doubtlesly that fed mee in my hunger: for they told me in what manner they found me, and how I spake so many foolish and mad words, as gave certain argument that I was devoid of Judgement: and I have felt in my self since that time that I injoy not my wits perfectly, but rather perceive them to bee so weakned and impaired, as I commit a hundred follies, tearing mine apparrell, crying lowdly through these Desarts, cursing my fates, and idlely re peating the beloved name of mine enemie, without having any other intent or discourse at that time then to endeavour to finish my life e're long; and when I turne to my self, I am so broken and tyred, as I am scarce able to stir me. My most ordinary Mansion place is in the hollownesse of a Cork-Tree, sufficiently able to cover this wretched Car kasse. The Cow-heards and the Goat-heards that feed their Cattell here in these Mountains, moved by charity, gave me sustenance, leaving meat for me by the wayes and on the Rocks which they suppose I frequent, and where they think I may finde it; and so, although I doe then want the use of reason, yet doth naturall necessity induce me to know my meat, and stirreth my apppetite to covet, and my will to take it: They tell me when they meet me in my wits, that I doe other times come out to the high-wayes and take it from them violently, even when they themselves doe offer it unto me wil lingly. After this manner doe I passe my miserable life, untill Heaven shall bee pleased to conduct it to the last period, or so change my memorie, as I may no more remember the beauty and treacherie of Luscinda, or the injurie done by Don Ferdinando; for if it doe me this favour, without depriving my life, then will I convert my thoughts to better discourses: if not, there is no other remedy but to pray God to receive my soul into his mercie; for I neither finde valour nor strength in my self to rid my bodie out of the straights, wherein for my pleasure I did at first willingly intrude it. This is, Sirs, the bitter relation of my disasters; wherefore judge if it bee such as may be celebrated with lesse feeling and compassion then that, which you may by this time have perceived in my self: And doe not in vain labour to perswade or counsell me that which reason should afford you may bee good for my remedie; for it will work no other effect in me then a medicine prescribed by a skilfull Physician, to a Pa tient that will in no sort receive it. I will have no health without Luscinda; And since shee pleaseth to alienate her self, being or seeing shee ought to be mine; so doe I also take delight to bee of the retinue of mis-hap, although I might be a retainer to good fortune. Shee hath ordained that her changing shall establish my perdition: And I will labour by procuring mine own losse, to please and satisfie her will: And it shall bee an example to ensuing ages, that I alone wanted that wherewith all other wretches abounded, to whom the impossibility of receiving comfort prooved sometimes a cure; but in me it is an occasion of greater feeling and harme, because I am perswaded that my harmes cannot end even with very death it self, Here Cardenio finished his large Discourse, and unfortunate and amourous Historie; and just about the time that the Curate was bethinking himself of some comfortable reasons to answer and perswade, him hee was suspended by a voyce arrived to his hearing, which with pittifull accents said what shall bee recounted in the fourth Part of this Narration: For in this very poynt the wise and most absolute Historiographer Cid Hamete Benengeli finished the third Part of this Historie. CHAP. I. Wherein is discoursed the new and pleasant Adventure that hapned to the Curate and the Barber, in Sierra Morena. M OST happy and fortunate were those times wherein the thrice audacious and bold Knight, Don-Quixote of the Mancha, was bestowed on the World; by whose most Honourable resolution to ruine and renew in it the already worne out, and well-nigh diseased Exercise of Armes wee joy in this our so niggard and scant an age of all Pastimes, not only the sweetnesse of his true Historie, but also of the other Tales and digressions contained therein, which are in some respects lesse pleasing, artificiall and true then the very History it self: The which prosecuting the carded, spun, and self-twined thread of the relation sayes, that as the Curate began to bethink himself upon some answer that might both comfort and animate Cardenio, hee was hindred by a voyce which came to his hearing, said very dolefully the words ensuing. O God! is it possible that I have yet found out the place which may serve for a hidden Sup • lchre • to the load of this loathsome bodie that I unwillingly bear so long? Yes it may bee, if the solitarinesse of these Rocks doe not illude me an • unfortunate that I am. How much more gratefull companions will these Craggs and Thickets prove to my designes, by affording me leisure to communicate my mis-haps to Heaven with Plaints, then that if any mortall man living, since there is none upon earth from whom may be expected counsell in doubts, ease in complaints, or in harmes remedie? The Curate and his companions heard and understood all the words cleerly: and for as much as they conjectured (as indeed it was) that those Plaints were delivered very neer unto them, they did all arise to search out the Plaintiff; and having gone some twenty steps thence, they beheld a young Youth behinde a Rock, sitting under an Ash-Tree, and attyred like a Country Swain, whom by reason his face was inclined, as hee sate washing of his feet in the clear stream that glided that way, they could not perfectly dis cern; and therefore approached towards him with so great silence, as they were not dis cryed by him, who only attended to the washing of his feet, which were to white, as they properly resembled two pieces of cleer Crystall, that grew among the other stones of the stream: The whitenesse and beauty of the feet amazed them, being not made as they well conjectured, to tread clodds, or measure the steps of lazie Oxen, and holding the Plough, as the youths apparell would perswade them; and therefore the Curate, who went before the rest, seeing they were not yet espyed, made signes to the other two that they should divert a little out of the way, or hide themselves behinde some broken cliffts that were neer the place, which they did all of them, nothing what the Youth did with very great attention. Hee wore a little brown Capouch, gyrt very neer to his body with a white Towell, also a pair of Breeches and Gamashoes of the same coloured cloth, and on his head a clay-coloured Cap: his Gamashoes were lifted up half the legg, which verily seemed to bee white Alablaster. Finally having washed his feet, taking out a linnen Kerchif from under his Cap, hee dryed them therewithall, and at the taking out of the Kerchif hee held up his face, and then those which stood gazing on him had leizure to discern an unmatchable beauty, so surpassing great, as Cardenio rounding the Curate in the eare, said, This bodie, since it is not Luscinda, can bee no humane creature, but a divine. The Youth took off his Cap at last, and shaking his head to the one and other part, did dis • evell and discover such beautifull hairs, as those of Phoebus might justly emulate them; and thereby they knew the supposed Swain to bee a delicate woman, yea, and the fairest that ever the first two had seen in their lives, or Cardenio himself, the lovely Luscinda excepted; for, as hee after affirmed, no feature save Luscinda's could contend with hers. The long and golden hairs did not only cover her shoulders, but did also hide her round about in such sort, as (her feet exceped) no other part of her body appeared, they were so neer and long. At this time her hands served her for a Combe, which as her feet seemed pieces of Crystall in the water, so did they appear among her hair • like pieces of driven Snow. All which circumstances did possesse the three which stood gazing at her with great admiration and desire to know what shee was; and therefore resolved to shew themselves; and with the noyse which they made when they arose the beautifull Mayden held up her head, and remove ing her hair • from before her eyes with both hands, she espyed those that had made it, and presently arising full of fear and trouble, shee laid hand on a p • cket that 〈◊〉 by her, which seemed to bee of apparell, and thought to 〈◊〉 away without ••• ying to pul • on her shooes, or to gather up her hair: But scarce had shee gone • span delicate and tender feet, unable to abide the rough incounter of the stones made her to fall to the earth; which the three perceiving, they came out to her, and the curate ar riving first of all, said to her, Ladie, whatsoever you be stay and fear nothing; for we which you behold here come only with intention to doe you service, and therefore you need not pretend so impertinent a flight, which neither your feet can indure, nor would wee permit. The poor Gyrl remained so amazed and confounded, as shee answered not a word: wherefore the Curate and the rest drawing neerer, they took her by the hand, and then hee prosecuted his Speech saying, What your habit concealed from us, Ladie, your hairs have bewrayed, being manifest arguments that the causes were of no small moment which have thus bemasked your singular beauty, under so unworthy array, and condu cted you to this all-abandoned Desart, wherein it was a wonderfull chance to have m •• , you, if not to remedie your harmes, yet at least to give you some comfort, seeing no evill can afflict and ve • e one so much, and plunge him in so deep extream • (whilest it deprives not the life) that will wholly abhor from listening to the advice that is offered with a good and sincere intention; so that fair Lady, or Lord, or what else you shall please to bee tea • med, shake off your affrightment, and rehearse unto us your good or ill fortune; for you shall finde in us joyntly, or in every one part, companions to help you to deplore your disasters. Whilest the Curate made this Speech, the disguised woman stood as one half asleep, now beholding the one, now the other, without once moving her lip or saying a word; just like a rusticall Clown, when rare and unseen things to him before, are unexpectedly presented to his view. But the Curate insisting and using other perswasive reasons, addrest to that effect, won her at last to make a breach on her tedions silence, and with a profound sigh blow open her corral gates, saying somwhat to this effect: Since the solitarinesse of these Rocks hath not beene potent to conceale mee, nor the disheveling of my disordered haires, licensed my tongue to belie my sexe, it were in vaine for mee to feigne that a new, which if you beleeved it, would bee more for courtesies sake then any other respect. Which presupposed, I say good Sirs, that I doe gratifie you highly, for the liberall of fers you have made me, which are such as have bound me to satisfie your demand as neer as I may; although I feare the relation which I must make to you of my mishaps, will breed sorrow, at once, with compassion in you, by reason you shall not bee able to finde any salve that may cure, comfort or begui • e them: yet notwithstanding, to the end my reputation may not hover longer suspended in your opinions, seeing you know mee to bee a woman, and view mee young, alone, and thus attyred, being things all of them able, eyther joyned or parted, to overthrow the best credit; I must bee enfor ced to unfold what I could otherwise most willingly conceale. All this, shee that ap peared so comely, spoke without stop or staggering, with so ready delivery, and so sweete a voice, as her discretion admired them no lesse then her beauty. And renewing againe their complements and intreaties to her, to accomplish speedily her promise, she setting all coynesse apart, drawing on her shoes very modestly, and winding up her hayre, late her downe on a stone, and the other three about her, where shee used no little violence to smother certaine rebellious teares that strove to breake forth without her permission, and then with a reposed and cleare voice she began the History of her life in this manner. In this Province of Audaluzia there is a certaine towne from whence a Duke derives his denomination, which makes him one of those in Spayne are called Grandees: Hee hath two sonnes, the elder is Heire of his States, and likewise, as may bee presumed, of his virtues, the younger is Heire I know not of what, if hee bee not of V • llido [one that murdered Sancho King of Castil • , as hee was easing himselfe as the siege of Cam • ra.] his treacheries of 〈◊〉 frauds. My parents are this noblemans vassals, of humble and low calling, but so rich, as if the goods of nature had equalled those of their fortunes: then should they have had nothing else to desire, nor I feared to see my selfe in the mis fortunes wherein I now am plunged. For perhaps my mis-haps proceede from that of theirs, in not being nobly discended. True it is, that they are not so base, as they should therefore shame their calling, nor so high as may check my conceit, which per swades mee that my disasters preceede from their lownesse. In conclusion, They are but Farmers and plaine People but without any touch or spot of bad blood, and as wee usually say, Olde rustie Christians, yet so rustie and ancient, as yet their riches and ma gnificent port, gained them, by little and little, the title of Gentilltie; yea and of worship also; although the Treasure and Nobility, whereof they made most price and account, was to have had mee for their daughter; and therefore, as well by reason that they had none other He •• then my selfe, as also because as affectionate Parents, they held mee most deere; I was one of the most made of and cherished daughters that ever father brought 〈◊〉 I was the mirrour wherein they beheld themselves, the staffe of their old age, and the subject to which they addrest all their desires. From which because they were most virtuous, mine did not stray an inch, and even in the same man ner that I was Ladie of their mindes, so was I also of their goods. By mee were Ser vants admitted or dismissed; the notice and account of what was sowed or reaped, past thorow my hands, of the Oyle-mills, the Wine-presses, the number of great and little Cattell, the Bee-hives: In fine, of all that which so rich a Farmer as my father was, had 〈◊〉 could have, I kept the account, and was the Steward thereof and Mistrisse, with such care of my side, and pleasure of theirs, as I cannot possibly indeere it enough. The times of leisure that I had in the day, after I had given what was necessary to the head Ser vants, and other labourers, I did entertaine in those exercises which were both commen dable and requisite for Maydens, to wit, in Sowing, making of Bone lace, and many times handling the Distasse: and if sometimes I left those exercises to recreate my mind a little, I would then take some godly booke in hand, or play on the Harpe; for expe rience had taught mee that Musick ordereth disordered mindes, and doth lighten the passions that afflict the Spirit. This was the life which I led in my fathers house, the recounting whereof so particu larly, hath not beene done for ostentation, nor to give you to understand that I am rich, but to the end you may note how much, without mine owne fault, have I fall'n from that happy state I have said, unto the unhappy plight into which I am now redu ced. The Historie therefore is this, that passing my life in so many occupations, and that with such recollection as might bee compared to a religious life, unseen as I thought by any other person then those of our house; for when I went to Masse, it was common ly so early, and so accompanied by my Mother and other Mayd-servants, and I my selfe so cover'd and watchfull, as mine eyes did scarce see the earth whereon I trod: and yet notwithstanding those of love, or as I may better terme them, of idlenesse, to which Lynxes eyes may not bee compared, did represent mee to Don Ferdinandoes affection and care, for this is the name of the Dukes younger sonne, of whom I spake before. Scarce had shee named Don Ferdinando, when Cardenio changed colour, and began to sweate, with such alteration of Bodie and Countenance, as the Curate and Barber which beheld it, feared that the accident of frenzie did assault him, which was wont (as they had heard) to possesse him at times. But Cardenio did nothing else then sweat, and stood still beholding now and then the country gyrle, imagining straight what she was, who without taking notice of his alteration, followed on her discourse in this manner: And scarce had • hee seene mee, when (as hee himselfe after confest) hee abode greatly surprized by my love, as his actions did after give evident demonst • ation. But to conclude, soone the relation of those misfortunes which have no conclusion, I will over-slip in silence the diligences and practices of Don Ferdinando, used to de clare unto me his affection: he suborned all the folk of the house. He bestowed gifts and favours on my parents: every day was a holy-day, and a day of sports in the streets where I dwelled; At night no man could sleep for Musick; The Letters were innumerable that came to my hands, without knowing who brought them, farsed too full of amorous conceits and offers, and containing more promises and protestations then characters: All which not only could not molifie my minde, but rather hardened it as much if hee were my mortall enemie, and therefore did construe all the indeavours hee used to gain my good will to bee practised to a contrary end; which I did not as accounting Don Fernando ungentle, or that I estemed him too importan •• ; for I took a kinde of delight to see my self so highly esteemed and beloved so Noble a Gentleman; nor was I any thing offended to see his papers written in my praise; for, if I bee not deceived in this poynt, be women ever so foul, wee love to hear men call us beautifull. But mine honesty was that which opposed it self unto all these things, and the continuall admonishions of my Parents, which had by this plainly perceived Don Fernando's pretence, as one that cared not all the World should know • t: They would often say unto me, that they had deposited their honours and reputation in my virtue alone and discretion, and bade me consider the inequality that was between Don Fernando and me, and that I might collect by it how his thoug •• (did he ever so much affirm the contrary) were more addrest to compasse his pleasure • the • my profit: And that if I feared any inconveniencie might befall, to the end they might crosse it, and cause him to abandon his so unjust a pursuit, they would match me where I most liked either to the best of that Town or any other Town adjoyning, saying, they might easily compasse it, both by reason of their great wealth and my good report. I fortified my resolution and integrity with these certain promises and the known truth which they told me; and therefore would never answer to Don Fernando any word that might ever so farr off argue the least hope of condiscending to his desires: All which ca • tion • of mine which I think he deemed to be disdains, did inflame more his lascivious appetite (for this is the name wherewithall I intitle his affection towards me) which had it been such as it ought, you had not known it now, for then the cause of revealing it had not befaln me. Finally, Don Fernando understanding how my parents meant to marrie me, to the end they might make void his hope of ever possessing me: or at least set more guards to preserve mine honour, and this news or surmize was an occasion that he did what you shall presently hear. For one night as I sate in my Chamber, only attended by a young Mayden that served me, I having shut the doors very safe, for fear left through any negligence my honesty might incur any danger, without knowing or imagining how it might happen • notwithstanding all my dilligences used and preventions, and amid'st the solitude of this silence and recollection he stood before me in my Chamber: At his presence I was so troubled, as I lost both sight and speech; and by reason thereof could not crie, nor I think he would not, though I had attempted it, permit me: For he presently ranne over to me, and taking me between his armes (for, as I have said, I was so amazed, as I had no power to defend my self) he spake such things to me, as I know not how it is possible that so many lies should have ability to fain things resembling in shew so much the truth; and the Traytor caused tears, to give credit to his words; and sighs, to give countenance to his intention. I, poor soul, being alone amid'st my friends and weakly practised in such affairs, began, I know not how, to account his leasings for verities, but not in such sort as his tears or sighs might any wise move me to any compassion that were not commenda ble. And so the first trouble and amazement of minde being past, I began again to re cover my defective Spirits, and then said to him with more courage then I thought I should have had; if, as I am my Lord, between your armes, I were between the paws of a fierce Lyon, and that I were made certain of my Libertie, on condition to doe or say any thing prejudiciall to mine honour, it would prove as impossible for me to ac cept it, as for that which once hath been to leave off his essence and being: Wherefore even as you have in-gyrt my middle with your armes, so likewise have I tyed fast my minde with virtuous and forcible desires that are wholy different from yours, as you shall perceive, if seeking to force me, you presume to passe further with your inordinate designe: I am your Vassall, but not your Slave; nor hath the nobility of your blood power, nor ought it to harden, to dishonour, stain, or hold in little account the humi litie of mine; and I doe esteem my self, though a Countrey-Wench and Farmers Daughter, as much as you can your self, though a Noble-man and a Lord; With me your violence shall not prevail, your riches gain any grace, your words have power to deceive, or your fighs and tears bee able to move; yet if I shall finde any of these pro perties mentioned in him whom my Parent shall please to be •• ow on me for my Spouse, I will presently subject my will to his, nor shall it ever varie from his minde a jot; So that if I might remain with honour, although I rested void of delights, yet would I willingly bestow on you that which you presently labour so much to obtain; all which I doe say, to divert your straying thought from ever thinking that any one may obtain of me ought, who is not my lawfull Spouse. If the let only consists therein, most beau tifull Dorotea (for so I am called) answered the disloyall Lord; behold, I give thee here my hand to bee thine alone; and let the Heavens, from which nothing is con cealed, and this Image of our Lady, which thou hast here present, be witnesses of this truth. When Cardenio heard her say that she was called Dorotea hee fell again into his for mer suspicion, and in the end confirmed his first opinion to be true; but would not interrupt her speech, being desirous to know the successe, which hee knew wholly al most before, and therefore said only, Lady, is it possible that you are named Dorotea? I have heard report of another of that name, which perhaps hath runne the like course of your misfortunes; but I request you to continue your Relation, for a time may come wherein I may recount unto you things of the same kinde, which will breede no small admiration. Dorotea noted Cardenioes words, and his uncouth and disastrous at tyre, and then intreated him very instantly, if hee knew any thing of her affaires, hee would acquaint her therewithall, For if fortune had left her any good, it was only the courage which shee had to beare patiently any disaster that might befall her, being cer taine in her opinion, that no new one could arive, which might increase a whit those she had already. Ladie, I would not let slip the occasion (quoth Cardenio) to tell you what I thinke, if that which I imagine were true: and yet there is no commoditie l • ft to doe it, nor can it availe you much to know it: Let it bee what it list, said Dorotea, but that which after befell of my relation was this: That Don Fernando tooke an Image that was in my Chamber for witnesse of our Contract, and added withall most forcible words and unusuall oathes, promising unto mee to become my husband: Although I warned him before hee had ended his speech, to see well • what hee did, and to weigh the wrath of his father, when hee should see him married to one so base, and his Vassall, and that therefore hee should take heede that my beauty (such as it was) should not blinde him, seeing hee should not finde therein a sufficient excuse for his errour, and that if hee meant to doe mee any good, I conjured him by the love that hee bore unto mee, to li cense my fortunes to roule in their owne spheere, according as my qualitie reached: For such unequall matches doe never please long, nor persevere with that delight where withall they begun. All the reasons here rehearsed I said unto him, and many more which now are falne out of minde, but yet proved of no efficacy to weane him from his obstinate purpose; even like unto one that goeth to buy, with intention never to pay for what hee takes, and therefore never considers the price, worth, or defect of the stuffe hee takes co cre dit. I at this season made a briefe discourse, and said thus to my selfe, I may doe this, for I am not the first which by Matrimony hath ascended from a low degree to a high e state: not shall Don Fernando bee the first whom beautie or blind affection (for that is the most certaine) hath induced to make choice of a Consort equall to his Greatness. Then since herein I create no new world, nor custome, what error can bee committed by embracing the honour wherewithall fortune crownes mee: Although it so befell, that his affection to mee endured no longer then till he accomplisht his will: for be fore God, I certes shall still remaine his wife. And if I should disdainfully give him the repulse, I see him now in such termes, as perhaps forgetting the dutie of a Nobleman, hee may use violence, and then shall I remaine for ever dishonoured, and also without excuse of the imputations of the ignorant, which knew not how much without any fault I have faln into this inevitable danger. For, what reasons may bee sufficiently for cible to perswade my father and other, that this Nobleman did enter into my Chamber without my consent? All these demands and Answeres did I in an instant revolve in mine imagination, and found my selfe chiefly forced (how I cannot tell) to assent to his Petition, by the witnesses hee invoked, the teares hee shed, and finally by his sweete disposition and comely feature, which accompanied with so many arguments of unfai ned affection, were able to conquer and enthrall any other heart, though it were as free and wary as mine own. Then called I for my waiting-maid, that shee might on earth accompany the coelestiall witnesses. And then Don Fernando turned again to reiterate and confirme his oathes, and added to his former, other new Saints as witnesses, and wished a thousand succeeding male dictions to light on him, if hee did not accomplish his promise to mee. His eyes againe waxed moist, his sighes increased, and himselfe inwreathed mee more streightly between his armes, from which hee had never once loosed mee: and with this, and my May dens departure, I left to bee a Mayden, and hee began to bee a Traytor and a disloyall man. The day that succeeded to the night of my mishaps came not (I think) so soon as Don Fernando desired it; for after a man hath satisfied that which the appetite covets, the greatest delight it can take after, is to apart it selfe from the place where the desire was accomplished. I say this because Don Fernando did hasten his departure from mee, by my maids industrie, who was the very same that had brought him into my Chamber, hee was got in the street before dawning. And at his departure from mee hee said (al though) not with so great shew of affection and vehemency as hee had used at his com ing) that I might bee secure of his faith, and that his oathes were firme and most true; and for a more confirmation of his word, hee tooke a rich Ring off his finger and put it on mine. In fine hee departed, and I remayned behinde, I cannot well say whether joy full or sad; but this much I know, that I rested confused and pensive, and almost be side my self for the late mischance; yet either I had not the heart, or else I forgot to chide my Maid for her treacherie committed by shutting up Don Fernando in my Cham ber; for as yet I could not determine, whether that which had befaln me, was a good or an evill. I said to Don Fernando at his departure, that he might see me other nights when hee pleased, by the same means he had come that night, seeing I was his own, and would rest so, untill it pleased him to let the world know that I was his wife. But hee never returned again, but the next night following could I see him after, for the space of a moneth either in the street or Church, so as I did but spend time in vain to expect him; although I understood that he was still in Town and rode every other day a hunting, an Exercise to which he was much addicted. Those dayes were, I know, unfortunate and accursed to me, and those hours sor rowfull; for in them I began to doubt, nay rather wholly to discredit Don Fernando's faith; and my maid did then hear loudly the checks I gave unto her for her presumption, ever untill then dissembled: And I was moreover constrained to watch and keep guard on my tears and countenance, lest I should give occasion to my Parents to demand of me the cause of my discontents, and thereby ingage me to use ambages or untruths to cover them. But all this ended in an instant, one moment ariving whereon all these respects stumbled, all honourable discourses ended, patience was lost, and my most hidden secrets issued in publique; which was when there was spread a certain rumour throughout the Town within a few dayes after, that Don Fernando had married in a Cit ty neer adjoyning a Damzell of surpassing beauty, and of very Noble birth, although not so rich as could deserve, by her preferment or dowrie, so worthie a husband: it was also said that shee was named Luscinda, with many other things that hapned at their Spousals worthy of admiration. Cardenio hearing Luscinda named did nothing else but lift up his shoulders, bite his lip, bend his brows, and after a little while shed from his eyes two floods of tears. But yet for all that Dorotea did not interrupt the file of her History, saying, This dolefull news came to my hearing, and my heart, instead of freezing thereat, was so inflamed with choler and rage, as I had well-nigh run out to the streets, and with out-cries published the Deceit and Treason that was done to me; but my furie was presently asswaged by the resolution which I made to doe what I put in execution the very same night, and then I put on this habit which you see, being given unto me by one of those that among us Country-folk are called Swains, who was my fathers servant; to whom I disclosed all my misfortunes, and requested him to accom panie me to the Citie where I understood my enemie sojourned, He, after he had re prehended my boldnesse, perceiving me to have an inflexible resolution, made offer to attend on me, as he said, unto the end of the world: And presently after I trussed up in a pillow-bear a womans attire, some Money and Jewels, to prevent necessities that might befall; and in the silence of night, without acquainting my treacherous maid with my purpose, I issued out of my house, accompanied by my servant and many imagi nations: and in that manner set on towards the Citie, and though I went on foot, was yet born away flying by my desires, to come, if not time enough to hinder that which was past, yet at least to demand of Don Fernando that he would tell me with what con science or soul he had done it. I arrived where I wished within two dayes and a half; and at the entry of the City I demanded where Luscinda her father dwelled? and he of whom I first demanded the question answered me more then I desired to hear; hee shewed me the house, and recounted to me all that befell at the daughters marriage, being a thing so publique and known in the City, as men made meetings of purpose to discourse thereof. Hee said to me, that the very night wherein Don Fernando was espoused to Luscinda, after she had given her consent to be his wife, she was instantly assailed by a terrible accident that struck her into a Trance; and her Spouse approaching to unclapse her bosome that shee might take the aire, found a paper folded in it, written with Luscinda's own hand, wherein she said and declared, that shee could not be Don Fernando's wife, be cause she was already Cardenio's, who was, as the man told me, a very principall Gentle man man of the same Citie; and that if shee had given her consent to Don Fernando, it was only done, because shee would not disobey her Parents; in conclusion hee told mee, that the paper made also mention, how shee had a resolution to kill her selfe presently after the marriage, and did also lay downe therein the motives shee had to doe it; all which, as they say, was confirmed by a Ponyard that was found hidden about her, in her apparell. Which Don Fernando perceiving, presuming that Luscinda did flout him, and hold him in little account, hee set upon her ere shee was come to her selfe, and attemp ted to kill her with the very same Ponyard; and had done it, if her father and other friends which were present, had not opposed themselves and hindred his determination. Moreover, they reported that presently after Don Fernando absented himselfe from the Citie, and that Luscinda turned not out of her agonie untill the next day, and then re counted to her parents how shee was verily Spouse to that Cardenio of whom wee spake even now. I learned besides, that Cardenio, as it is rumor'd, was present at the mar riage, and that as soone as hee saw her married, being a thing hee would never have cre dited, departed out of the Citty in a desperate moode, but first left behinde him a letter, wherein hee shewed at large the wrong Luscinda had done to him, and that hee himself meant to goe to some place where people should never after hear of him. All this was notorious, and publiquely bruited thorowout the Citty, and every one spoke thereof, but most of all having very soone after understood that Luscinda was mis sing from her Parents house and the Citie, for shee could not bee found in neyther of both, for which her parents were almost beside themselves, not knowing what meanes to use to finde her. These news reduced my hopes againe to their ranks, and I esteemed it better to finde Don Fernando unmarried then married, persuming that yet the gates of my remedy were not wholly shut, I giving my selfe to understand that heaven had peradventure set that impediment on the second marriage, to make him understand what hee ought to the first; and to remember how hee was a Christian, and that hee was more oblieged to his Soule then to humane respects. I revolved all these things in my minde, and comfort lesse did yet comfort my selfe, by fayning large, yet languishing, hopes, to sustain that life which I now doe so much abhor. And whilest I stayed thus in the Citie, ignorant what I might doe, seeing I found not Don Fernando, I heard a Cryer goe about pub liquely, promising great rewards to any one that could finde mee out, giving signes of the very age and apparell I wore: And I likewise heard it was bruited abroad, that the Youth which came with mee, had caried mee away from my fathers house. A thing that touched my soule very neerely, to view my credit so greatly wrak't, seeing that it was not sufficient to have lost it by my coming away, without the addition of him with whom I departed, being a subject so base and unworthy of my loftier thoughts. Ha ving heard this crie, I departed out of the Citie with my servant; who even then began to give tokens that he faultred in the fidelity hee had promised to me; and both of us together entred the very same night into the most hidden parts of this Mountain, fearing lest we might be found. But as it is commonly said, That one evill calls on another, and that the end of one disaster is the beginning of a greater, so proved it with me; for my good servant, untill then faithfull and trustie, rather incited by his own Villainy then my Beauty, thought to have taken the benefit of the oportunity which these inhabi table places offered, and sollicited me of Love, with little shame and lesse fear of God, or respect of my self: And now seeing that I answered his impudencies with severe and reprehensive words, leaving the intreaties aside wherewithall he thought first to have compast his will, he began to use his force: But just Heaven, which seldome or never neglects the just mans assistance, did so favour my proceedings, as with my weak forces and very little labour I threw him down a •• eep Rock, and there I left him, I know not whether alive or dead: And presently I entred in among these Mountains, with more swiftnesse then my fear and wearinesse required, having therein no other project or designe then to hide my self in them, and 〈◊〉 my father and others, which by his intreaty and means sought for me every where. Some moneths are past since my first comming here, where I found a Heard-man, who carried me to a Village seated in the midest of these Rocks, wherein hee dwelled, and entertained me, whom I have served as a Sheepheard ever since, procuring as much as lay in me, to abide stil in the field, to cover these hairs which have now so unexpectedly betraid me: Yet all my care and industry aviled not, seeing my Master came at last to the notice that I was no man, but a woman, which was an occasion that the like evill thought sprung in him, as before in my servant: And as fortune gives not alwais re medie for the difficulties which occur, I found neither Rock nor downfall to cool and cure my Masters infirmitie, as I had done for my man; and therefore I accounted it a lesse inconvenience to depart thence, and hide my self again among these Desarts, then to adventure the tryall of my strength or reason with him: Therefore, as I say, I turned to imbosk my self, and search out some place, where, without any encumbrance, I might intreat Heaven with my sighs and tears, to have compassion on my mis-hap, and lend me industry and favour, either to issue fortunately out of it, or else to die amid'st these solitudes, not leaving any memory of a wretch, who hath ministred matter, although not through her own default, that men may speak and murmur of her, both in her own and in other Countries. CHAP. II. Which treats of the Discretion of the Beautifull Dorotea, and the artificiall manner used to disswade the amorous Knight from con tinuing his penance; And how hee was gotten away; with many other delightfull Occurrences. T His is, Sirs, the true relation of my Tragedie; see therefore now and judge, whether the sighs you heard, the words to which you listened, and the tears that gushed out at mine eyes, have not had sufficient occasion to appear in greater abundance: and having considered the quality of my disgrace, you shall perceive all comfort to be vain, seeing the remedie thereof is impossible: Only I will request at your hands one favour, which you ought and may easily grant, and is, That you will addresse me unto some place, where I may live secure from the fear and suspicion I have to be found by those which I know doe dayly travell in my pursuit: for although I am sure that my Parents great affection toward me doth warrant me to be kindely received and entertained by them; yet the shame is so great that possesseth me, only to think that I shall not return to their presence in that state which they ex pect, as I account it far better to banish my self from their sight for ever, then once to behold their face with the least suspicion that they again would behold mine, divorced from that honestie which whilom my modest behaviour promised. Here shee ended, and her face suddainly over-run by a lovely scarlet, perspicuously denoted the feeling and bashfullnesse of her soul. The audients of her sad storie, felt great motions both of pittie and admiration, for her misfortunes: and although the Curate thought to comfort and counsell her forth with, yet was hee prevented by Cardenio, who taking her first by the hand, said at last; Ladie, thou art the beautifull Dorotea, daughter unto rich Cleonardo. Dorotea rested admired when shee heard her fathers name, and saw of how little value he seemed who had named him; for we have already recounted how raggedly Cardenio was clothed; and therefore shee said unto him, And who art thou, friend, that knowest so well my fathers name; for untill this hour (if I have not forgotten my self) I did not once name him throughout the whole discourse of my unfortunate Tale? I am (answered Cardenio the unluckie Knight, whom Luscinda (as thou saidst) affirmed to bee her hus band. I am the disastrous Cardenio, whom the wicked proceeding of him that hath also brought thee to those termes wherein thou art, hath conducted mee to the state in which I am, and thou maist behold ragged, naked, abandoned by all humane comfort; and what is worse, void of sense; seeing I only enjoy it but at some few short times, and that, when heaven pleaseth to lend it mee. I am hee Dorotea, that was present at Don Fernandoes unreasonable wedding, and that heard the consent which Luscinda gave him to bee his wife. I was hee that had not the courage to stay and see the end of her trance, or what became of the paper found in her bosome; for my soule had not po wer or sufferance to behold so many misfortunes at once, and therefore abandoned the place and my patience together, and only left a Letter with mine Host, whom I intrea ted to deliver it into Luscinda her owne hands, and then came into these Desarts, with resolution to end in them my miserable life, which since that houre I have hated as my most mortall Enemie: But Fortune hath not pleased to deprive mee of it, thinking it sufficient to have impaired my wit, perhaps reserving me for the good successe befaln mee now in finding of your selfe; for that being true (as I beleeve it is) which you have here discoursed, peradventure it may have reserved yet better hap for us both in our dis asters then wee expect. For presupposing that Luscinda cannot marry with Don Fernando, because shee is mine, nor Don Fernando with her because yours; and that shee hath declared so mani festly the same, wee may well hope that heaven hath meanes to restore to every one that which is his owne, seeing it yet consists in being not made away or annihilated. And seeing this comfor remaines, not sprung from any very remote hope, nor founded on idle surmises, I request thee faire Lady, to take another resolution in thine honourable thought, seeing I meane to doe it in mine, and let us accomodate our selves to expect better successe: For I doe vow unto thee by the faith of a Gentleman and Christian, not to forsake thee, untill I see thee in Don Fernandoes possession, and when I shall not by reasons bee able to induce him to acknowledge how far hee rests indebted to thee then will I use the liberty granted to mee as a Gentleman, and with just title challenge him to the field, in respect of the wrong hee hath done unto thee; forgetting wholly mine owne injuries, whose revenge I will leave to Heaven, that I may be able to right yours on earth. Dorotea rested wonderfully admired, having knowne and heard Cardenio, and igno ring what competent thanks shee might returne him in satisfaction of his large offers, shee cast her selfe downe at his feete to have kissed them, which Cardenio would not per mit; and the Licentiat answered for both, praysing greatly Cardenioes discourse; and chiefly intreated, prayed and counselled them, that they would goe with him to his Village, where they might fit themselves with such things as they wanted, and also take order how to search out Don Fernando, or carie Dorotea to her fathers house, or doe else what they deemed most convenient. Cardenio and Dorotea gratified his courtesies, and accepted the favour hee profferred. The Barbar also, who had stood all the while silent and suspended, made them a pretty discourse, with as friendly an offer of himselfe, and his service as Master Curate; and likewise did brieflie relate the occasion of their com ming thither, with the extravagant kinde of madnesse which Don-Quixote had, and how they expected now his Squires returne, whom they had sent to search for him. Cardenio having heard him named, remembred presently, as in a dreame, the conflict past betweene them both, and recounted it unto them, but could not in any wise call to mind the occasion thereof. By this time they heard one call for them, and knew by the voice, that it was Sancho Panchaes, who because hee found them not in the place where hee had left them, cry ed out for them as lowdly as hee might. They went to meete him, and demanding for Don-Quixote, hee answered, that hee found him all naked to his shyrt, leane, yellow, almost dead for hunger, and sighing for his Lady Dulcinea; and although he had told him, how shee commanded him to repayre presently to Toboso, where shee expected him, yet notwithstanding hee answered, That hee was determined never to appeare be fore her Beautie, untill hee had done Feats that should make him worthy of her gracious favour. And then the Squire affirmed if that humour passed on any farther, hee fear ed his Lord would bee in danger never to become an Emperour, as hee was bound in honour, no, nor a Cardinall, which was the least that could be expected of him. The Licentiat bid him bee of good cheer, for they would bring him from thence whether he would or no; and recounted to Cardenio and Dorotea, what they had be thought for Don-Quixotes remedie, or at least for the carrying him home to his house. To that Dorotea answered, that shee would counterfeit the distressed Ladie better then the Barber, and chiefly seeing she had apparrel wherewithall to act it most naturally: And therefore desired them to leave to her charge the representing of all that which should bee needfull for the atchieving of their Designe; for shee had read many books of Knighthood, and knew well the stile that distressed Damzels used, when they reque sted any favour of Knights Adventurous. And then need we nothing else, quoth the Curate, but only to put our purpose presently in execution: For questionlesse good successe turns on our side, seeing it hath so unexpectedly begun already to open the gates of your remedy, and hath also facilitated for us that whereof we had most necessity in this exigent. Dorotea took forthwith out of her Pillow-bear a whole Gown of very rich stuff, and a short Mantle of another green stuff, and a Collar and many other rich Jewels out of a Boxe, wherewithall she adorned her self in a trice so gorgeously, as shee seemed a very rich and goodly Ladie: All which, and much more, shee had brought with her, as shee said, from her house, to prevent what might happen, but never had any use of them untill then. Her grace, gesture, and beauty liked them all extreamly, and made them account Don Fernando to bee a man of little understanding, seeing hee contemned such feature. But hee which was most of all admired was Sancho Panca, because, as hee thought (and it was so indeed) that hee had not in all the dayes of his life before seen so fair a creature; and he requested the Curate very seriously, to tell him who that beautifull Ladie was? and what shee sought among those thorow fares? This fair Lady, friend Sancho, answered the Curate, is (as if a man said nothing shee is so great) Heir apparent by direct line of the mighty Kingdome of Micomicon, and comes in the search of your Lord, to demand a boon of him, which is, that hee will destroy and undoe a great wrong done unto her by a wicked Gyant; and through the great fame which is spread over all Guinea of your Lords prowesse, this Princesse is come to finde him out. A happy searcher, and a fortunate finding, quoth Sancho! and chiefly, if my Master bee so happy as to right that injury and redresse that wrong by killing that, ô the mighty Lubber of a Gyant, whom you say! yes, hee will kill him, I am very certain, if hee can once but meet him, and if hee bee not a Spirit; for my Master hath no kinde of power over Spirits. But I must request one favour of you, among others most earnestly, good Master Licentiat, and it is, That to the end my Lord may not take an humbur of becoming a Cardinall, which is the thing I fear most in this world) that you will give him counsell to marry this Princesse presently, and by that means hee shal remain incapable of the dignity of a Cardinall, and will come very easily by his Empire, and I to the end of my desires; for I have thought well of the matter, and have found, that it is in no wise expedient that my Lord should become a Cardinall; for I am wholy unfit for any Ecclesiasticall dignity, seeing I am a married man: And therefore to trouble my self now with seeking of dispensations to enjoy Church livings, having, as I have, both wife and children, were never to end: So that all my good consists, in that my Lord doe marry this Princesse instantly, whose name yet I know not; and therefore I have not said it. Shee is hight (quoth the Curate) the Princesse Micomicona: for her Kingdome being called Micomicon, it is evident shee must be termed so. That is questionlesse, quoth Sancho; for I have known many to take their deno mination and surname from the place of their birth, calling themselves Peter of Al cala, Iohn of Vbeda, and Iames of Valedolid; and perhaps in Guinea Princes and Queens use the same custome, and call themselves by the names of their Pro vinces. So I thinke quoth the Curate; and as touching your Masters marriage with her, I will labour therein as much as lies in my power. Wherewithall Sancho remained as well sa tisfied, as the Curate admired at his simplicitie, and to see how firmly hee had fixed in his fantasie the very ravings of his Master, seeing hee did beleeve without doubt that his Lord should become an Emperour. Dorotea in this space had gotten upon the Curates Mule, and the Barber had somwhat better fitted the beard which hee made of the Oxes tayle on his face, and did after intreat Sancho to guide them to the place where Don-Quixote was, and advertised him withall, that hee should in no wise take any notice of the Curate or Barber, or confesse in any sort that hee knew them, for therein consisted all the meanes of bringing Don-Quixote to the minde to become an Emperour. Yet Cardenio would not goe with them, fearing lest thereby Don-Quixote might call to minde their contention; and the Curate thinking also that his presence was not expedi ent • remayned with him, letting the others goe before, and these followed a far off fayre and softlie on foote, and ere they departed, the Curate instructed Dorotea anew, what shee should say, who bid him to feare nothing for shee would dis charge her part to his satisfaction, and as Bookes of Chivalrie required and laid downe. They travelled about three quarters of a league, as they espied the Knight, and at last they discovered him among a number of intricate Rocks, all apparelled, but not armed, and as soone as Dorotea beheld him, shee struck her Palfrey, her well-bearded Barber following her; and as they approached Don-Quixote, the Barber leaped lightly downe from his Mule and ran towards Dorotea to take her downe betweene his armes, who alighting went with a very good grace towards Don-Quixote, and kneeled before him. And although hee strived to make her arise, yet shee remayning still on her knees, spake to him in this manner: I will not arise from hence, thrice valorous and appro ved Knight, untill your bountie and courtesie shall grant unto mee one Boone, which shall much redound unto your honour and prize of your Person, and to the profit of the most disconsolate and wronged Damzell that the Sunne hath ever seene. And if it bee so, that the valour of your invincible Arme bee correspondent to the bruite of your immortall same, you are obliged to succour this comfortlesse Wight, that comes from lands so remote, to the sound of your famous name, searching you for to remedy her mis-haps. I will not answere you a word, faire Lady, quoth Don-Quixote, nor heare a jot of your affaire, untill you arise from the ground. I will not get up from hence, my Lord, quoth the afflicted Lady, if first, of your wonted bountie, you doe not grant to my re quest. I doe give and grant it, said Don-Quixote, so that it bee not a thing that may turn to the dammage or hindrance of my King, my Country, or of her that keeps the key of my Heart and Liberty. It shall not turn to the dammage or hindrance of those you have said, good Sir, replied the dolorous Damzel: and as shee was saying this Sancho Panca rounded his Lord in the eare, saying softly to him, Sir, you may very well grant the request she asketh, for it is a matter of nothing, it is only to kill a mon strous Gyant, and she that demands it is the mightie Princesse Micomicona Queen of the great Kingdome of Micomicon in Ethiopia. Let her bee what shee will, quoth Don-Quixote, for I will accomplish what I am bound, and my conscience shall inform me comformable to the State I have professed. And then turning to the Damzell, hee said, Let your great beauty arise; for I grant to you any boon which you shall please to ask of me. Why then, quoth the Damzell, that which I demand is, That your mag nanimous person come presently away with me, to the place where I shall carry you; and doe likewise make me a promise, not to undertake any other Adventure or de mand, untill you revenge me upon a Traytor, who hath, against all Laws both Divine and Humane, usurped my Kingdome. I say that I grant you all that, quoth Don-Quixote; and therefore, Lady, you may cast away from this day forward all the Me lancholy that troubles you, and labour that your languishing and dismaied hopes may recover again new strength and courage; for by the help of God, and that of mine arme, you shall see your self shortly restored to your Kingdome, and enthronized in the Chair of your ancient and great Estate, in despite and maugre the Traytors that shall dare gainsay it: and therefore hands to the work; for they say that danger alwayes follows delay. The distressed Damzell strove with much adoe to kisse his hand. But Don-Quixote, who was a most accomplished Knight for courtesie, would never condescend thereunto; but making her arise, hee imbraced her with great kindnesse and respect; and commanded Sancho to saddle Rozinante, and help him to Arme himself. Sancho took down the Armes forthwith, which hung on a Tree like Trophies, and searching the Gyrts, armed his Lord in a moment; who seeing himself Armed, said, Let us in Gods name, depart from hence to assist this great Lady. The Barber kneeled all this while, and could with much adoe dissemble his laughter, or keep on his Beard that threatned still to fall off; with whose fall perhaps, they should all have remained with out bringing their good purpose to passe: And seeing the boon was granted, and noted the dilligence wherewithall Don-Quixote made himself ready to depart and accom plish the same: hee arose and took his Ladie by the hand; and both of them together holp her upon her Mule; and presently after Don-Quixote leaped on Rozinante, and the Barber got on his Beast, Sancho only remaining a foot; where he afresh renewed the me mory of the losse of his gray Asse, with the want procured to him thereby. But all this hee bore with very great patience, because hee supposed that his Lord was now in the way, and next degree to bee an Emperour; for he made an infallible account that hee would marry that Princesse, and at least bee King of Micomicon: But yet it grieved him to think how that Kingdome was in the Country of black Moors; and that there fore the Nation which should bee given to him for his Vassals should be all black: For which difficultie his imagination coyned presently a good remedie; and hee discoursed with himself in this manner. Why should I care though my Subjects be all black Moors? is there any more to be done then to load them in a Ship and bring them into Spain, where I may sell them, and receive the price of them in ready mony? and with that money may I buy some Title or Office, wherein I may after live at mine ease all the dayes of my life. No! but sleep, and have no wit nor abilitie to dispose of things; and to sell thirty or ten thousand Vassals in the space that one would say, give me those straws. I will dispatch them all; they shall • lie the little with the great, or as I can best con trive the matter: And bee they ever so black, I will transform them into white or yellow ones: come neer and see whether I cannot suck well my fingers ends. And thus hee travailed so solicitous and glad, as hee quite forgot his pain of travailing a foot. Cardenio and the Curate stood in the mean timebeholding all that passed from behinde some Brambles, where they lay lu • king, and were in doubt what means to use to issue and joyn in company with them. But the Curate, who was an ingenious and prompt plotter, devised instantly what was to bee done, that they might attain their desire: Thus hee took out of his case a pair of Shears, and cut off Cardenio's Beard therewithall in a trice, and then gave unto him to wear a riding Capouch which hee himself had on, and a black Cloak; and himself walked in a Doublet and Hose: Car denio, thus attired, looked so unlik that he was before, as he would not have known himself in a Looking-glasse. This being finished, and the others gone on before whilest they disguised themselves, they sallied out with facilitie to the high way before Don-Quixote or his company; for the Rocks and many other bad passages did not permit those that were a horse-back to make so speedie an end of their Journey, as they: and having thorowly past the Mountain, they expected at the foot • hereof for the Knight and his company, who when he appeared, the Curate looked on him very earnestly for a great space, with inkling that he began to know him: And after hee had a good while beheld him, hee ran towards him with his armes spread abroad, saying, In a good houre bee the mirrour of all Knighthood found, and my noble country man Don-Quixote of the Mancha; the flower and cream of Gentility; the shadow and remedie of the affli cted; and the Quintescence of Knights Errant • and saying this, he held Don-Quixote his left thigh embraced. Who, admiring at that which hee heard that man to say and doe, did also review him with attention, and finally knew him; and all amazed to see him, made much adoe to alight; but the Curate would not permit him; wherefore Don-Quixote said, Good Master Licentiat permit me to alight; for it is in no sort decent that I bee a horse-back, and so reverend a person as you goe on foot. I will never consent thereunto, quoth the Curate, your highnesse must needs stay on horse-back, seeing that thereon you are accustomed to archieve the greatest feats of Chivalry and Adventures which were ever seen in our age. For it shall suffice me, who am an un worthy Priest, to get up behinde some one of these other Gentlemen that ride in your company, if they will not take it in bad part; yes, and I will make account that I ride on Pegasas, or the Zebra [A strange Beast of Affirick that travails very swiftly] of the famous Moor Muzaraque, who lies yet inchanted in the steep Rock of Culema, neer unto Alcala of Henares. Truely I did not think upon it, good Master Licentiat, answered Don-Quixote; yet I presume my Lady the Princesse will bee well appaid for my sake to command her Squire to lend you the use of his saddle, and to get up himself on the crupper, if so it bee that the Beast will bear double. Yes that it will, said the Princesse, for ought I know; and likewise I am sure it will not bee necessary to command my Squire to alight, for hee is of himself so courteous and courtly, as hee will in no wise con descend that an Ecclesiasticall man should goe on foot, when hee may help him to a horse. That is most certain, quoth the Barber: and saying so he alighted, and intreated the Curate to take the saddle; to which courtesie he did easily condescend. But by evill fortune, as the Barber thought to leap up behinde him, the Mule which was in effect a hired one (and that is sufficient to say it was unhappy) did lift a little her hinder quarters, and bestowed two or three flings on the aire, which had they hit on Master Nicholas his breast or p • te, hee would have bequeathed the quest of Don-Quixote upon the Divell: But notwithstanding the Barber was so affrighted, as hee fell on the ground with so little heed of his beard, as it fell quite off, and lay spread upon the ground; and perceiving himself without it, he ehad no other shift, but to cover his face with both his hands, and complain, that all his cheek-teeth were strucken out. Don-Quixote beholding such a great sheaf of a beard faln away, without jaw or blood, from the face, he said; I vow this is one of the greatest miracles that ever I saw in my life; it hath taken and pluckt away his beard as smoothly as if it were done of purpose. The Curate beholding the danger which their invention was like to incur, if it were de tected, went forthwith, and taking up the beard, came to Master Nicholas that lay still playing, and with one push bringing his head towards his own breast, he set it on again, murmuring the while over him certain words, which he said were a certain prayer ap propriated to the setting on of faln beards, as they should soon perceive: And so ha ving set it on handsomely, the Squire remained as well bearded and whole as ever he was in his life: Whereat Don-Quixote rested marvellously admired, and requested the Curate to teach him that prayer when they were at leisure: For hee supposed that the virtue thereof extended it self farther then to the fastning on of beards, since it was manifest that the place whence the beard was torne must have remained without flesh, wounded and ill dight; and seeing it cured all, it must of force serve for more then the beard. It is true, replyed Master Curate; and then promised to instruct him with the secret, with the first oportunity that was presented. Then they agreed that the Curate should ride first on the Mule, and after him the other two, each one by turns, untill they arived to the Inn, which was about some two leagues thence. Three being thus mounted, to wit, Don-Quixote, the Princesse, and Curate; and the other three on foot, Cardenio, the Barber, and Sancho Panca. Don-Quixote said to the Damzell; Madam! let me intreat your Highnesse to lead me the way that most pleaseth you. And before she could answer, the Licenciat said, To wards what Kingdome would you travail? is it by fortune towards that of Mico micon? I suppose it should be thitherwards, or else I know but little of Kingdoms. She, who knew very well the Curates meaning, and was her self no Babe, answered, saying, Yes Sir, my way lies towards that Kingdome. If it be so, quoth the Curate, you must passe through the Village where I dwell, and from thence direct your course twards Cartagena, where you may luckily embarke your selves. And if you have a prosperous winde, and a quiet and calme Sea, you may come within the space of nine yeeres to the sight of the Lake Meona, I meane Meolidas, which stands on this side of your highnesse Kingdome some hundred dayes journey or more. I take you to bee de ceived good Sir quoth shee, for it is not yet fully two yeeres since I departed from thence, and truly I never almost had any faire weather, and yet notwithstanding I have arived and come to see that which I so much longed for, to wit, the presence of the worthie Don-Quixote of the Mancha, whose renowne came to my notice as soone as I touched the earth of Spayne with my foote, and moved mee to search for him, to commend my self to his courtesie, and commit the Justice of my cause to the valour of his invincible Arme. No more quoth Don-Quixote, I cannot abide to heare my selfe praysed; for I am a sworne enemy of all adulation: And although this bee not such, yet notwithstanding the like Discourses doe offend my chaste eares. What I can say to you faire Princesse is; that whether I have valour or not, that which I have or have not shall bee imployed in your service, even to the very losse of my life. And so omitting that till this time, let me intreat good Master Licentiat to tell mee the occasion which hath brought him here to these quarters so alone, without attendants, and so sleightly attyred, as it strikes mee in no little admiration? To this I will answere with brevitic quoth the Curate; You shall understand that Master Nicolas the Barber, our very good friend, and my self, tra velled towards Sivill, to recover certaine summes of money which a kinsman of mine, who hath dwelt these many yeeres in the Indies hath sent unto mee; the summe is not a little one, for it surmounted seventy thousand Rials of eight, all of good weight, see if it was not a rich gift; and passing yesterday through this way, wee were set upon by foure Robbers which dispoyled us of all, even to our very beards, and that in such sort, as the Barber was forced to set on a counterfeit one, and this young man that goeth here with us (meaning Cardenio) was transformed by them anew: & the best of it is, that it is publickly bruited about all this commark, that those which surprized us were Gally-slaves who were set at liberty, as is reported, much about this same place, by so valiant a Knight as in despight of the Commissary and the guard hee freed them all. And questionlesse hee either was wood, or else as great a knave as themselves, or some one that wanted both Soule and Conscience, seeing hee let slip the Wolves amidst the Sheepe, the Foxe among the Hens, and Files hard by Honey, and did frustrate Justice, rebell against his naturall Lord and King; for hee did so by oppugning his just commandements, and hath deprived the Gallies of their feet, and set all the Holy brotherhood in an uproare, which hath reposed these many yeeres past. And finally would doe an Act, by which hee should lose his Soule, and yet not gaine his Bodie. Sancho had rehearsed to the Curate and Barbar the Adventure of the Slaves, which his Lord had accomplished with such glorie; and therefore the Curate did use this vehemencie as hee repeated it, to see what Don-Quixote would say or doe, whose colour changed at every word, and durst not confesse that hee was himselfe the deliverer of that good People: and these quoth the Curate, were they that have robbed us: And God of his infinite Mercy pardon him who hindred their going to receive the punishment they had so well deserved. CHAP. III. Of many pleasant Discourses passed betweene Don-Quixote and those of his Companie, after hee had abandoned the rigorous place of his Penance. S CARCE had the Curate finished his speech throughly, when Sancho said, By my faith, Master Licentiate, hee that did that feate, was my Lord, and that not for want of warning, for I told him beforehand, and advised him that hee should see well what hee did, and that it was a sinne to deliver them, because they were all sent to the Gallies for very great Villanies they had played. You Bottlehead, replyed Don-Quixote, hearing him speak, it concerneth not Knights Errant to examine whether the afflicted, the inchained, and oppressed, which they encounter by the way, bee carried in that fashion, or are plunged in that distresse, through their owne default or disgrace, but only are oblieged to assist them as need • e and oppressed, setting their eyes upon their paines, and not on their crimes. I met with a Rosarie or beades of inserted People, sorrowfull and unfortunate, and I did for them that which my Religion exacts: as for the rest, let them verifie it elsewhere, and to whosoever else, the holy dignitie and honourable Person of Master Licentiat excep ted, it shall seeme evill: I say hee knowes but sleightly what belongs to Chivalry; and hee lies like a Whores-son and a Villain borne, and this will I make him know with the broad side of my Sword. These words hee said, setling himselfe in his Stirrops, and addressing his Murrion (for the Barbers-Bason, which hee accounted to bee Mam brin • es Helmet, hee carried hanging at the pummell of his saddle, untill hee might have it repayred of the crazings the Gally-slave had wrought in it.) Dorotea, who was very discreete and pleasant, and that was by this well acquainted with Don-Quixotes faultie humor, and saw all the rest make a jest of him, Sancho Panca excepted, would also shew her conceit to bee as good as some others, and therefore said unto him, Sir Knight remember you selfe of the Boone you have promised unto mee, whereunto conforming your selfe, you cannot intermeddle in any other Adventure, bee it ever so urgent. Therefore asswage your stomack, for if Master Licentiate had knowne that the Gally slaves were delivered by your invincible Arme, hee would rather have given unto him selfe three blowes on the mouth, and also bit his tongue thrice then have spoken any word whence might result your indignation. That I dare sweare, quoth the Curate, yea and besides torn away one of my Mustachoes. Maddame said Don-Quixote, I will hold my peace, and suppresse the just Choler already inkindled in my brest, and will ride quietly and peaceably, untill I have accom plished the thing I have promised; and I request you in recompence of this my good desire, if it bee not displeasing to you, to tell mee your grievance, and how many, which, and what the Persons bee, of whom I must take due, sufficient, and entyre re venge? I will promptly performe your Will herein, answered Dorotea, if it will not bee irksome to you to listen to disasters. In no sort good Maddam said Don-Quixote. To which Dorotea answered thus, Bee then attentive to my Relation. Scarce had shee said so, when Cardenio and the Barbar came by her side, desirous to heare how the dis creete Dorotea would faine her tale: and the same did Sancho, which was as much de ceived in her person as his Lord Don-Quixote; and shee after dressing her selfe well in the Saddle, bethought and provided her selfe whil'st she coughed and used other ge stures, and then began to speak on this manner. First of all, good Sirs, I would have you note that I am called; And here shee stood uspended a while by reason shee had forgotten the name that the Curate had given unto her; but hee presently occur'd to her succour, understanding the cause, and said; it is no wonder great Lady, that you bee troubled and stagger whil'st you recount your misfortunes, seeing it is the ordinary custome of Disasters to deprive those whom they torment, and distract their memorie in such sort, as they cannot remember them selves even of their owne very names; as now it proves done in your Highnesse, which forgets it selfe, that you are called the Princesse Micomicona, lawfull inheretrix of the great Kingdome of Micomicon: And with this Note, you may easily reduce into your dolefull Memory all that which you shall please to rehearse. It is very true (quoth the Damzell) and from henceforth I thinke it will not bee needfull to prompt mee any more, for I will arive into a safe Port, with the Narra tion of my authentique History: which is, that my father, who was called the wise I macrio, was very expert in that which was called art Magick, and hee knew by his Sci ence, that my Mother who was called Queene Xaramilla, should die before hee decea sed, and that hee should also passe from this life within a while after, and leave mee an Orphan: but hee was wont to say, how that did not afflict his minde so much, as that hee was very certaine, that a huge Giant, Lord of a great Island neere unto my King dome, called Pandafilando of the duskie sight; because, although his Eyes stood in their right places, yet doe they still looke a squint, which hee doth to terrifie the beholders: I say that my Father knew that this Giant, when hee should heare of his death, would passe with a maine power into my Land and deprive mee thereof, not leaving mee the least Village wherein I might hide my head. Yet might all this bee excused, it I would marry with him; but as hee found out by his Science, hee knew I would never condis cend thereunto, or incline mine affection to so unequall a Marriage. And herein hee said nothing but truth: for it never past once my thought to espouse that Giant, nor with any other, were hee ever so unreasonable, and great and mighty. My Father like wise added then, that after his death, I should see Land • filando usurpe my Kingdome, and that I should in no wise stand to my defence, for that would prove my destruction: but leaving to him the Kingdome freely without troubles, if I meant to excuse mine owne death, and the totall ruine of my good and loyall Subjects: for it would be im possible to defend my self from the divellish force of the Gyant; I should presently direct my course towards Spain, where I should finde a redresse of my harmes, by in countring with a Knight Errant, whose fame should extend it self much about that time thorowout that Kingdome, and his name should be, if I forget not my self, Don Acote or Don Gigote. Ladie, you would say Don-Quixote, quoth Sancho Panca, or as he is called by ano ther name, The Knight of the Ill-favoured face. You have reason, replyed Dorotea: hee said moreover, that he should be high of stature, have a withered face; and that on the right side, a little under the left shoulder or thereabouts, he should have a tawny spot with certain hairs like to bristles. Don-Quixote hearing this said to his Squire, Hold my horse here Sonne Sancho, and help me to take off mine apparrell; for I will see whether I be the Knight of whom the wise King hath prophesied. Why would you now put off your clothes, quoth Dorotea? To see whether I have that spot which your father mentioned, answered Don-Quixote. You need not undoe your apparrell for that purpose, said Sancho, for I know already that you have a spot with the tokens she named, on the very ridges of your back, and argues you to be a very strong man. That is sufficient, quoth Dorotea: for we must not look too neer, or be over-curious in our friends affairs; and whether it be on the shoulder or ridge of the back, it im ports but little; for the substance consists only in having such a mark, and not, where soever it shall be, seeing all is one and the self-same flesh; and doubtlesly my good father did aim well at all; and I likewise in commending my self to Don-Quixote: for surely he is the man of whom my father spoke, seeing the signes of his face agree with those of the great renown that is spread abroad of this Knight, not only in Spain, but also in Aethiopia: for I had no sooner landed in Osuna, when I heard so many of his prowesses recounted, as my minde gave me presently that he was the man in whose search I travailed. But how did you land in Osuna, good Madam, quoth Don-Quixote, seeing it is no Sea Town? Marrie, Sir, quoth the Curate, anticipating Dorotea's an swer; the Princesse would say that after she had landed in Malaga, but the first place wherein she heard tidings of you was at Osuna. So I would have said, quoth Dorotea. And it may be very well, quoth the Curate; and I desire your Majestie to continue your discourse. There needs no farther continuation, quoth Dorotea, but that finally my Fortune hath been so favourable in finding of Don-Quixote, as I doe already hold and account my self for Queen and Lady of all mine Estate, seeing that he, of his wonted bountie and mignificence, hath promised me the boon, to accompanie me wheresoever I shall guide him, which shall be to none other place, then to set him before Pandafi lando of the duskie fight, to the end you may slay him, and restore me to that which he hath so wrongfully usurped; for all will succeed in the twinkling of an eye, as the wise Tinacrio my good father hath already foretold; who said moreover, and also left it written in Chaldaicall or Greek charactars (for I cannot read them) that if the Knight of the Prophecie, after having beheaded the Gyant, would take me to wife, that I should in no sort refuse him, but instantly admit him for my Spouse, make him at once possessor of my self and my Kingdome. What thinkest thou of this, friend Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote, then, when he heard her say so? How likest thou this poynt? Did not I tell thee thus much before? See now, whether we have not a Kingdome to command, and a Queen whom we may marry, I swear as much, quoth Sancho, a pox on the knave that will not marry as soon as Master Pundahilado his winde-pipes are cut. Mount then, and see whether the Queen be ill or no: I would to God all the Fleas of my bed were turned to be such. And saying so, he gave two or three friskles in the air, with very great signes of con tentment, and presently went to Dorotea; and taking her Mule by the bridle, he with held it, and laying himself down on his knees before her, requested her very submissively to give him her hands to kisse them, in signe that he received her for his Queen and Ladie. Which of the beholders could abstain from laughter, perceiving the Masters madnesse and the Servants simplicity? To be brief, Dorotea must needs give them unto him, and promised to make him a great Lord in her Kingdome, when Heaven became so propitious to her, as to let her once recover and possesse it peaceably. And Sancho returned her thanks, with such words as made them all laugh anew. This is my Historie, noble Sirs, quoth Dorotea, whereof only rests untold, That none of all the Train which I brought out of my Kingdome to attend on me, is now extant but this well-bearded Squire; for all of them were drowned in a great storm that over-took us in the very sight of Harbor, whence he and I escaped and came to land by the help of two planks, on which we laid hold almost by miracle, as also the whole discourse and mistery of my life seems none other then a miracle, as you might have noted: And if in any part of the relation I have exceeded, or not observed a due decorum, you must impute it to that which Master Licentiat said to the first of my History, that continuall pains and afflictions of minde deprives them that suffer the like of their memory. That shall not hinder me (O high and valourous Ladie) quoth Don-Quixote, from enduring as many as I shall suffer in your service, be they never so great or difficult: And therefore I doe now ratifie and confirm the promise I have made, and doe swear to goe with you to the end of the world, untill I finde out your fierce enemy, whose proud head I mean to slice off by the help of God and my valorous arme, with the edge of this (I will not say a good) Sword; thanks be to Gines of Passa monte which took away mine own: this he said murmuring to himself, and then pro secuted saying, And after I have cut it off, and left you peaceably in the possession of your state, it shall rest in your own will to dispose of your person as you like best. For as long as I shall have my memory possessed, and my will captived, and my understand ing yeelded to her, I will say no more; it is not possible that ever I may induce my self to marry any other although she were a Phoenix. That which Don-Quixote had said last of all, of not marrying, disliked Sancho so much, as lifting his voyce with great anger, he said; I vow and swear by my self, that you are not in your right wits, Sir Don-Quixote; for how is it possible that you can call the matter, of contracting so high a Princesse as this is, in doubt? Doe you think that Fortune will offer you at every corners end the like hap of this which is now proffer ed? is my Lady Dulcinea perhaps more beautifull? No certainly! nor half so fair: nay I am rather about to say, that shee comes not to her shoe that is here present. In an ill hour shall I arrive to possesse that unfortunate Earldome which I expect, if you goe thus seeking for Mushrubs at the bottome of the Sea: Marry, marry your self presently; the Divell take you for me, and take that Kingdome comes into your hands, and being a King, make me presently a Marquesse or Admirall, and instantly after let the Divell take all if hee pleaseth. Don-Quixote, who heard such blasphemies spoken against his Lady Dulcinea, could not bear them any longer: and therefore lift ing up his Javeling without speaking any word to Sancho, gave him therewithall two such blows, as he over-threw him to the earth: and had not Dorotea cried to him, to hold his hand, he had doubtlesly slain him in the place. Thinkest thou (quoth he after a while) base Peasant, that I shall have alwaies leisure and disposition to thrust my hand into my pouch, and that there be nothing else but thou erring, and I pardoning? And doest not thou think of it (excommunicated Rascall) for certainly thou art excommunicated, seeing thou hast talked so broadly of the peerlesse Dulcinea? And doest not thou know, base Slave, Vagabond, that if it were not for the valour shee infuseth into mine arme, that I should not have sufficient forces to kill a Flea? Say, scoffer with the Vipers tongue, who doest thou think hath gained this Kingdome, and cut the head of this Gyant, and made thee a Marquesse (for I give all this for done already, and for a matter ended and judged) but the worths and valour of Dulcinea, using mine arme as the instrument of her act? She fights under my person, and overcomes in me: And I live and breath in her, and from her I hold my life and being. O whorson Villain, how ungratefull art thou, that seest thy self ex alted out from the dust of the earth, to be a Noble-man; and yet doest repay so great a benefit with detracting the person that bestowed it on thee? Sancho was not so sore hurt, but that he could hear all his Masters reasons very well: wherefore arising somewhat hastily, hee ran behinde Doretea her Palfray, and from thence said to his Lord, Tell me Sir, if you be not determined to marry with this Prin cesse, it is most cleer that the Kingdome shall not bee yours: and if it be not, what favours can you bee able to doe to me? it is of this that I complain me: Marrie your self one for one with this Princesse, now that we have her here, as it were rained to us down from Heaven, and you may after turn to my Ladie Dulcinea; for I think there bee Kings in the World that keep Lemmans. As for beauty, I will not intermeddle; for if I must say the truth, each of both is very fair, although I have never seen the Lady Dulcinea. How! hast thou not seen her blasphemous Traytor, quoth Don-Quixote, as if thou didest but even now bring me a message from her? I say, quoth Sancho, I have not seen her so leisurely, as I might particularly note her beautie and good parts one by one, but yet in a clap as I saw them, they liked me very well. I doe excuse thee now, said Don-Quixote, and pardon me the displeasure which I have given unto thee, for the first motions are not in our hands. I see that well, quoth Sancho, and that is the reason why talk is in me of one of those first motions: And I cannot omit to speake once at least, that which comes to my tongue. For all that Sancho, replyed Don-Quixote, see well what thou speakest; for, the earthen Pitcher goes so oft to the water. I will say no more. Well then, answered Sancho, God is in heaven, who seeth all these guiles, and shall be one day Judge of him that sinns most; of me in not speaking well, or of you by not doing well. Let there be no more, quoth Dorotea, but run Sancho, and kisse your Lords hand, and ask him forgivenesse, and from henceforth take more heed how you praise or dispraise any body, and speak no ill of that Lady Toboso, whom I doe not know otherwise then to doe her service; and have confidence in God, for thou shalt not want a Lordship wherein thou mayest live like a King. Sancho went with his head hanging downeward, and demanded his Lords hand, which hee gave unto him with a grave countenance, and after hee hed kissed it, hee gave him his blessing and said to him, that hee had somwhat to say unto him, and therefore bad him to come somewhat for ward that hee might speake unto him. Sancho obeyed, and both of them going a little aside, Don-Quixote said unto him, I have not had leisure after thy comming, to demand of thee in particular, concerning the Ambassage that thou carriedst, and the answere that thou broughtest back; and therefore now Fortune lends us some oportunitie and leisure, doe not denie mee the happiness which thou mayest give mee by thy good newes. Demand what you please quoth Sancho, and I will answere you, and I request you good my Lord, that you bee not from henceforth so wrathfull. Why dost thou say so Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? I say it replied Sancho, because that these blowes which you bestowed now, were rather given in revenge of the dissention which the Devill stir red between us two the other night, then for any thing I said against my Lady Dulcinea, whom I doe honor and reverence as a relike, although she be none, only because shee is yours. I pray thee good Sancho, said Don-Quixote, fall not again into those discour ses for they offend me. I did pardon thee then, and thou knowest that a new offence must have a new penance. As they talked thus, they espied a Gallant coming towards them, riding on an Asse, and when hee drew neere, hee seemed to bee an AEgyptian; but Sancho Panca, who whensoever hee met any Asses, followed them with his eyes and his heart, as one that thought still on his owne; hee had scarce eyed him, when hee knew that it was Gines of Passamonte, and by the looke of the AEgyptian, found out the fleece of his Asse, as in truth it was; for Gines came riding on his gray Asse, who to the end hee might not bee knowne, and also have commodity to sell his beast, attyred himselfe like an AEgyptian, whose language and many others hee could speake as well as if they were his mother tongue. Sancho saw him and knew him; and scarce had hee seene and taken notice of him, when hee cryed out aloud. Ah theese Ginesillo, leave my goods behinde thee, set my life loose, and doe not intermeddle with my ease. Leave mine Asse, leave my com fort; flie Villane, absent thy selfe thee • e, and abandon that which is none of thine. He needed not to have used so many words and frumps, for Gines leaped downe at the very first, and beginning a Trot that seemed rather to bee a Gallop, hee absented himselfe and fledde farre enough from them, in a moment. Sancho went then to his Asse, and imbracing him said, How hast thou done hitherto, my Darling and Treasure, gray Asse of mine Eyes, and my deerest Companion? and with that stroked and kissed him as if it were a reasonable creature. The Asse held his peace, and permitted San cho to kisse and cherish him without answering a Word. All the rest arived, and congratulated with Sancho for the finding of his Asse, but chiefely Don-Quixote, who said unto him, that notwithstanding that hee found his Asse, yet would not hee therefore annull his Warrant for the three Colts, for which Sancho returned him very great thanks. Whilest they two travelled together discoursing thus, the Curate said to Dorotea, that shee had very discreetly discharged her selfe, as well in the Historie, as in her bre vitie and immitation thereof, to the phrase and conceits of Bookes of Knighthood: Shee answered, That shee did oft times reade bookes of that subject, but that shee knew not where the Provinces lay, nor Sea-ports, and therefore did only say at ran dome that shee had landed in Osuna. I knew it was so quoth the Curate, and there fore I said what you heard, wherewithall the matter was souldered. But is it not a marveilous thing to see with what facilitie the unfortunate Gentleman beleeves all these inventions and lies, only because they beare the stile and manner of the follies laid down in his bookes? It is quoth Cardenio, and that so rare and beyond all conceite, as I beleeve, if the like were to bee invented, scarce could the sharpest wits devise such another. There is yet quoth the Curate, as marvellous a matter as that: for leaving apart the simplicities which this good Gentleman speakes concerning his frenzie, if you will com mune with him of any other subject whatsoever, he will discourse on it with an excellent method, and shew himself to have a cleer and pleasing understanding: So that if he be not touched by matters of Chivalry, there is no man but will deem him to be of a sound and excellent Judgement. Don-Quixote on the other side prosecuted his conversing with his Squire whilest the others talked together; and said to Sancho; Let us two, friend Pancha, forget old injuries, and say unto me now, without any rancour or anger, Where? how? and when didest thou finde my Ladie Dulcinea? What did shee when thou camest? What said'st thou to her? What answered she? What countenance shewed she as she read my Letter? And who writ it out fairly for thee? And every other thing that thou shalt think worthy of notice in this affair to be demanded or answered, without either addition or lying, or soothing adulation: and on the other side doe not abbreviate it, lest thou shouldest defraud me thereby of expected delight. Sir, answered Sancho, if I must say the truth, none copied out the Letter for me; for I carried no Letter at all. Thou sayest true, quoth Don-Quixote; for I found the Tablets wherein it was written, with my self, two dayes after thy departure, which did grieve me exceedingly, because I knew not what thou wouldest doe, when thou didest perceive the want of the Letter; and I alwaies made full account, that thou wouldest return again from the place where thou shouldest first misse it. I had done so, quoth Sancho, if I had not borne it away in memory, when you read it to me, in such sort, as I said it to a Cleark of a Verstrie, who did copie it out of my understanding, so poynt by poynt, as he said that he never in all the dayes of his life, although he had read many a Letter of excommunication, read or seen so fine a Letter as it was. And doest thou hold it yet in memory Sancho, quoth Don-Quixote? No Sir, said Sancho, for after I gave it, seeing it served for none other purpose, I did willingly forget it: And if I remember any thing, it is that of the mouldy, I would say Soveraign Ladie; and the end, Yours untill death, The Knight of the Ill-favoured face: and I put between these two things in the Letter three hundred Souls, and Lives, and Sweet-eyes. CHAP. IV. Of the pleasant discourses continued between Don-Quixote and his Squire Sancho Pança, with other Adventures. A L • this liketh me well, said Don-Quixote; therefore say on; thou ar rived'st; and what was that Queen of Beauty doing then? I dare say that thou foundest her threading of Pearls, or imbroydering some curious Device, with Venice gold, for me her captive Knight. No that I did not, quoth Sancho, but winnowing two bushels of Wheat in the yard of her house. Why then, said Don-Quixote, thou mayest make account that each corne of that wheat was a grain of Pearl, seeing they were touched by her delicate hand. And friend, didest thou note well what the Wheat was, whether of the best or ordinarie? It was not but red, said Sancho. Well then, I assure thee, answered Don-Quixote, that being sifted by her hands, it must needs make very fair bread, and white. But passe forward: When thou didest deliver my Letter, did she kisse it? Did she set it on her head? Did she use any ceremony worthy of such a Letter? Or what did she? When I went to give it unto her, said Sancho, she was holding up of her armes with a good quantity of Wheat that shee had in her Sieve; and therefore said unto me; Friend, lay down that Letter there on the Sack; for I cannot read it untill I have win nowed all that is here. O discreet Ladie, quoth Don-Quixote; she surely did that, because she might read it at leisure, and recreate her self therewithall. Forward, Sancho: And as long as she was thus busied, what discourses passed she with thee? What did she demand of thee concerning me? And thou, what didest thou answer? Say all, good Sancho, say all; recount to me every particularity, and let not the least immunity re main in the Ink-horn. Shee demanded nothing of mee quoth Sancho, but I recounted unto her the state I had left you in for her sake, doing of penance, all naked from the gyrdle upward among these Rocks, like a bruit Beast, sleeping on the ground, and eating your bread without Table-cloathes, and that you never combed your Beard, but was weeping and cursing your fortune. There thou saidst ill (quoth Don-Quixote ) for I doe not curse my for tune, but rather blesse it, and will blesse it as long as I shall live, seeing it hath made me worthy to merit the love of so high a Lady as Dulcinea of Toboso. Shee is in good faith so high answered Sancho, as shee surpasseth mee almost by a whole cubit. Why how now Sancho said the Knight, hast thou measured thy selfe with her? I did measure my selfe with her in this manner replyed Sancho; that comming over to helpe her to lift up a sack of Wheate on an Asse, wee joyned so neere, as I well perceived that shee was more then a great spanne higher then my selfe. That is true quoth Don-Quixote: but thinkest thou not that the talenesse of her extended stature is adorned with a thousand millions of graces and indowments of the soule? But Sancho, thou canst not denie me one thing, when thou didst thus approach her, didst thou not feele a most odoriferous smell, an aromaticall flagrancy, an—I cannot tell what, so pleasing, as I know not how to terme it? I say such a sent, as if thou wert in some curious Persumers shoppe? That which I know, quoth Sancho is, that I felt a little unfavorie sent, somwhat ramish and man-like, and I thinke the reason was, because shee had sweat a little, doing of that exercise. It was not so (quoth Don-Quixote ) but either thou had'st the mur, or else didest smell thy self; for I know very well how that Rose among Thorns doth sent, that Lillie of the Field, and that chosen Amber. It may well be, said Sancho, as you have said; for I have had many times such a smell, as me thought the Ladie Dulcinea had then: and though shee smel'd too, it were no marvell; for one Divell is like another. And well (quoth Don-Quixote ) see here, she hath sifted her corne, and sent it to the Mill. What did shee after shee had read the Letter? The Letter, said Sancho: shee read it not; for she said she could neither read nor write; and therefore shee tore it into small pieces, and would have no man to read it, lest those of the Village should know her secrets, and said, that what I had told her by word of mouth of your love and extraordinary penance, which you remained doing for her sake, was sufficient. And finally, she concluded, commanding me to say unto you, that shee had her commended unto you, and that she remained with greater desire to see you then to write unto you: and therefore she requested and willed you, as you tendred her affection, that presently upon sight hereof you should abandon these shrubbie Groves, leave off your Frenzie, and take presently the way of Toboso, if some matter of greater importance did not occur; for she had very great desire to see and talk with you. She laughed heartily when I told her that you named your self The Knigh of the Ill-favoured face. I de manded for her, whether the beaten Biscaine came there? and shee answered, that he did, and affirmed withall, that he was a very honest man. I asked also for the Gally-Slaves; but she told me, that shee had seen none of them as yet. All goes well till this, said Don-Quixote: But tell me, I pray thee, What Jewell did she bestow on thee at thy departure, for reward of the news thou carried'st unto her of me? For it is an usuall and ancient custome among Knights and Ladies Errant, to bestow on Squires, Damzels, or Dwafs, which bring them any good tidings of their Ladies, or Servants, some rich Jewell as a reward and thanks of their welcome news. It may well be, quoth Sancho, and I hold it for a very laudible custome; but I think it was only used in times past; for I think the manner of this our age is only to give a piece of bread and cheese; for this was all that my Lady Dulcinea bestowed on me, and that over the Yard walls when I took my leave with her: And in signe thereof (well fare all good tokens) the cheese was made of Sheeps Milk. She is marvellous liberall, quoth Don-Quixote; and if she gave thee not a Jewell of gold, it was, without doubt, because she had none then about her; But it is not lost that comes at last. I will see her, and then all things shall be amended. Knowest thou, Sancho, whereat I wonder? it is at this sodain return: for it seems to me thou wast gone, and hast come back again in the aire; for thou hast been away but a little more then three dayes, Toboso being more then thirty leagues from hence: And therefore I doe believe that the wise Inchanter who takes care of mine Affairs, and is my friend (for there is such a one of force, and there must be, under pain that I else should not be a good Knight Errant) I say, I verily think that wise man holp thee to trample unawares of thy self: for there are wise men of that condition which will take a Knight Errant sleeping in his bed; and without knowing how or in what manner, hee will wake the next day a thousand leagues from that place where hee fell asleep: And were it not for this, Knights Errant could not succour one another in their most dangerous exigents, as they doe now at every step. For it oft-times befalls, that a Knight is fighting in the Mountains of Armenia, with some divellish Fau • o, some dreadfull shaddow, or fierce Knight, where he is like to have the worst; and in this poynt of death, when he least expects it, there appears there on the top of a Cloud, or riding in a Chariot of fire, another Knight his friend, who was but even then in England, and helps him, and delivers him from death, and re turns again that night to his own lodging, where he Sups with a very good appetite; and yet for all that, is there wont to bee two or three thousand leagues from the one to the other Countrey. All which is compassed by the industrie and wisedome of those skill full Inchanters that take care of the said valorous Knights. So that, friend Sancho, I am not hard of belief in giving thee credit, that thou hast gone and returned in so short a time from this place to Toboso, seeing, as I have said, some wise man my friend hath (belike) transported thee thither by stealth, and unaware of thy self. I easily think it, replyed Sancho; for Rozinante travailed, in good faith, as lustily as if he were an Aegyptians Asse, with Quick-silver in his ears. And thinkest thou not, quoth Don-Quixote, that he had not Quick-silver in his eares? yes, and a legion of Devills also to help it, who are folk that doe travail and make others goe as much as they list without any wearinesse. But leaving all this apart, what is thine opinion that I should doe now, concerning my Ladies commandement, to goe and see her? for although I know that I am bound to obey her behests; yet doe I finde my self disabled at this time to accomplish them, by reason of the grant I have made to the Princesse that comes with us, and the Law of Armes doth compell me to accomplish my word rather then my will: on the one side I am assaulted and urged by a desire to goe and see my Ladie; on the other, my promised faith, and the glory I shall winne in this enterprize, doe incite and call me away. But that which I resolve to doe, is to travaill with all speed that I may quickly arive to the place where that Giant is, and will cut off his head at my coming: and when I have peaceably installed the Princesse in her Kingdome, will presently return to see the light that doth lighten my senses; to whom I will yield such forcible reasons of my so long absence, as she shall easily condescend to excuse my stay, seeing all doth redound to her glory and fame: For all that I have gained, doe win, or shall hereafter atchieve by force of Armes in this life, proceeds wholy from the gracious favour she pleaseth to bestow upon me, and my being hers. O God! quoth Sancho, I perceive that you are greatly diseased in the pate. I pray you Sir, tell me whether you mean to goe this long voyage for nought, and let slip and lose so rich and so noble a preferment as this; where the dowrie is a Kingdome, which is in good faith, as I have heard say, twenty thousand leagues in compasse, and most plentifully stored with all things necessary for the susteining of humane life; and that it is greater then Portugall and Castile joyned together? Peace, for Gods love, and blush at your owne words, and take my councell, and marry presently in the first vil lage that hath a Parish-Priest: and if you will not doe it there, can you wish a better commoditie then to have our own Master Licentiat, who will doe it most excellently; And note that I am old enough to give counsaile, and that this which I now deliver, is as fit for you, as if it were expresly cast for you in a mould. For a Sparrow in the fist, is worth more then a flying Bittor. For hee that can have good, and evill doth choose, For ill that betides him, must not Patience loose. Why Sancho quoth Don-Quixote, if thou givest mee councell to marry, to the end I may become a King after I have slaine the Giant, and have commoditie thereby to pro mote thee, and give thee what I have promised; I let thee to understand that I may doe all that most easily, without marrying my selfe. For before I enter into the battel, I will make this condition, that when I come away victor, although I marry not the Princesse, yet shall a part of the Kingdome bee at my disposition, to bestow upon whom I please; and when I receive it, upon whom wouldst thou have me bestowe it but on thy selfe? That is manifest said Sancho; but I pray you Sir, have care to choose that part you would reserve towards the Sea side, to the end that if the living doe not please me, I may imbarque my black vassails, and make the benefit of them which I have said. And likewise I pray you not to trouble your mind, thinking to goe and see my Lady Dulcinea at this time, but travaile towards the place where the Gyant is, and kill him, and conclude that businesse first; for I sweare unto you, that I am of opinion it will prove an Adventure of very great honor and profit. I assure thee Sancho quoth Don-Quixote,, thou art in the • ight, and I will follow thy counsaile in rather going first with the Princesse, then to visit Dulcinea, And I warne thee not to speake a word to any body, no, not to those that ride with us, of that which wee have here spoken and discoursed together; for since Dulcineae is so warie and secret, as shee would not have her thoughts discovered, it is no reason, that I eyther by my self or any other should detect them. If that bee so quoth Sancho, why then doe you send all those which you vanquish by virtue of your arme, to present themselves to my Lady Dulcinea, seeing this is as good as subsignation of your hands-writing, that you wish her well, and are enamou red on her? And seeing that those which goe to her, must forcibly lay them down on their knees before her presence, and say that they come from you to doe her homage, how then can the thoughts of you both bee hidden and concealed? O! how great a foole art thou, and how simple quoth Don-Quixote? Dost not thou perceive Sancho, how all this results to her greater glory? For thou oughtest to wit, that in our Knight ly proceedings, it is great honour, that one Lady alone have many Knights Errant for her Servitors, without extending their thoughts any farther then to serve her, only for her high worths, without attending any other reward of their many and good desires, then that shee will deigne to accept them as her Servants and Knights. I have heard preach, said Sancho, that men should love our Saviour with that kinde of love, on ly for his owne sake, without beeing mooved thereunto eyther by the hope of Glory, or the feare of Payne; although for my part I would love and serve him, for what hee is able to doe. The Devill take thee for a Clowne, quoth Don-Quixote, how sharpe and pertinently doest thou speake now and then, able to make a man ima gine that thou hast studied? Now by mine honesty, quoth Sancho. I can neither reade nor write. Master Nicholas perceiving them drowned thus in their Discourses, cryed out to them to stay and drinke of a little Fountaine that was by the way. Don-Quixote, re sted to Sanchoes very great contentment, who was already tyred with telling him so many lies, and was afraid his Master would intrap him in his owne words. For although hee knew Dulcinea to bee of Toboso, yet had hee never seene her in his life. And Carde nio had by this time put, on the apparell Doroten wore when they found her in the Mountaines, which though they were not very good, yet exceeded with great advan tage those which hee had himselfe before; And alighting hard by the Fountaine, they satisfied with the provision the Curate had brought with him from the Inne, although it were but little, the great hunger that pressed them. And whilest they tooke their ease there, a certaine young stripling that travelled, passed by, who looking very ear nestly on all those which sate about the Fountaine, hee ranne presently after to Don-Quixote, and imbracing his Legs, hee said, weeping downright: O my Lord, doe not you know mee? Looke well upon mee, for I am the youth Andrew, whom you unloosed from the Oake whereunto I was tyed. Don-Quixote presently knew him, and taking him by the hands, hee turned to those that were present and said, Because you may see of how great importance it is, that there bee Knights Errant in the World, to undoe wrongs and injuries that are committed in it by the insolent and bad men which live therein, you shall wit that a few daies past, as I rode through a Wood, I heard certaine lamentable screetches and cries, as of some needefull and afflicted person: I forthwith occur'd, borne away by my profession towards the place from whence the lamentable voyce founded, and I found tied to an Oaken tree, this boy whom you see here in our presence, for which I am marvelous glad, be • ause if I shall not say the truth, hee may check mee. I say that hee was tyed to the Oake starke naked form the middle upward, and a certaine Clowne was opening his flesh with cruell blowes that hee gave him with the reines of a bridle; which Clowne, as I after understood, was his Master. And so soone as I saw him, I demanded the cause of those cruell stripes. The rude fel low answered, that hee beate him because hee was his servant, and that certaine negli gences of his proceeded rather from being a theefe, then of simplicity. To which this childe answered; Sir, hee whips mee for no other cause, but by reason that I demand my wages of him. His Master replyed, I know not now what speeches and excuses, the which although I heard, yet were they not by mee admitted. In resolution, I caused him to bee loosed, and tooke the Clownes Oath, that hee would take him home, and pay him there his wages, one Riall upon another; I, and those also perfumed. Is it not true sonne Andrew? Didst not thou note with what a domaniering coun tenance I commanded it, and with what humilitie hee promised to accomplish all that I imposed, Commanded and Desired? Answere mee, bee not ashamed, nor stagger at all, but tell what passed to these Gentlemen, to the end it may bee mani festly seene how necessary it is, as I have said, to have Knights Errant up and down the high-wayes. All that which you have said, quoth the boy, is very true; but the end of the matter succeeded altogether contrary to that which you imagined. How contrarie, quoth Don-Quixote? Why hath not the Peasant paid thee? He not only hath not paid me, answered the boy, but rather as soon as you were passed the wood, and that we re mained both alone, he turned again and tyed me to the same tree, and gave me afresh so many blows, as I remained another S. Bartholomew all flayed; and at every blow he said some jest or other in derision of you: So that if I had not felt the pain of the stripes so much as I did, I could have found in my heart to have laughed very heartily. In fine, he left me in such pittifull case, as I have been ever since curing my selfe in an Ho spitall, of the evill which the wicked Peasant did then unto me. And you are in the fault of all this; for if you had ridden on your way, and not come to the place where you were not sought for, nor intermedled your self in other mens affairs, perhaps my Ma ster had contented himself with giving me a dozen or two of stroaks, and would pre sently after have loosed, and payed me my wages: But by reason you dishonoured him so much without cause, and said to him so many Villains, his choler was inflamed; and seeing he could not revenge it on you, finding himself alone, he disburdened the showre on me so heavily, as I greatly fear that I shall never again be mine own man. The hurt consisted in my departure (quoth Don-Quixote ) for I should not have gone from thence, untill I had seen thee payed: For I might have very well known by many experiences, that there is no Clown that will keep his word, if he see the keeping of it can turn any way to his damage: But yet, Andrew, thou doest re member member how I swoar, that if he paied thee not, I would return & seek him out, and like wise finde him, although he conveyed himself into a Whales belly. That's true, quoth Andrew; but all avails not. Thou shalt see whether it avails or no presently, quoth Don-Quixote: and saying so, got up very hastily, & co ̄ manded Sancho to bridle Rozinante, who was feeding whilest they did eate. Dorotea demanded of him, what he meant to doe? He answered, that he would goe and finde out the Villain, and punish him for using such bad proceedings, and cause Andrew to be paid the last denier, in despite of as many Peasants as lived in the world. To which she answered, intreating him to remem ber that hee could not deale with any other Adventure, according to his promise, untill hers were atchieved; and seeing that hee himself knew it to bee true, bet ter then any other, that hee should pacifie himselfe, untill his returne from her Kingdome. You have reason, said Don-Quixote; and therefore Andrew must have patience perforce, untill my return (as you have said, Madame) and when I shall turne again I doe swear unto him, and likewise renew my promise, never to rest, untill he be satis fied and payed. I believe not in such Oaths, quoth Andrew; but would have as much money as might carry me to Sivill, rather then all the revenges in the world: Give me some meat to eate, and carry away with me, and God be with you and all other Knights Errant, and I pray God that they may prove as erring to themselves as they have been to me. Sancho took out of his Bagg a piece of bread and cheese, and giving it to the Youth, said, Hold brother Andrew, for every one hath his part of your misfortune. I pray you what part thereof have you, said Andrew? This piece of bread and cheese that I bestow on thee, quoth Sancho; for God only knows whether I shall have neede of it again, or no: for thou must wit, friend, that we the Squires of Kinghts Errant are very subject to great hunger and evill luck, yea, and to other things which are better felt then told. Andrew laid hold on his bread and cheese; and seeing that no body gave him any other thing, he bowed his head and went on his way: True it is, that hee said to Don-Quixote, at his departure: For Gods love, good Sir Knight Errant, if you shall ever meet me again in the plight you have done, although you should see me • orne in pieces, yet doe not succour or help me, but leave me in my disgrace; for it cannot bee so great, but that a greater will result from your help, upon whom, and all the other Knights Errant that are borne in the world, I pray God his curse may alight. Don-Quixote thought to arise to chastise him; but he ran away so swiftly, as no man durst follow him; and our Knight remained marvellously ashamed at Andrews tale; where fore the rest with much adoe supprest their desire to laugh, lest they should throughly confound him. CHAP. V. Treating of that which befell all Don-Quixote his Traine in the Inne. T He Dinner being ended, they sadled and went to horse presently, and travailed all that day, and the next, without incountring any Ad venture venture of price, untill they arived at the only bugg and scar-crow of Sancho Panca; & though he would full fain have excused his entry into it, yet could hee in no wise avoid it: The Inn-Keeper, the Hostesse, her Daughter, and Maritornes seeing Don-Quixote and Sancho return, went out to receive them with tokens of great love and joy, and he entertained them with grave countenance and applause, and bade them to make him ready a better Bed then the other which they had given unto him the time before. Sir, quoth the Hostesse, if you would pay us better then the last time, wee would give you one for a Prince, Don-Quixote answered, that he would: They pre pared a reasonable good bed for him in the same wide room where he lay before; and he went presently to bed, by reason that he arived much tyred, and void of wit. And scarce was he gotten into his chamber, when the Hostesse leaping suddainly on the Bar ber, and taking him by the beard, said, Now by my self blessed, thou shalt use my taile no more for a beard, and thou shalt turne me my taile; for my husbands combe goes thrown up and down the floor, that it is a shame to see it: I mean the combe that I was wont to hang up in my good taile. The Barber would not give it unto her for all her drawing, untill the Licentiat bade him to restore it, that they had now no more use thereof, but that he might now very well discover himself, and appear in his own shape, and say to Don-Quixote, that after the Gally-slaves had rob'd him, he fled to that Inne: And if Don-Quixote demanded by chance for the Princesse her Squire, that they should tell him, how she had sent him before to her Kingdome, to give intel ligence to her Subjects, that she returned, bringing with her him that should free and give them all libertie. With this the Barber surrendred the taile willingly to the Hostesse, and likewise all the other borrowed wares which she had lent for Don-Qui xotes deliverie. All those of the Inne rested wonderfull amazed at Doroteas beautie, and also at the comelinesse of the Sheepheard Cardenio. Then the Curate gave order to make readie for them such meat as the Inne could afford: and the Inn-keeper, in hope of better payment, did dresse very speedily for them, a reasonable good Dinner. Don-Quixote slept all this while, and they were of opinion to let him take his rest, seeing sleep was more requisite for his disease then meat. At the Table they discoursed (the Inn-keeper, his Wife, Daughter, and Marito • nes, and all the other Travailers being present) of Don-Quixotes strange Frenzie, and of the manner wherein they found him. The Hostesse eftsoons recounted what had hapned there between him and the Carrier; and looking to see whether Sancho were present, preceiving that he was away, she told likewise all the story of his canvasing, whereat they conceived no little content and pastime: And, as the Curate said, that the originall cause of Don-Quixotes madnesse proceeded from the reading of Books of Knighthood. The Inn-keeper answered; I cannot conceive how that can bee, for (as I beleeve) there is no reading so de lightfull in this world, and I my selfe have two or three bookes of that kinde with o ther papers, which doe verily keepe mee alive, and not only mee but many other. For in the reaping times, many of the Reapers repayre to this place in the heates of mid day, and there is evermore some one or other among them that can reade, who takes one of these bookes in hand, and then some thirty or more of us doe compasse him about, and doe listen to him with such pleasure, as it hinders a thousand hoary haires; for I dare say at least of my selfe, that when I heard tell of those furious and terrible blowes that Knights Errant give, it inflames mee with a desire to become such a one my selfe, and could finde in my heart to bee hearing of them day and night. I am just of the same minde, no more, nor no lesse, said the Hostesse, for I never have any quiet houre in my house, but when thou art hearing those bookes whereon thou art so besotted, as then thou dost only forget to chide, which is thy ordinary exercise at other times. That is very true said Maritornes. And I in good sooth doe take great delight to heare those things, for they are very fine, and especially when they tell how such a Ladie lies embra ced by her Knight under an Orange tree, and that a certaine Damzell keepeth Watch all the while, readie to burst for envie that shee hath not likewise her sweete-heart; and very much afraid. I say that all those things are as sweete as honey to mee. And you, quoth the Curate to the Inn-keepers daughter, what doe you thinke? I know not in good sooth, Sir quoth shee, but I doe likewise give eare, and in truth although I under stand it not, yet doe I take some pleasure to heare them, but I mislike greatly those blows which please my father so much, and only delight in the lamentations that Knights make being absent from their Ladies; which in sooth doe now and then make mee weepe, through the compassion I take of them. Well then quoth Dorotea, belike, faire may den you would remedie them, if such plaints were breathed for your owne sake? I know not what I would doe, answered the Gyrle, only this I know, that there are some of those Ladies so cruell, as their Knights call them Tygers and Lyons, and a thou sand other wilde-Beasts. And good Iesus, I know not what un-Souled folke they bee, and so without Conscience, that because they will not once behold an honourable man, they suffer him eyther to die or run mad. And I know not to what end serves all that coynesse. For if they doe it for honesties sake, let them marry with them, for the Knights desire nothing more. Peace childe, quoth the Hostesse; for it seems that thou knowest too much of those matters, and it is not decent that Maidens should know or speak so much. I speak, quoth she, by reason that this good Sir made me the de mand; and I could not in courtesie omit to answer him. Well, said the Curate, let me intreat you, good mine Host, to bring us here those Books; for I would fain see them. I am pleased, said the Inn-keeper: And then entring into his Chamber, he brought forth a little old Malet shut up with a chain; and opening thereof, hee took out three great Books and certain Papers written with a very fair Letter. The first Book hee opened was that of Don Cirongilio of Thracia: The other Felixmarte of Hircania: And the third, The History of the great Captain, Goncalo Hernandez of Cordova, with the life of Diego Garcia of Paredes adjoyned. As soon as the Curate had read the Titles of the two Books, he said to the Barber, We have now great want of our friends, the old woman and Neece. Not so much as you think, quoth the Barber; for I know also the way to the yard or the chimney, and in good sooth, there is a fire in it good enough for that purpose. Would you then, quoth the Host, burn my Books? No more of them, quoth the Curate, but these first two of Don Cirongilio and Felixmarte, are my Books. Perhaps, quoth the Inn-keeper, Hereticall or Flegmaticall, that you would thus roughly handle them. Schismaticall thou wo • ldest have said, quoth the Barber, and not Flegmaticall. It is so, said the Inn-keeper; but if you will needs burn any, I pray you, rather let it be that of the great Captain, and of that Diego Garcia; for I would rather suffer one of my Sonnes to bee burned then any one of those other two. Good friend, these two Books are lying, and full of follies and vanities; but that of the great Captain is true, and containeth the arts of Goncalo Hernandez of Cordova, who for his sundrie and noble acts merited to be tearmed by all the world The great Captain, a name famous, illustrious, and only deserved by himself and this other Diego Garcia of Paredes was a noble Gentleman, born in the City of Truxillo in Estremadura, & was a most valourous Souldier; and of so surpassing force, as he would detain a Mill wheele with one hand from turning in the midest of the speediest motion: And stand ing once at the end of a Bridge with a two-handed Sword, defended the passage against a mighty Armie that attempted to passe over it; and did so many other things, that if another who were a stranger and unpassionate had written them, as he did himself who was the relater and Historiographer of his own Acts, and therefore recounted them with the modestie of a Gentleman and proper Chronicler, they would have drowned all the Hectors, Achillises and Rollands in oblivion. There is a Jest, quoth the Inn-keeper, deale with my father, I pray you see at what you wonder: A wise tale at the with-holding of the wheele of a Mill. I swear you ought to read that which is read in Felixmarte of Hircania, who with one thwart blow cut five mighty Gyants in halfes, as if they were of Beans, like to the little Friers that Children make of Bean-cods: And set another time upon a great and most powerfull Army of more then a Million and six hundred thousand Souldiers, and overthrew and scattered them all like a Flock of Sheep. What then can you say to me of the good Don Cirongilio of Thracia, who was so animous and valiant as may bee seen in his Book; wherein is laid down, That as he sailed along a River, there issued out of the midest of the water a Serpent of fire, and he, as soon as he perceived it, leaped upon her, and hanging by her scalie shoulders, he wrung her throat so straitly between both his armes, that the Serpent perceiving her self to be well-nigh strangled, had no other way to save her self but by diving down into the deeps, carrying the Knight away with her, who would never let goe his gripe, and when they came to the bottom, hee found himself by a Palace in such faire and pleasant gardens, as it was a wonder; and presently the Serpent turned into an old man, which said to him such things as there is no more to be desired. Two figs for the Great Captain, and that Diego Garcia, of whom you speake. Dorotea hearing him speake thus, said to Cardenio, Mee thinks our Host wants but little to make up a second part of Don-Quixote. So it seemes to mee likewise, replyed Cardenio, for as wee may conjecture by his words, hee certainly beleeves that every thing written in those bookes, passed just as it is laid downe, and barefooted-Friers would bee scarce able to perswade him the contary. Know friend (quoth the Curate to the In-keeper) that there was never any such man as Felixmarte of Hircania, or Don-Chirongilio of Thracia, nor other such Knights as bookes of Chivalry recount; for all is but a device and fiction of idle wits that composed them, to the end that thou sayest, to passe over the time, as your readers doe in reading of them: For I sinceerely sweare unto thee, that there were never such Knights in the world, nor such Adventures and ravings hapned in it. Cast that bone to another dog quoth the In-keeper, as though I knew not how many numbers are five, and where the shooe wrests mee now. I pray you Sir, goe not about to give mee pap, for by the Lord I am not so white. Is it not a good sport that you labour to perswade mee, that all that which these good bookes say are but ravings and fables, they being printed by Grace and Favour of the Lords of the Privie Councell; as if they were folke that would permit so many lies to bee printed at once, and so many Battells and Enchantments, as are able to make a man run out of his wits: I have told thee already friend (said the Curate) that this is done for the re creation of our idle thoughts, and so even as in well governed Comonwealths, the playes at Chesse, Tennis and Trucks are tolerated for the pastime of some men which have none other occupation, and either ought not or cannot worke, even so such books are permitted to bee printed; presuming (as in truth they ought) that no man would be found so simple and ignorant, as to hold any of these bookes for a true Historie. And if my leisure permitted, and that it were a thing requisite for this Auditory, I could say many things concerning the subject of bookes of Knighthood, to the end that they should bee well contrived, and also bee pleasant and profitable to the Readers; but I hope somtime to have the commodity to communicate my conceit with those that may redresse it. And in the meane while you may beleeve good mine Host, what I have said, and take to you your books, and agree with their truths or leasings as you please, and much good may it doe you; and I pray God that you halt not in time on the foote that your guest Don-Quixote halteth. Not so quoth the In-keeper, for I will never bee so wood as to become a Knight Errant, for I see well, that what was used in the times of these famous Knights is now in no use nor request. Sancho came in about the midst of this discourse, and rested much confounded and Pensative of that which hee heard them say, that Knights Errant were now in no re quest, and that the bookes of Chivalry only conteined follies and lies, and purposed with himselfe to see the end of that voyage of his Lords, and that if it sorted not the wished successe which hee expected, hee resolved to leave him and return home to his wife and children and accustomed labour. The Inn-keeper thought to take away his bookes and budget, but the Curate withheld him saying. Stay a while, for I would see what papers are those which are written in so faire a Character. The Host tooke them out and gave them to him to read, being in number some eight sheetes with a title writ ten in text letters, which said, The Historie of the curious Impertinent. The Curate read two or three lines softly to himselfe, and said after, Truly the title of this History doth not mislike mee, and therefore I am about to reade it through. The Inn-keeper hea ring him said, Your reverence may very well doe it, for I 〈◊〉 you that some guests which have read it here, as they travelled, dis • ommend it exceedingly, and have beg'd it of mee as earnestly, but I would never bestow it, hoping some day to restore it to the owner of this Malet, who forgot it here behinde him with those bookes and papers, for it may bee that hee will somtime return, and although I know that I shall have great want of the bookes, yet will I make to him restitution, for although I am an In-keeper, yet God be thanked I am a Christian therewithall. You have great reason my friend, quoth the Curate, but yet notwithstanding if the taste like me, thou must give me leave to take a copie thereof. With all my heart replyed the Host. And as they two talked, Cardenio taking the booke, began to reade a little of it, and it pleasing him as much as it had done the Curate, he requested him to reade it in such sort as they might all heare him. That I would willingly doe said the Curate, if the time were not now more fit for sleeping then reading. It were sufficient repose for me, said Dorotea, to passe away the time listening to some tale or other, for my spirit is not yet so well quieted as to a ford me licence to sleepe, even then when nature exacteth it. If that bee so, quoth the Curate, I will reade it, if it were but for curiositie, perhaps it containeth some delight full matter. Master Nicholas and Sancho intreated the same. The Curate seeing and knowing that he should therein doe them all a pleasure, and hee himselfe likewise receive as great, said, Seeing you will needes heare it, be all of you attentive, for the History be gineth in this manner. CHAP. VI. Wherein is rehearsed the History of the Curious-Impertinent. I N Florence, a rich and famous Citie of Italie, in the Province called Tuscane, there dwelled two rich and principall Gentlemen called Anselmo and Lothario, which two were so great friends, as they were named for excellency, and by Antonomasta, by all those that knew them, the Two friends: They were both Batchelers, and much of one age and manners; all which was of force to make them answer one another with reciprocall amity. True it is that Anselmo was somewhat more inclined to amorous dalliance then Lothario, who was altogether addicted to hunting: But when occasion exacted it Anselmo would omit his own pleasures, to satisfie his friends; and Lothario likewise his, to please Anselmo: And by this means both their wills were so correspondent, as no clock could be better ordered then were their desires. Anselmo being at last deeply enamoured of a principall and beautifull young Ladie of the same Citie, called Camila, being so worthily descended, and she her self of such merit therewithall, as he resolved (by the consent of his friend Lothario, without whom he did nothing) to demand her of her Parents for wife; and did put his purpose in execution; and Lo thario himself was the messenger, and concluded the matter so to his friends satisfaction, as he was shortly after put in possession of his desires; and Camila so contented to have gotten Anselmo, as she ceased not to render Heaven and Lothario thanks, by whose means she had obtained so great a match. The first dayes, as all marriage dayes are wont to be merry, Lothario frequented, according to the custome, his frind An selmo's house, endeavouring to honour, feast, and recreate him all the wayes he might possible: But after the Nuptials were finished, and the concourse of Strangers, Visita tions, and Congratulations somewhat ceased, Lothario, also began to be somewhat more slack then he wor • ted in going to Anselmo his house, deeming it (as it is reason that all discreet men should) not so convenient to visit or haunt so often the house of his friend after marriage as he would, had he still remained a Batcheler. For although true amity neither should, nor ought to admit the least suspition: yet notwithstanding a married mans honour is so delicate and tender a thing, as it seems it may be some times impaired, even by very Bretheren; and how much more by Friends? Anselmo noted the remission of Lothario, and did grievously complain thereof, saying; That if he had wist by marriage he should thus be deprived of his deered conversation, hee would never have married; and that since through the uniform correspondencie of them both being free, they had deserved the sweet title of the two friends, that he should not now permit (be • ause he would be noted circumspect without any other occasion) that so famous and pleasing a name should be lost: and therefore he requested him (if it were lawfull to use such a terme between them two) to return and be Master of his house, and come and goe as he had done before his marriage, assuring him that his Spouse Camila had no other pleasure and will, then that which himself pleased shee should have: and that she, after having known how great was both their frindships, was not a little amazed to see him become so strange. To all these and many other reasons alledged by Anselmo, to perswade Lothario to frequent his house, he answered with so great prudence, discretion and warinesse, as Anselmo remained satisfied of his friends good intention herein: and they made an agreement between them two, that Lothario should dine at his house twice a week, and the Holy-dayes besides: And although this agreement had passed between them, yet Lothario purposed to doe that only which he should finde most expedient for his friends honour, whose reputation he tendered much more deerly then he did his own; and was wont to say very discreetly, that the married man, unto whom heaven had given a beautifull wife, ought to have as much heede of the friends which he brought to his house, as he should of the women friends that visited his wife; for that which is not done nor agreed upon in the Church or Market, nor in publique Feasts or Stations (being places that a man cannot lawfully hinder his wife from frequenting sometimes at least) are oft-times facilitated and contrived in a friends or kins-womans house, whom perhaps we never suspected. Anselmo on the other side affirmed, That therefore married men ought every one of them to have some friend who might ad vertise them of the faults escaped in their manner of proceeding; for it befalls many times, that through the great love which the Husband bears to his Wife, either he doth not take notice, or else he doth not advertise her, because he would not offend her to doe or omit to doe certain things, the doing or omitting whereof might turn to his honour or obloquie; to which things, being advertised by his friend, he might easily apply some remedie: But where might a man finde a friend so discreet, loyall and trustie as Anselmo demands? I know not truly, if not Lothario; for he it was that with all sollicitude and care regarded the honour of his friend: and therefore endeavoured to clip and diminish the number of the dayes promised, lest he should give occasion to the idle vulgar, or to the eyes of vagabonds and malicious men to judge any sinister thing, viewing so rich, comely, noble, and qualified a young man as he was, to have so free accesse into the house of a woman so beautifull as Camila. For though his virtues and modest carriage were sufficiently able to set a bridle to any malignant tongue, yet notwithstanding he would not have his credit, nor that of his friends called into any question; and therefore would spend most of the dayes that he had agreed to visit his friend, in other places and exercises; yet feigning excuses so plausible, as his friend admitted them for very reasonable. And thus the time passed on in challenges of un kindnesse of the one side, and lawfull excuses of the other. It so fell out, that as both the friends walked on a day together in a field without the Citie, Anselmo said to Lothario these words ensuing, I know very well, friend Lothario, that among all the favours which God of his bountie hath bestowed upon me by making me the Sonne of such Parents, and giving to me with so liberall a hand, both the goods of Nature and Fortune: yet as I cannot answer him with sufficient grati tude for the benefits already received, so doe I finde my self most highly bound unto him above all others, for having given me such a friend as thou art, and so beautifull a wife as Camila, being both of you such pawns, as if I esteem you not in the degree which I ought, yet doe I hold you as deer as I may: And yet possessing all those things which are wont to be the all and sum that are wont and may make a man happie, I live notwithstanding the most sullen and discontented life of the World; being troubled, I know not since when, and inwardly wrested with so strange a desire, and extravagant from the common use of others, as I marvell at my self, and doe condemn and rebuke my self when I am alone, and doe labour to conceale and cover mine own desires; all which hath served me to as little effect, as if I had proclaimed mine own errours purposely to the World: And seeing that it must finally break out, my will is, that it be only communicated to the treasury of thy secret; hoping by it and mine own industry, which (as my true friend) thou wilt use to help me, I shall bee quickly freed from the anguish it causeth, and by thy means my joy and contentment shall arive to the passe that my discontents have brought me through mine own folly. Lothario stood suspended at Anselmo's Speech, as one that could not imagine to what so prolixe a prevention and preamble tended: And although he revolved and imagined sundry things in his minde which he deemed might afflict his friend, yet did hee ever shoot wide from the mark which in truth it was: and that he might quickly escape that agonie, wherein the suspention held him, he said, That his friend did notable injurie to their amity, in searching out wreathings and ambages in the discovery of his most hidden thoughts to him, seeing bee might assure himself certainly, either to receive counsells of him how to entertain, or else remedy and means how to accomplish them. It is very true answered Anselmo, and with that confidence I let thee to understand, friend Lothario, That the desire which vexeth me, is a longing, to know whether my wife Camila be as good and perfect as I doe account her; and I cannot wholy rest satisfied of this truth, but by making tryall of her, in such sort, as it may give manifest argument of the degree of her goodnesse, as the fire doth shew the value of gold: For I am of opinion (O friend) that a woman is of no more worth or virtue, then that which is in her, after shee hath been solicited [ Casta est quam nemo rogavit: ] and that she alone is strong who cannot be bowed by the Promises, Gifts, Tears, and continuall importunities of importunate Lovers: For what thanks is it (quoth he) for a woman to be good, if no body say or teach her ill? What wonder that she be retired and ti morous, if no occasion be ministred to her of dissolution, and chiefly she that knows she hath a husband ready to kill her for the least argument of lightnesse? So that she which is only good for fear or want of occasion, will I never hold in that estimation, that I would the other sollicited and pursued, who notwithstanding comes away crowned with the victory: And therefore being moved as well by these reasons as by many other which I could tell you, which accredit and fortifie mine opinion, I desire that my wife Camila doe also passe thorow the pikes of those proofs and difficulties, and purifie and refine her self in the fire of being requested, sollicited and pursued; and that by one whose worths and valour may deserve acceptance in her opinion: and if she bear away the Palme of the victory, as I believe shee will, I shall account my fortune matchlesse, and may brag that my desires are in their height; and will say that a strong woman hath faln to my lot, of whom the Wise man faith, who shall finde her? And when it shall succeed contrary to mine expection, I shall, with the pleasure that I will conceive to see how rightly it jumps with mine opinion, bear very indifferent the grief which in all reason this so costly a tryall must stir in me: And presupposing that nothing which thou shalt say to me shall be available to hinder my designe, or disswade me from putting my purpose in execution; I would have thy selfe, deer friend Lothario, to provide thee to be the instrument that shall labour this worke of my liking, and I will give thee oportunitie enough to performe the same, without omitting any thing that may further thee in the sollicitation of an Honest, Noble, Warie, Retired and Passionlesse woman. And I am chiefly moved to commit this so hard an enterprize to thy trust; because I know that if Camila be vanquished by thee, yet shall not the victory arive to the last push and upshot, but only to that of accounting a thing to bee done, which shall not bee done for many good respects. So shall I remain nothing offended, and mine in jury concealed in the virtue of thy silence; for I know thy care to be such in matters concerning me, as it shall bee eternall, like that of death. And therefore if thou desirest that I may lead a life deserving that name, thou must forthwith provide thy selfe to en ter into this amorous conflict, and that not languishing or slothfully, but with that cou rage and diligence which my desire expecteth, and the confidence I have in our amitie assureth mee. These were the reasons used by Anselmo to Lothario, to all which hee was so atten tive, as untill hee ended, hee did not once unfold his lips to speake a word save those which wee have above related, and seeing that hee spoke no more; after hee had beheld him a good while, as a thing that hee had never before, and did therefore strike him in to admiration and amazement hee said, Friend Anselmo, I cannot perswade my selfe, that the words you have spoken be other then jests, for had I thought that thou wert in earnest, I would not have suffered thee to passe on so far, and by lending thee no eare would have excused this tedious Oration. I doe verily imagine that either thou dost not know mee, or I thee: but not so, for I know thee to bee Anselmo; and thou that I am Lothario; the dammage is, that I thinke thou art not the Anselma thou wast wont to bee, and perhaps thou deemest mee not to bee the accustomed Lothario that I ought to bee; for the things which thou hast spoken, are not of that Anselmo my friend, nor those which thou seekest ought to bee demanded of that Lothario, of whom thou hast notice; for true friends ought to prove and use their friends, as the Poet said, Vsque ad Aras, that is, that they should in no sort imploy them or implore their assistance in things offensive unto God, and if a Gentile was of this opinion in matters of friendship how much greater reason is it that a Christian should have that feeling, specially know ing that the celestiall amitie is not to bee lost for any humane friendship whatsoever. And when the friend should throw the bars so wide, as to set heavenly respects apart, for to complement with his friend, it must not bee done on light grounds, or for things of small moment, but rather for those whereon his friends life and honour wholy depends. Then tell mee now Anselmo, in which of these two things art thou in danger, that I may adventure my Person to doe thee a pleasure, and attempt so dete • lable a thing as thou doest demand? None of them truly, but rather doest demand, as I may conje cture, that I doe industriously labour to deprive thee of thine honour and life together, and in doing so, I likewise deprive my selfe of them both. For if I must labour to take away thy credit, it is most evident that I dispoyle thee of life, for a man without repu tation, is worse then a dead man, and I being the instrument (as thou desirest that I should be) of so great harme unto thee, doe not I become, likewise thereby dishonou red, and by the same consequence also without life? Heare mee friend Anselmo, and have patience not to answere mee untill I have said all that I think, concerning that which thy mind exacteth of thee; for we shall have after leisure enough, wherein thou maist reply, and I have patience to listen unto thy reasons. I am pleased quoth Anselmo, say what thou likest. And Lothario prosecuted his speech in this manner; Mee thinks Anselmo, that thou art now of the Moores humors, which can by no meanes bee made to understand the error of their sect; neither by Ci tations of the holy Scripture, nor by reasons which consist in speculations of the under standing, or that are founded in the Articles of the Faith, but must bee won by palpa ble examples, and those easie, intelligible, demonstrative and doubtlesse; by Mathema ticall demonstrations, which cannot bee denied. Even as when wee say, If from two e quall parts wee take away two parts equall, the parts that remaine are also equall. And when they cannot understand this, as in truth they doe not, wee must demonstrate it to them with our hands, and lay it before their eyes, and yet for all this nought can a vaile to win them in the end to give credit to the verities of our Religion, which very termes and manner of proceeding I must use with thee, by reason that the desire which is sprung in thee, doth so wander and stray from all that which beares the shadow only of Reason, as I doubt much that I shall spend my time in vaine which I shall bestow to make thee understand thine owne simplicitie, for I will give it no other name at this pre sent, and in good earnest I was almost perswaded to leave thee in thine humor, in pu nishment of thine inordinate and unreasonable desire, but that the love which I beare towards thee doth not consent, I use to thee such rigour, or leave thee in so manifest a danger of thine owne perdition. And that tho • maist cleerely see it, tell mee Anselmo; hast not thou said unto mee that I must sollicite one that stands upon her reputation, perswade an honest woman, make proffers to one that is not passionate or engaged, and serve a discreete woman? Yes, thou hast said all this. Well then, if thou knowest al ready that thou hast a retyred, honest, unpassionate and prudent wife, what seekest thou more? And if thou thinkest that shee will rest victorious after all mine assaults, as doubtlesse she will, what better titles wouldest thou after bestow upon her then those shee possesseth already? Either it proceedes because thou dost not thinke of her as thou sayest, or else because thou knowest not what thou demandest. If thou dost not account her such as thou praysest her; to what end wouldest thou prove her? But ra ther as an evill person use her as thou likest best; but if shee bee as good as thou belee vest, it were an impertinent thing to make tryall of truth it selfe: For after it is made, yet it will still rest only with the same reputation it had before. Wherefore it is a con cluding reason; that to attempt things, whence rather harm may after result unto us then good, is the part of rash and discoursless braines, and principally when they deale with those things whereunto they are not compelled or driven, and that they see even a far off, how the attempting the like is manifest folly. Difficult things are undertaken for God, or the world, or both. Those that are done for God, are the workes of the Saints, en devoring to leade Angels lives in fraile and mortall bodies. Those of the World, are the travells and toyles of such as cross such immense seas, travell through so adverse Re gions, and converse with so many Nations, to acquire that which wee call the goods of Fortune. And the things acted for God and the world together, are the worthy ex ploits of resolute and valorous Martiall men, which scarce perceive so great a breach in the adversatie wall, as the common bullet is wont to make, when leaving all fear apart, without making any discourse, or taking notice of the manifest danger that threatens them, born away by the wings of desire and honour to serve God, their Nation and Prince, doe throw themselves boldly into the throat of a thousand menacing deaths which expect them. These are things wont to bee practised, and it is honour, glory and profit to attempt them, bee they never so full of inconveniences and danger; but that which thou sayest thou wilt trie and put in practise, shall never gaine thee Gods glorie, the goods of for tune, or renoune among men; for suppose that thou bringest it to passe according to thine owne fantasie, thou shalt remaine nothing more contented, rich, or honourable then thou art already; and if thou dost not, then shalt thou see thy selfe in the greatest misery of any wretch living: for it will little availe thee then, to thinke that no man knowes the disgrace befaln thee, it being sufficient both to afflict and dissolve thee that thou knowest it thy self; and for greater confirmation of this truth, I will repeat unto thee a stanza of the famous Poet Lud • vice Tansil • in the end of his first part of saint Pe ters teares, which is: THE griefe increaseth, and withall the shame, In Peter when the day it self did show: And though hee no man sees, yet doth hee blame Himself, because hee had offended so, For brests, magnanimous not onely, tam • When (that of others they are se •• e) they know: But of themselves asham'd they often bee, Though none but Heav'n and Earth their error see. So that thou canst not excuse thy griefe with secrecie, bee it never so great, but rather shalt have continuall occasion to weepe, if not watry teares from thine eyes, at least teares of blood from thy heart, such as that simple Doctor wept, of whom our Poet makes mention, who made tryall of the Vessell, which the prudent Reynaldos upon ma turer discourse refused to deale withall: and although it bee but a Poeticall fixion, yet doth it containe many hidden morals worthy to bee noted, understood and imitated: how much more, seeing that by what I mean to say now, I hope thou shalt begin to conceive the great error which thou wouldest wittingly commit. Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or thy Fortunes had made thee Lord and lawfull possessor of a most precious Diamond, of whose goodnesse and qualitie all the Lapi daries that had viewed the same would rest satisfied, and that all of them would joyntly and uniformly affirm that it arived in quality, goodnesse and finenesse to all that, to which the nature of such a stone might extend it self; and that thou thy self didest believe the same without witting any thing to the contrarie; would it be just that thou shouldest take an humour to set that Diamond between an Anvile and a hammar and to trie there by very force of blows whether it be so hard & so fine as they say? And farther; when thou didest put thy designe in execution, put the case that the stone made resistance to thy foolish tryall, yet wouldest thou add thereby no new valour or esteem to it: And if it did break, as it might befall; were not then all lost? Yes cer tainly, and that leaving the Owner, in all mens opinion, for a very poor ignorant person. Then friend Anselmo, make account that Camila is a most precious Diamond as well in thine as in other mens estimation; and it is no reason to put her in contin gent danger of breaking, seeing that although shee remain in her integrity, she cannot mount to more worth then she hath at the present; and if she faltred, or did not re sist, consider even at this present, what state you would bee in then and how justly thou mightest then complain of thy self, for being cause of her perdition and thine own. See how there is no Jewell in the world comparable to the modest and chaste Woman; and that all Womens honour consists in the good opinion that's had of them: and seeing that of thy Spouse is so great, as it arrives to that sum of perfection which thou knowest; why wouldest thou call this verity in question? Know, friend, that a Woman is an imperfect Creature, and should therefore have nothing cast in her way to make her stumble & fall, but rather to cleer & doe all incumbrances away out of it, to the end shee may without impeachment run with a swift course to obtain the perfection shee wants, which only consists in being virtuous. The Naturalists recount, that the Ermine is a little Beast that hath a most white skin; and that when the hunters would chase him, they use this art to take him: As soon as they finde out his haunt, and places where he hath recourse, they thwart them with mire and dirt, and after when they discrie the little Beast, they pursue him towards those places which are defiled; and the Ermine espying the mire, stands still, and per mits himself to be taken and captived in exchange of not passing thorow the mire, or staining of his whitenesse, which it esteems more then either liberty or life. The honest and chaste Woman is an Ermine, and the virtue of chastity is whiter and purer then Snow; and he that would not lose it, but rather desires to keep and preserve it, must proceed with a different stile from that of the Ermine: For they must not propose and lay before her the mire of the passions, flatteries and services of importunate Lovers; for perhaps she shall not have the naturall impulse and force which commonly through proper debility is wont to stumble, to passe over those incumbrances safely: and therefore it is requisite to free the passage and take them away, and lay before her the cleernesse of virtue, and the beauty comprized in good fame. The good woman is also like unto a bright and cleer mirrour of Crystall; and therefore is subject to bee stained and dimmed by every breath that toucheth it. The honest woman is to bee used as reliques of Saints, to wit, shee must be honoured but not touched. The good wo man is to be kept and prized like a fair Garden full of sweet Flowers and Roses, that is held in estimation, whose owner permits no man to enter and trample or touch his Flowers, but holds it to bee sufficient, that they standing a far off, without the rails, may joy at the delightfull sight and fragrancie thereof. Finally I will repeat certain Verses unto thee that have now come to my memorie, the which were repeated of late in a new Play, and seem to me very fit for the purpose of which wee treat. A prudent old man did give a neighbour of his that had a daughter counsell to keep and shut her up; and among many other reasons he used these. TRuely Woman is of Glasse; Therefore no man ought to trie, If she broke or not might be, Seeing all might come to passe. Yet to break her 'tis more easie; And it is no wit to venter A thing of so brittle temper, That to Soulder is so queafie. And I would have all men dwell In this truth and reasons ground, That if Danaes may bee found, Golden showres are found as well. All that which I have said to thee, Anselmo, untill this instant, hath been for that which may touch thy self: and it is now high time that somewhat bee heard concerning me: And if by chance I shall be somewhat prolixe, I pray thee to pardon me; for the Labyrinth wherein thou hast entred, and out of which thou wouldest have me to free thee, requires no lesse. Thou holdest me to bee thy friend, and yet goest about to dispoile me of mine honour, being a thing contrary to all amitie; and doest not only pretend this, but doest likewise indeavour that I should rob thee of the same, that thou wouldest deprive me of mine is evident; for when Camila shall perceive that I sollicite her as thou demandest, it is certain that shee will esteem of me as of one quite devoid of wit, and indiscreet, seeing I intend and doe a thing so repugnant to that, which the being that him I am and thine amitie doe binde me unto; that thou wouldest have me rob thee thereof is as manifest; for Camila seeing me thus to court her, must ima gine that I have noted some lightnesse in her which • ent me boldnesse thus to discover unto her my depraved desires, and she holding her self to bee thereby injured and dishonoured, her disgrace must also concern thee as a principall part of her. And hence springs that which is commonly said, That the Husband of the Adulterous Wife, al though hee know nothing of her lewdnesse, nor hath given any occasion to her to doe what shee ought not, nor was able any way to hinder by dilligence, care, or other means, his disgrace, yet is intituled with a vituperious and vile name, and is in a manner beheld by those that know his Wifes mallice with the eyes of contempt; whereas they should indeed regard him rather with those of compassion, seeing that he falls into that misfortune not so much through his own default, as through the light fantasie of his wicked Consort. But I will shew thee the reason why a bad Womans Husband is justly dishonoured and contemned, although hee bee ignorant and guiltlesse thereof, and cannot prevent, nor hath given to it any occasion: And bee not grieved to heare mee, seeing the benefit of the discourse shall redound unto thy selfe. When God created our first Parent in the terrestriall Paradise, the holy Scripture saith, That God infused sleep into Adam, and that being asleep, hee took out a rib out of his left side, of which he formed our Mother Eve; and as soon as Adam awaked and beheld her, hee said, This is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bones: And God said, For this cause shall a man leave his Father and his Mother, and they shall bee two in one flesh: And then was the Divine Ordinance of Matrimonie first instituted, with such indissoluble knots, as only may bee by death dissolved: And this marvellous Or dinance is of such efficacie and force, as it makes two different persons to bee one very flesh; and yet operates farther in good married folk; For although they have two Souls, yet it makes them to have but one Will. And hence it proceeds, that by reason the Wifes flesh is one and the very same with her Husbands, the blemishes or defects that taint it; doe also redound into the Husbands, although hee (as wee have said) have ministred no occasion to receive that dammage. For as all the whol body feels any paine of the foot, head, or any other member, because it is all one flesh, & the head smarts at the grief of the Ankle, although it hath not caused it: So is the Husband participant of his Wifes dishonour, because he is one and the self-same with her. And by reason that all the Honours and Dishonours of the world are, and spring from Flesh and Blood; and those of the bad woman be of this kinde, it is forcible, that part of them fall to the Husbands share, and that hee bee accounted dishonourable, although he wholly bee ignorant of it. See then, Anselmo, to what perill thou doest thrust they self by seeking to disturb the quietnesse and repose wherein thy Wife lives, and for how vain and im pertinent curiositie thou wouldest stir up the humours which are now quiet in thy chaste Spouses brest; note how the things thou doest adventure to gain are of small moment; but that which thou shalt lose so great, that I must leave it in his poynt, having no words sufficiently able to indeer it. But if all that I have said bee not able to move thee from thy bad purpose; thou mayest well seek out for some other in strument of thy dishonour and mis-haps; for I mean not to be one, although I should therefore lose thine amitie, which is the greatest losse that might any way befall mee. Here the prudent Lothario held his peace, and Anselmo remayned so confounded and Melancholy, as hee could not answere a word to him for a very great while. But in the end hee said; I have listned friend Lothario, to all that which thou hast said unto mee, with the attention which thou hast noted, and have perceived in thy reasons, examples, and similitudes, the great discretion wherewithall thou art endowed, and the perfecti on of amitie that thou hast attained; and doe also confesse and see, that if I follow not thine advice, but should leane unto mine owne, I doe but shun the good, and pursue the evill. Yet oughtest thou likewise to consider, how herein I suffer the disease which some women are wont to have, that long to eate earth, lime, coles, and other far worse and lothsome things even to the very sight, and much more to the taste: So that it is behoovefull to use some art by which I may bee cured, and this might bee easily done by beginning only to sollic • te Camila although you did it but weake and feignedly; for I know shee will not bee so soft and pliable, as to dash her honestie about the ground, at the first encounters, and I will rest satisfied with this commencement alone: and thou shalt herein accomplish the obligation thou owest to our friendship, by not only resto ring mee to life, but also by perswading me not to dispoyle my selfe of mine honour. And thou art bound to doe this, for one reason that I shall alledge, to wit, that I being resolved, as indeed I am, to make this experience, thou oughtest not to permit, being my friend, that I should bewray my defect herein to a stranger, whereby I might very much endanger my reputation, which thou labourest so much to preserve, and though thy credit may lose some degrees in Camilaes opinion, whil'st thou dost sollicite her, it matters not very much, or rather nothing; for very shortly, when we shall espie in her the integritie that wee expect, thou maist open unto her sinceerly the drift of our pra ctise, by which thou shalt againe recover thine impayred reputation. Therefore seeing the Adventure is little, & the pleasure thou shalt doe me by the enterprizing thereof so, too great, I pray thee doe it, though ever so many incumbrances represent themselves to thee, for (as I have promised) with only thy begining, I will rest satisfied and account the cause concluded. Lothario perceiving the firme resolution of Anselmo, and nothing else occurring for cibly disswasive, nor knowing what other reasons to use that might hinder this his pre cipitate resolution; and nothing withall, how hee threatned to breake the matter of this his indiscreete desires to a stranger; hee determined to avoide greater inconveniences, to give him satisfaction, and performe his demand, with purpose and resolution to guide the matter so discreetly, as without troubling Camilaes thoughts, Anselmo should rest contented, and therefore intreated him not to open his minde to any other, for he himselfe would undertake that enterprize, and begin it whensoever hee pleased. Ansel mo imbraced him very tender and lovingly, and gratified him as much for that promise, as if hee had done him some very great favour, and there they accorded betweene them, that hee should begin the work the very next day ensuing; for hee would give him place and leisure to speake alone with Camila, and would likewise provide him of Money, Jewels, and other things to present unto her. Hee did also admonish him to bring mu sick under her windowes by night, and write verses in her prayse, and if hee would not take the paines to make them, hee himselfe would compose them for him. Lothario pro mised to performe all himselfe, yet with an intention far wide from Anselmoes; and with this agreement they returned to Anselmoes house, where they found Camila som what sad and carefull, expecting her husbands returne, who had stayed longer abroad that day then his custome. Lothario leaving him at his house returned to his owne, as pensive as hee had left Anselmo contented, and knew not what plot to lay, to issue out of that impertinent affaire with prosperous successe: But that night hee bethought himselfe of a manner how to deceive Anselmo without offending Camila; and so the next day ensuing hee came to his friends house to dinner, where Camila knowing the great good will her husband bore towards him, did receive and entertayne him very kindly with the like; dinner being ended, and the table taken up, Anselmo requested Lothario to keepe Camila companie untill his returne, for hee must needs goe about an affaire that concerned him greatly, but would returne againe within an houre and an halfe. Camila intreated her husband to stay, and Lothario proffered to goe and keepe him company, but nothing could prevaile with Anselmo, but rather hee impor tuned his friend Lothario to remayne and abide there till his returne, because hee must goe to treat of a matter of much consequence. Hee also commanded Camila not to leave Lothario alone untill hee came backe. And so hee departed, leaving Camila and Lothario together at the Table, by reason that all the attendants and servants were gone to dinner. Here Lothario saw that hee was entred into the Lists which his friend so much desired, with his Adversary before him, who was with her beautie able to overcome a whole squadron of armed Knights; see then if Lothario had not reason to feare himselfe? but that which hee did at the first onset, was to lay his elbow on the arme of his chair and his hand on his cheek, and desiring Camila to bear with his respectlesnesse therein, he said he would repose a little whilest he attended Anselmo's comming. Camila an swered that shee thought hee might take his ease better on the Cushions of State; and therefore prayed him hee would enter into the Parlour and lie on them: But hee ex cused himself, and so remained asleep in the same place, untill Anselmo's return, who comming in, and finding his Wife in her Chamber and Lothario asleep, made full ac count, that by reason of his long stay, they had time enough both to talk and repose; and therefore expected very greedily the houre wherein his friend should awake, to goe out with him and learn what successe he had. All succeeded as hee wished; for Lothario arose, and both of them went abroad; and then he demanded of him, what hee desired: And Lothario answered that it seemed not to him so good to discover all his meaning at the first; and therefore had done no other thing at that time, then speak a little of her Beauty and Discretion; for it seemed to him that this was the best pre amble hee could use to gain by little and little some interest and possession in her ac ceptance, to dispose her thereby the better to give eare again to his words more wil lingly, imitating therein the Divells craft when hee means to deceive any one that is vigilant and carefull; for then he translates himself into an Angell of light, being one of darknesse, and laying before him apparent good, discovers what hee is in the end, and brings his intention to passe, if his guiles bee not at the beginning detected. All this did greatly like Anselmo, who said that hee would afford him every day as much lei sure, although he did not goe abroad; for hee would spend the time so at home as Camila should never bee able to suspect his drift. It therefore befell that many dayes passed which Lothario did willingly overslip, and said nothing to Camila; yet did hee ever sooth Anselmo, and told him, that he had spoken to her, but could never win her to give the least argument of flexibilitie, or make way for the feeblest hope that might bee; but rather affirmed that shee threatned him, that if hee did not repell his impertinent desires, shee would detect his indirect proceedings to her husband. It is well, quoth Anselmo: Hitherto Camila hath re sisted words; it is therefore requisite to trie what resistance shee will make against works: I will give thee to morrow four thousand Crowns in gold, to the end thou mayest offer, and also bestow them on her; and thou shalt have as many more to buy Jewells wherewithall to bait her; for Women are naturally inclined, and specially if they bee fair (bee they ever so chaste) to goe brave and gorgeously attired; and if shee can overcome this temptation, I will remain pleased, and put thee to no more trouble. Lothario answered, That seeing hee had begun, hee would bear his enterprize on to an end, although hee made full account that hee should depart from the conflict both tyred and vanquished. Hee received the four thousand crowns the next day, and at once with them four thousand perplexities, for hee knew not what to invent to lie anew; but concluded finally to tell his friend, how Camila was as inflexible at Gifts and Promises as at words; and therefore it would bee in vaine to tra vile any more in her pursuit, seeing hee should doe nothing else but spend the time in vain. But Forturne, which guided these affairs in another manner, so disposed, that An selmo having left Lothario and Camila alone, as hee was wont, entred secretly into a chamber, and thorow the cranies and chinks did listen and see what they would doe; where hee perceived that Lothario, in the space of half an hour, spoke not a word to Camila, not yet would hee have spoken, though hee had remained there a whole age; and thereupon surmised straight that all that which his friend had told him of Camila's answers and his own speech, were but fictions and untruths; and that hee might the more confirm himself and see whether it were so, hee came forth, and calling Lothario apart, hee demanded of him what Camila had said, and in what humour shee was at the present? Lothario answered, That hee meant not ever any more to found her in that matter; for shee replyed unto him so untowardly and sharply, as hee durst not attempt any more to speak unto her of such things. Oh, quoth Anselmo, Lothario, Lothario! how evill doest thou answer to the affe ction thou owest me, or to the confidence I did repose in thee? I have stood beholding thee all this while thorow the hole of that lock, and saw how thou never spokest one word to her: Whereby I doe also collect, that thou hast not yet once accosted her; and if it bee so, as doubtlesly it is, say, why doest thou deceive me? or why goest thou about fraudulently to deprive me of those means whereby I may obtain my desires? Anselmo said no more, yet what he said was sufficient to make Lothario confused and ashamed, who taking it to bee a blemish to his reputation to bee found in a lye, swore to Anselmo, That hee would from thence forward so indeavour to please his minde and tell him no more leasings, as hee himself might perceive the successe thereof, if hee did again curiously lye in watch for him; a thing which hee might well excuse, because him most serious labour to satisfie his desire should remove all shadow of suspi cion. Anselmo believed him, and that hee might give him the greater commoditie, and lesse occasion of fear, hee resolved to absent himself from his house some eight dayes, and goe to visit a friend of his that dwelled in a Village not far from the Cittie; and therefore dealt with his friend that hee should send a Messenger to call for him very earnestly, that under that pretext, hee might finde an excuse to Camila for his departure. O infortunate and inconsiderate Anselmo! what is that which thou doest? what doest thou contrive? or what is that thou goest about? behold, thou workest thine own ruine, laying plots of thine own dishonour, and giving order to thy proper per dition. Thy wife Camila is good; thou doest possesse her in quiet and peaceable man ner; no man surpriseth thy delights; her thoughts transgresse not the limits of her house: Thou art her Heaven on earth, and the goale to which her desires aspire: Thou art the accomplishment and summe of her delectation: Thou art the Square by which shee measureth and directeth her will, adjusting wholy with thine and with that of Heaven. Since then the Mines of her Honour, Beautie, Modestie and Recollection, bountifully afford thee, without any toyle, all the treasures contained in them, or thou canst desire, why wouldest thou dig the earth and seek out new vains and new seen treasures, exposing thy self to the danger, that thy labours may turn to wrack, seeing in fine, that they are only susteined by the weak supporters of her fraile nature? Remember how he that seeks the impossible, may justly be refused of that which is pos sible, according to that which the Poet saith: IN Death for Life I seeke, Health in infirmitie: For issue in a Dung • on deep: In Iayles for Libertie, And in a Treachour Loyalty. But envious-Fate, which still Conspires to worke mine ill, With Heav'n hath thus decreed, That easie things should be to mee deni'd, • Cause I crave th'impossible. Anselmo departed the next day following to the Village, telling Camila at his depar ture, that whil'st hee were absent, his friend Lothario would come and see to the affaires of his house, and to eate with her, and desired her therefore to make as much of him as shee would doe of his owne person. Camila, like a discreet and modest woman, was grieved at the order her husband did give to her, and requested him to render how indecent it was that any one should possesse the chayre of his Table, hee being absent, and if hee did it as doubting her sufficiency to manage his houshould affaires, that at least hee should make tryall of her that one time, and should cleerly perceive how shee was able to discharge matters of far greater consequence. Anselmo replyed, that what hee commanded was his pleasure, and therefore shee had nothing else to doe but hold downe her head and obey it. Camila answered that shee would doe so, although it were very much against her will. In fine her husband departed, and Lothario came the next day following to the house, where hee was entertayned by Camila very friendly, but would never treate with Lothario alone, but evermore was compassed by her ser vants and waiting Maidens, but chiefly by one called Leonela, whom shee loved deerly, as one that had been brought up with her in her fathers house, even from their in fancie, and when shee did marry Anselmo, shee brought her from thence in her com pany. The first three dayes Lothario spoke not a word, although hee might, when the Ta bles were taken up, and that the folke of the house went hastily to dinner, for so Cami la had commanded, and did give Leonela order besides to dine before her selfe, and that shee should still keepe by her side; but the gyrle which had her fancie otherwise imploy ed in things more pleasing her humor, and needed those houres and times for the accom plishing of them, did not alwaies accomplish so punctually her Ladies command, but now and then would leave her alone, as if that were her Ladies behest. But the honest presence of Camila, the gravitie of her face, and the modestie of her carriage was such, that it served as a bridle to restraine Lotharioes tongue. But the benefit of Camilaes many virtues, seting silence to Lotharioes speech, resulted afterward to both their harmes; for though the tongue spoke not, yet did his thoughts discourse, and had lei sure afforded them to contemplate part by part, all the extremes of worth and beautie that were cumulated in Camila, potent to enflame a statue of frozen Marble, how much more a heart of flesh. Lothario did only behold her in the time and space hee should speake unto her, and did then consider how worthy shee was to be loved, And this consideration did by little and little give assaults to the respects which hee ought to have borne towards his friend Anselmo; a thousand times did hee determine to absent himselfe from the Citie, and goe where Anselmo should never see him, nor hee Camila; but the delight hee tooke in beholding her, did again withhold and hinder his resolutions. When hee was alone, hee would condemn himselfe of his madd designe, and term him selfe a bad friend and worse Christian, hee made discourses and comparisons betweene himselfe and Anselmo, all which did finish in this point that Anselmoes foole-hardinesse, an • madnesse was greater, then his owne infidelitie, and that if hee might bee as asily excused before God, for that hee meant to doe, as hee would bee be for men, hee needed not to fear any punishment should bee inflicted on him forthe crime. Finally Camilaes beautie and worths, assisted by the occasion whih the ignorant Husband had thrust into his fists, did wholy runine and overthrow Lot • ario his loyaltie; and therefore without regarding any other thing then that to whih his pleasure conducted him, about a three dayes after Anselmo's departure (w •• ch time hee had spent in a continuall battell and resistance of his contending tho • ghts) he began to sollicite Camila with such trouble of the Spirits and so amorous wo • ds, as shee was strucken almost beside her self with wonder, and made him no other ansver, but arising from the Table, flung away in a furie into her chamber. But yet for ill this drynesse, Lothario his hope (which is wont evermore to bee borne at once wi • Love) was nothing dismayed, but rather accounted the more of Camila, who per • eiving that in Lothario which shee never durst before to imagine, knew not what she • might doe; but it seeming unto her to bee a thing neither secure nor honest, to giv • him occasion or leisure to speak unto him again, determined to send one unto her Husband Anselmo the very same night, as indeed shee did, with a Letter to recall him home to her house: The subject of her Letter was this. CHAP. VII. Wherein is prosecuted the Historie of the Curious-Im pertinent. E Ven, as it is commonly said, That an Armie seems not well without a Generall; or a Castle without a Con stable: So doe I affirm, That it is much more inde cent to see a young married Woman without her Hus band, when hee is not justly deteined away by necessa rie Affairs. I finde my self so ill-disposed in your absence, and so impatient and impotent to indure it longer, as, if you doe not speedily return, I shall bee constrained to return back unto my Father, although I should leave your house without any keeping: For the guard you appoint ed for me, if it bee so that hee may deserve that title, looks more, I believe to his own pleasure, then to that which concerns you; therefore seeing you have wit enough, I will say no more; nor ought I to say more in reason. Anselmo received the Letter, and by it understood that Lothario had begun the en terprize, and that Camila had answered to him according as he had hoped: And mar vellous glad at the news, hee answered his wife by word of mouth, That shee should not remove in any wise from her house; for hee would return with all speed. Camila was greatly admired at his answer, which struck her into a greater perplexitie then shee was at the first, being afraid to stay at home, and also to goe to her Father. For by staying shee indangers her honesty; by going shee should transgresse her Husbands command: At last shee resolved to doe that which was worst, which was to remain at home, and not to shun Lothario's presence, lest shee should give her Servants occa • ion of suspi • ion: and now shee was grieved to have written what shee did to her Husb • nd, fearfull lest hee should think that Lothario had noted in her some token of lightn • sse, which might have moved him to lose the respect which otherwise was due unto • er: But confident in her innocencie, shee cast her hopes in God and her good thou • hts, wherewithall shee thought to resist all Lothario's words, and by holding her silent • ith out making him any answer, without giving any further account of the matter t • her Husband, lest thereby shee might plunge him in new difficulties and contention • ich his friend, and did therefore bethink her how shee might excuse Lothario to Ansel mo, when hee should demand the occasion that moved her to write unto himthat Letter. With these more honest then profitable or discreet resolutions, shee gave eare th • se cond day to Lothario, who charged her with such resolution, as her constancie began to stagger, and her honesty had enough to doe recurring to her eyes to containe them, lest they should give any demonstration of the amorous compassion which Lotharioes words and teares had stirred in her brest. Lothario noted all this, and it inflamed him the more. Finally, hee thought that it was requisite the time and leisure which Ansel • oes absence afforded him, to lay closer siege to that Fortresse; and so hee assaulted her pre sumptuously, with the prayses of her beautie, for there is nothing which with such faci litie doth rend and raze to the ground the proudly-crested Turrets of womens vanitie, then the same vanitie being dilated on by the tongue of adulation and flatterie, To bee briefe, hee did with all diligence undermine the Rock of her integritie with so warlike Engines, as although Camila were made of brasse, yet would shee bee overthrown, for Lothario wept, intreated, promised, flattered, persisted and fained so feelingly, and with such tokens of truth, as traversing Cameliaes care of her honour, hee came in the end to triumph over that which was least suspected, and hee most desired; for she ren dred her selfe, even Camelia rendred her selfe. But what wonder if Lotharioes amitie could not stand on foote? A cleere example, plainly demonstrating that the amorous passion is only vanquished by shuning it, and that no body ought to adventure to wre stle with so strong an Adversarie; for heavenly forces are necessarie for him that would confront the violence of that passion, although humane. None but Leonela knew the weakenesse of her Ladie, for from her the two bad friends and new lovers could not conceale the matter; nor yet would Lothario discover to Camila her husbands pretence, or that he had given him wittingly the oportunity whereby he arived to that passe, be cause she should not imagine that he had gotten her lightly, and by chance, and did not purposely sollicite her. A few dayes after Anselmo arrived to his house, and did not perceive what wanted therein, to wit, that which it had lost, and he most esteemed. From thence he went to see his friend Lothario, whom he found at home, and embracing one another, he demanded of him the news of his life or of his death, The news which I can give thee, friend Anselmo, quoth Lothario, are, that thou hast a wife, who may deservedly be the example and garland of all good women. The words that I spoke unto her, were spent on the ayre, my proffers contemned, and my gifts repulsed, and besides, she hath mock't mee notably for certain fained teares that I did shead. In resolution, even as Camila is the pattern of all beauty, so is she a treasury wherein modesty resides, courtesie and warinesse dwell, and all the other vertues that may beautifie an ho nourable woman, or make her fortunate. Therefore friend, take back thy money, for here it is ready, and I never had occasion to imploy it: for Camila's integrity cannot bee subdued with so base things as are gifts and promises. And Anselmo content thy selfe now with the proofes made already, without attempting to make any farther try all. And seeing thou hast past over the Sea of difficulties and suspicions with a drie foot, which may and are wont to bee had of women; doe not eftsoones enter into the pro found depths of new inconveniences, nor take thou any other Pilot to make experience of the goodnesse and strength of the Vessell that Heaven hath alotted to thee, to passe therein thorow the Seas of this world; but make account that thou art harboured in a safe Haven, and there hold thy selfe fast with the Anchor of good consideration, and so rest thee untill death come to demand his debt, from the payment whereof no No bility or priviledge whatsoever can exempt us. Anselmo rested singularly satisfied at Lotharioes discourse, and did beleeve it as firmly as if it were delivered by an Oracle: but did intreate him notwithstanding to prosecute his attempt, although it were only done for curiositie, and to passe away the time; yet not to use so efficacious meanes as hee thitherto practised; and that hee only desired him to write some verses in her praise under the name of Clori, for hee would make Camila beleeve, that hee was enamoured on a certaine Lady, to whom hee did appropriate that name, that hee might celebrate her prayses with the respect due to her honour, and that if hee would not take the pains to invent them, that hee himselfe would willingly compose them. That is not needfull quoth Lothario, for the Muses are not so alienated from mee, but that they visite mee somtimes in the yeere. Tell you unto Camila what you have devised of my loves, and as for the verses, I will make them my selfe; if not so well as the subject deserves, yet at the least as artificially as I may devise them: The impertinent curious man and his trea cherous friend having thus agreed, and Anselmo returned to his house, hee demanded of Camila that which shee marvelled hee had not asked before, that shee should tell un to him the occasion why shee sent unto him the Letter? Camila made answer, Because it seemed unto her, that Lothario beheld her some what more immodest then when he was at home; but that now she did againe disswade her selfe, and be leeved that it was but a light surmise, without any ground, because that shee perceived Lothario to loath her presence, or be by any meanes alone with her. Anselmo told her that she might very well live secure for him, for that he knew Lothario's affections were bestowed else-where, and that upon one of the noblest Damzels of the Citie, whose praises hee solemnized under the name of Clori, and that although hee were not, yet was there no cause to doubt of Lothario's virtue, or the amitie that was between them both. Here if Camila had not been premonished by Lothario, that the love of Clori was but fained, and that hee himself had told it to Anselmo to blinde him, that hee might with lesse difficultie celebrate her own praises under the name of Clori, shee had without doubt faln into the desperate toyles of jealousie; but being already advertised shee posted over that assault lightly. The day following they three sitting together at dinner, Anselmo requested Lothario to repeat some one of the Verses that hee had made to his beloved Clori; for seeing that Camila knew her not, hee might boldly say what hee pleased. Although shee knew her quoth Lothario, yet would I not therefore suppresse any part of her praises. For when any Lover praiseth his Ladie for her beauty, and doth withall taxe her of cruelty, her credit incurs no danger. But befall what it list, I composed yesterday a Sonnet of the ingratitude of Clori, and is this ensuing. A SONNET. AMid'st the silence of the darkest night, When sweetest sleep invadeth mortall eyes; I poor account, to Heav'n and Clori bright, Give of the richest harmes, which ever rise. And at the time, wee Phoebus may devise, Shine through the roseal gates of th'Orient bright, With deep accents and sighs, in Wonted guise, I doe my Plaints renew, with main and might. And when the Sunne, down from his Starry seat, Directest rayes towards the earth doth send, My sighs I double and my sad regret: And night returns; but of my Woes no end: For I finde alwaies, in my mortall strife, Heav'n without eares, and Clori likewise deaf. Camila liked the Sonnet very well, but Anselmo best of all; for hee praised it, and said, that the Lady must bee very cruell that would not answer such perspicuous truths with reciprocall affection. But then Camila answered, Why then (belike) all that which enamoured Poets say is true? In as much as Poets, quoth Lothario, they say not truth; but as they are inamoured, they remain as short as they are true. That is que stionlesse, quoth Anselmo, all to underprop and give Lothario more credit with Camila, who was as carelesse of the cause (her Husband said so) as shee was inamoured of Lothario; and therefore with the delight shee took in his compositions, but chiefly knowing that his desires and labours were addrest to her self, who was the true Clori, shee intreated him to repeat some other Sonnet or Dittie, if hee remembred any. Yes that I doe, quoth Lothario; but I believe that it is not so good as the first, as you may well judge; for it is this. A SONNET. I Die, and if I cannot bee believ'd, My death's more certain, as it is most sure To see me, a • thy feet, of life depriv'd; Rather then grieve, this thraldome to indure. Well may I (in oblivious shades obscure) Of Glorie, Life, and Favour bee deny'd: And yet even there, shall in my bosome pure, The shape of thy fair face, iugrav'd, bee ey'd. For that's a relique, which I doe reserve For the last Trances, my contentions threaten. Which mid'st thy rigour doth it self preserve. O woe's the Wight, that is by tempests beaten By night, in unknown Seas, in danger rife, For want of North, or Hav'n to lose his life! Anselmo commended also this second Sonnet as hee had done the first, and added by that means one link to another in the chain, wherewith hee intangled himself, and forged his own dishonour; seeing when Lothario dishonoured him most of all, hee said unto him then that hee honoured him most. And herewithall Camila made all the links, that verily served only to abase her down to the Center of contempt, seem to mount her in her Husbands opinion up to the height of virtue and good fame. It befell soon after, that Camila finding her self alone with her Maiden, said to her, I am ashamed, friend Leonela, to see how little I knew to value my self, seeing that I made not Lothario spend some time at least in the purchasing the whole possession of me, which I, with a prompt will, bestowed upon him so speedily: I fear me that hee will impute my hastinesse to lightnesse, without considering the force hee used towards me, which wholly hindred and disabled my resistance. Let not that afflict you Madam, quoth Leonela; for it is no sufficient cause to diminish estimation, that that bee given quickly which is to bee given, if that in effect be good that is given, and be in it self worthy of estimation; for it is an old proverb, That hee that gives quickly, gives twice. It is also said as well, quoth Camila, That that which costeth little, is lesse esteemed. That reason hath no place in you, quoth Leonela, for as much as Love, according as some have said of it, doth sometimes flie, other times it goes; it runs with this man, and goes leisurely with the other; it makes some key-cold, and inflames others; some it wounds, and some it kills; it begins the Career of his desires in an instant, and in the very same concludes it likewise: It is wont to lay siedge to the Fortresse in the mor ning, and at night it makes it to yield, for there's no force able to resist it: which being so, what doe you wonder? or what is it that you fear, if the same hath befaln Lothario, seeing that Love made of my Lords absence an instrument to vanquish us? And it was forcible, that in it wee should conclude on it which Love had before determined, with out giving time it self any time to lead Anselmo that hee might return, and with his presence leave the work imperfect: For Love hath none so officious or better a mini ster to execute his desires then is occasion: It serves it self of occasion in all his act, but most of all at the beginning: And all this that I have said I know rather by ex perience, then hear-say, as I will some day let you to understand: for, Madam, I am likewise made of flesh and lustie young blood: And as for you, Ladie Camila, you did not give up and yeeld your self presently, but stayed untill you had first seen in Lo thorio's eyes, his sighs in his discourses, in his promises, and gifts all his soul, in which and in his perfections, you might read how worthy hee is to bee loved. And seeing this is so, let not these scruples and nice thoughts assault or further disturb your minde, but perswade your self that Lothario esteems you as much as you doe him, and lives with content and satisfaction, seeing that it was your Fortune to fall into the amorous Snare, that it was his good luck to catch you with his valour and deserts; who not only hath the four S. S. which they say every good Lover ought to have, but also the whole A. A. C. which if you will not credit, doe but listen to me a while, and I will repeat it to you by roate. He is, as it seems, and as far as I can judge, Amiable, Bounti full, Courteous, Dutifull, Enamoured, Firm, Gallant, Honourable, Illustrious, Loyall, Milde, Noble, Honest, Prudent, Quiet, Rich, and the S. S. which they say; and besides True, Valourous: the X. doth not quader well with him, because it sounds harshly: Y. hee is Young; and the Z. hee is Zealous of thine honour. Camila laughed at her Maydens A. B. C. and accounted her to bee more practick in Love-matters then she her self had confessed, as indeed shee was; for then shee revealed to her Mistrisse, how she and a certain young man, well born, of the Citie, did treat of Love one with another. Hereat her Mistrisse was not a little troubled in minde, fearing that her honour might bee greatly indangered by that means; shee demanded whether her affection had passed farther then words? And the Maid answered very shamelesly and freely, that they did: for it is most certain, that this kinde of wretchlesse Mistrisses doe also make their Maydens carelesse and impudent; who when they perceive their Ladies to faulter, are commonly wont to hault likewise themselves, and care not that the World doe know it. Camila seeing that errour past remedie, could doe no more but intreate Leonela, not to reveale any thing of their affaires to him shee said was her sweet heart, and that shee should handle her matters discreetly and secretly, lest they might come to Anselmo or Lotharioes notice. Leonela promised to performe her will; but did accomplish her pro mise in such sort, as shee did confirme Camilaes feares, that shee should lose her credit by her meanes. For the dishonest and bold Gyrle, after shee had perceived that her Mistrisses proceedings were not such as they were wont, grew so hardy, as shee gave entrance and brought her Lover into her Masters house, presuming that although her Ladie knew it, yet would shee not dare to discover it. For this among other harmes follow the sinns of Mistrisses, that it makes them slaves to their own servants, and doth oblige them to them to conceale their dishonest and base proceedings, as it fel out in Camila, who, although she espied Leonela, not once only, but sundry times together with her Lover in a certain chamber of the house, she not onely dared not to rebuke her for it, but rather gave her opportunity to hide him, and would remoove all occasion out of her husbands way, whereby he might suspect any such thing. But all could not hinder Lothario from espying him once, as he departed out of the house at the break of the day: who not knowing him, thought at the first it was a spi rit, but when he saw him post away, and cast his cloke over his face, lest he should be known, he abandoning his simple surmise, fel into a new suspition which had overthrown them all, were it not that Camila did remedie it. For Lothario though, that he whom he had seen issue out of Anselmo's house at so unreasonable an hour, had not en tred into it for Leonela's sake, nor did he remember then that there was such a one as Leonela in the world, but onely thought, that as Camila was lightly gotten by him, so belike she was wonn by some other. For the wickednesse of a bad woman bringeth usually all these additions, that she loseth her reputation even with him, to whom pray ed and perswaded shee yeeldeth her self: and he beleeveth that shee will as easily, or with more facility consent to others, and doth infallibly credit the least suspition which thereof may be offered. And it seems that Lothario in this instant was wholly deprived of all reasonable dis course, and quite dispoyled of his understanding; for without pondering of the matter, impatient and kindled by the jealous rage that inwardly gnawed his bowels, fretting with desire to be revenged on Camila, who had never offended him, he came to Ansel mo before he was up, and said to him, Know, Anselmo, that I have had these many dayes a civill conflict within my self whether I should speak or no, and I have used as much vi olence as I might, to my selfe, not to discover a thing unto you, which now it is neither just nor reasonable I should conceale. Know that Camila's fortresse is rendred, and subject to all that I please to command, and if I have been somewhat slow to inform the this of truth: it was because I would first see, whether it proceeded of some light appetite in her: or whether she did it to trie me, and see whether that love was still con stantly continued, which I first began to make unto her by thy order and licence. I did also beleeve, that if she had been such as she ought to be, and her that we both esteemed her, she would have by this time acquainted you with my importunacy: but seeing that she lingers therein, I presume that her promises made unto me are true, that when you did again absent your self out of town, she would speak with me in the Ward robe (and it was true: for there Camila was accustomed to talke with him) yet would not I have thee runne rashly to take revenge, seeing the sinne is not yet otherwise com mitted then in thought, and perhaps between this and the oportunity shee might hope to put it in execution, her minde would bee changed, and shee repent her self of her folly: And therefore seeing thou hast ever followed mine advice partly or wholly, follow and keep one counsell that I will give unto thee now, to the end that thou mayest after, with carefull assurance, and without fraud, satisfie thine own will as thou likest best; faine thy self to bee absent two or three dayes as thou art wont, and then convey thy self cunningly into the Wardrobe, where thou mayest very well hide thy self behinde the Tapestry, and then thou shalt see with thine own eyes, and I with mine, what Camila will doe; and if it bee that wickednesse which rather ought to bee feared then hoped for, thou mayest with wisedome, silence, and discretion, bee the proper executio ner of so injurious a wrong. Anselmo remained amazed, and almost besides himself, hearing his friend Lothario so unexpectedly to acquaint him with those things in a time whereing hee least expe cted them; for now hee esteemed Camila to have escaped victresse from the forged assaults of Lothario, and did himself triumph for glorie of her victorie. Suspended thus and troubled, hee stood silent a great while looking on the earth, without once removing his eye from it; and finally, turning towards his friend, hee said; Lothario, thou hast done all that which I could expect from so intire amitie, and I doe therefore mean to follow thine advice in all things precisely: Doe therefore what thou pleasest, and keep that secret which is requisite in so weighty and unexpected an event. All that I doe promise, quoth Lothario: and so departed wholly repented for that hee had told to Anselmo, seeing how foolishly hee had proceeded, since hee might have revenged himself on Camila very well, without taking a way so cruell and dishonourable. There did hee curse his little wit, and abased his light resolution, and knew not what means to use to destroy what hee had done, or give it some reasonable and contrary issue. In the end hee resolved to acquaint Camila with the whole matter, and by reason that hee never missed of oportunity to speake unto her, hee found her alone the very same day; and shee seeing likewise that shee had fit time to speak unto him, said, Know, friend Lo thario, that a certain thing doth pinch my heart in such manner, as it seems ready to burst in my brest, as doublesly I fear me that in time it will, if wee cannot set a remedie to it: For such is the immodesty of Leonela, as shee shuts up a Lover of hers every night in this house and remains with him untill day-light, which so much concernes my credit, as it leaves open a spacious field to him that sees the other goe out of my house at so unseasonable times, to judge of me what hee pleaseth; and that which most grieves me is, that I dare not punish or rebuke her for it: For shee being privie to our proceedings, sets a bridle on me, and constrains me to conceale hers; and hence I fear will bad suc cesse befall us. Lothario at the first suspected that Camila did speak thus, to make him believe that the man whom hee had espied was Leonelaes friend, and none of hers: but seeing her to weep indeed, and bee greatly afflicted in minde, hee began at last to give credit unto the truth, and believing it, was greatly confounded and grieved for that hee had done: And yet notwithstand hee answered Camila, that shee should not trou ble or vexe her self any more; for hee would take such order, as Leonelaes impudencies should bee easily crost and suppressed: And then did recount unto her all that hee had said to Anselmo, spur'd on by th • furious rage of jealous indignation, and how her Husband had agreed to hide himself behinde the Tapestry of the Wardrobe, that hee might from thence cleerly perceive the little Loyalty shee kept towards him, and demanded pardon of her for that folly and counsell to redresse it, and come safely out of the intricate Labyrinth whereinto his weake-eyed discourse had conducted him. Camila having heard Lothario's discourse, was afraid and amazed, and with great anger and many and discrect reasons, did rebuke him, reviling the basenesse of his thoughts, and the simple and little consideration that hee had. But as women have naturally a suddain with for good or bad, much more prompt then men; although when indeed they would make discourses, it proves defective: So Camila found in an instant a remedy for an affair in appearance so irremediable and helplesse; and therefore bade Lothario to induce his friend Anselmo to hide himself the next day ensuing, for shee hoped to take commodity out of his being there for them both to enjoy one another with more security then ever they had before: and without wholy manifesting her proverb to him, shee only advertised him to have care, that after Anselmo were hidden hee should presently come when Leonela called for him, and that hee should answer her as directly to every question she proposed, as if Anselmo were not in place. Lothario did urge her importunately to declare her designe unto him, to the end hee might with more security and advice obscure all that was necessarie. I say, quoth Camila, there is no other observance to bee had, then only to answer me directly to what I shall de mand: For shee would not give him account before-hand of her determination, fearfull that hee would not conform himself to her opinion which shee took to bee so good; or else lest hee would follow or seek any other, that would not prove after so well. Thus departed Lothario and Anselmo, under pretext that hee would visit his friend, out of Town departed, and returned convertly back again to hide himself, which hee could doe the more commodiously, because Camila and Leonela did purposely afford him oportunity. Anselmo having hidden himself with the grief that may bee imagined one would conceive, who did expect to see with his own eyes an Anatomie made of the bowels of his honour, and was in danger to lose the highest felicitie that hee accounted himself to possesse in his beloved Camila. Camila and Leonela being certain that hee was hidden within the Wardrobe, entred into it, wherein scarce had Camila set her foot, when breathing forth of a deep sigh, shee spoke in this manner. Ah friend Leonela! were it not better, that before I put in execution, that which I would not have thee to know, lest thou shouldest indeavour to hinder it, that thou takest Anselmo's Ponyard that I have sought of thee, and passe this infamous brest of mine thorow and thorow? but doe it not, for it is no reason that I should suffer for other mens faults: I will know first of all, what the bold and dishonest eyes of Lo thario noted in me, that should stir in him the presumption to discover unto me so un lawfull a desire as that which hee hath revealed, so much in contempt of his friend, and to my dishonour: Stand at that Window Leonela, and call him to me; for I doe infallibly believe, that hee stands in the street awaiting to effect his wicked pur pose: But first my cruell, yet honourable minde shall bee performed. Alas, dear Madame (quoth the wise and craftie Leonela ) what is it you mean to doe with that Ponyard? Meane you perhaps to deprive either your owne or Lotherioes life therewith all? for which soever of these things you doe, shall redound to the losse of your credit and fame. It is much better that you dissemble your wrong, and give no occasion to the bad man now to enter into this house, and finde us here in it alone: Consider good Madame, how wee are but weake women, and hee is a Man, and one resolute, and by reason that hee comes blinded by his bad and passionate intent, hee may peradventure before you bee able to put yours in execution, doe somwhat that would bee worse for you, then to deprive you of your life. Evill befall my master Anselmo, that ministers so great occasion to impudencie, thus to discover her visage in our house; and if you should kill him by chance Madam, as I suspect you meane to doe, what shall wee doe after with the dead carcasse? What said Camila? Wee would leave him here that An selmo might bury him. For hee must in all equity esteeme that labour for ease, which he shall passe, in the interring of his owne infamie. Make an end then and call him, for mee • thinkes that all the time which I spend untakeing due revenge of my just Disdaine, turnes into the prejudice of the Loyaltie which I owe unto my Spouse. Anselmo listened very attentively all the while, and at every word that Camila said, his thoughts changed. But when hee understood that shee was resolved to kill Lothario, hee was about to come out and discover himselfe, to the end that such a thing should not bee done; but the desire that hee had to see wherein so brave and honest a resoluti on would end, with-held him, determining then to sallie out, when his presence should bee needfull to hinder it. Camila about this time began to bee very weake and dismai'd, and casting her selfe, as if shee had faln into a trance upon a bed that was in the roome, Leonela began to lament very bitterly and to say, Alas, wretch that I am, how unfor tunate should I bee, if the flowre of the worlds honesty, the crown of good women, and the patterne of chastitie should die here betweene my hands? Those and such other things shee said so dolefully, as no one could heare her, that would not deeme her to bee one of the most esteemed and loyall Damzels of the world; and take her Ladie for another new and persecuted Penelope. Soone after Camila returned to her selfe, and said presently. Why goest thou not Leonela, to call the most disloyall friend of a friend that ever the Sun beheld, or the night concealed? Make an end, runne, make haste, and let not the fire of my choller bee through thy stay consumed and spent, nor the just revenge, which I hope to take, passe over in threats or maledictions. I goe to call him Madam, quoth Leonela, but first of all you must give mee that Ponyard, lest you should doe with it in mine absence somewhat, that would minister occasion to us your friends to deplore you all the daies of our lives. Goe away boldly, friend Leonela, said Ca mela, for I shall doe nothing in thine absence; for although I bee in thine opinion both simple and bold enough to turne for mine honour, yet meane I not to bee so much as the celebrated Lucretia, of whom it is recorded that shee slew her selfe, without having committed any errour or slaine him first who was the principall cause of her disgrace: I will die if I must needes die; but I will bee satisfied and revenged on him that hath given mee occasion to come into this place to lament his boldnesse, sprung without my default. Leonela could scarcely be intreated to goe and call Lothario, but at last she went out, and in the mean time Camila remained, speaking to her self these words: Good God, had not it been more discretion to have dissmised Lothario, as I did many time before, then thus to possesse him as I have done, with an opinion that I am an evill and disho nest woman, at least all the while that passeth, untill mine acts shal undeceive him, and teach him the contrary? It had been doubtlesly better: but then should not I be re venged, nor my husbands honour satisfied, if hee were permitted to beare away so cleer ly his malignitie, or escape out of the snare wherein his wicked thoughts involved him. Let the Traytor pay with his lifes defrayment, that which hee attempted with so lasci uious a desire. Let the world know (if it by chance shall come to know it) that Ca mila did not only conserve the loyaltie due to her Lord, but also tooke revenge of the intended spoyle thereof: But yet I beleeve that it were best to give Anselmo first notice thereof; but I did already touch it to him in the Letter which I wrote to him to the Village; and I believe his not concurring to take order in this so manifest an abuse pro ceeds of his too sincere and good meaning, which would not, nor cannot beleive that the like kinde of thought could ever finde entertainment in the brest of so firm a friend, tending so much to his dishonour: and what marvell if I my self could not credit it for a great many dayes together? nor would I ever have thought it if his insolencie had not arived to that passe which the manifest Gifts, large Promises, and continuall tears hee shed doe give testimony. But why doe I make now these discourses? Hath a gal lant resolution perhaps any need of advice? No verily; therefore avaunt treacherous thoughts, here wee must use revenge: Let the false man come in; arive; die and end, and let after befall what can befall. I entered pure and untouched to his possession whom Heaven bestowd on me for mine, and I will depart from him purely: And if the worst befall, I shall only be defiled by mine own chaste blood, and the impure gore of the falsest friend that ever amitie saw in this World. And saying of this, shee pranced up and down the Room with the Ponyard naked in her hand, with such long and un measurable strides, and making withall such gestures, as shee rather seemed defective of wit, and a desperate Russian then a delicate woman. All this Anselmo perceived very well from behinde the Arras that covered him, which did not a little admire him; and hee thought that what he had seen and heard was a sufficient satisfaction of farre greater suspicions then he had, and could have wished with all his heart that the triall of Lothario's comming might bee excused, fearing greatly some suddain bad successe: and as hee was ready to manifest himself, and to come out and imbrace and disswade his wife, hee withdrew himself, be cause hee saw Leonela return, bringing Lothario in by the hand: And as soon as Camila beheld him, shee drew a great stroke with the poynt of the Ponyard athwart the Ward robe, saying; Lothario, note well what I mean to say unto thee; for if by chance thou beest so hardy as to passe over this line which thou seest, e're I come as farre as it, I will in the very same instant stab my self into the heart with this Ponyard which I hold in my hand: and before thou doest speak or answer me any word, I would first have thee to listen to a few of mine; for after thou mayest say what thou pleasest. First of all I would have thee, O Lothario! to say whether thou knowest my Hus band Anselmo, and what opinion thou hast of him? And next I would have thee to tell me if thou knowest my self? answer to this without delay, nor doe not stand long thinking on what thou art to answer, seeing they are no deep questions which I pro pose unto thee. Lothario was not so ignorant, but that from the very beginning when Camila requested him to perswade her Husband to hide himself behinde the Tapistrey, hee had not fallen on the drift of her invention; and therefore did answer her inten tion so aptly and discreetly as they made that untruth passe between them for a more then manifest verity: and so hee answered to Camila in this forme. I did never con jecture, Beautifull Camila, that thou wouldest have called me here to demand of me things so wide from the purpose for which I come: if thou doest it to defer yet the promised favour, thou mightest have entertained it yet farther off, for the good de sired afflicteth so much the more, by how much the hope to possesse it is neer. But be cause thou mayest not accuse me for not answering to thy demands, I say that I know thy Husband Anselmo, and both of us know one another even from our tender in fancie, and I will not omit to say that which thou also knowest of our amity, to make me thereby a witnesse against my self of the wrong which Love compells me to doe unto him, yet Love is a sufficient excuse and excuse of greater errous then are mine. Thee doe I likewise know and hold in the same possession that hee doth; for were it not so, I should never have been won by lesse perfections then thine, to transgresse so much that which I owe to my self and to the holy Laws of true Amity, now broken and violated by the tyrannie of so powerfull an Adversary as Love hath proved. If thou doest acknowledge that, replyed Camila, O mortall enemie of all that which justly deserveth Love! with what face darest thou then appear before that which thou know est to bee the Mirrour wherein hee looks, in whom thou also oughtest to behold thy selfe, to the end thou mightest perceive upon how little occasion thou dost wrong him? But unfortunate that I am, I fall now in the reason which hath moved thee to make so little account of thine owne duty, which was perhaps some negligent or light behavi our of mine, which I will not call dishonesty, seeing that as I presume, it hath not pro ceeded from mee deliberately, but rather through the carelessnesse that women which thinke they are not noted, doe sometimes unwittingly commit. If not, say Traytor, when did I ever answere thy Prayers with any world or token that might awake in thee the least shadow of hope to accomplish thine infamous desires? When were not thine a morous intreaties reprehended and dispersed by the roughnesse and rigour of mine an sweres? When were thy many promises and lager gifts ever beleeved or admitted? But for as much as I am perswaded that no man can persevere long time in the amorous contention, who hath not beene susteined by some hope, I will attribute the fault of thine impertinence to my selfe; for doubtlesly some carelesnesse of mine hath hitherto susteined thy care, and therefore I will chastise and give to my selfe the punishment which thy fault deserveth. And because thou mightest see that I being so inhumane to wards my selfe, could not possibly bee other then cruell to thee, I thought fit to call thee to bee a witnesse of the Sacrifice which I meane to make to the offended honour of my most honourable husband, tainted by thee, with the blackest note that thy malice could devise, and by me, through the negligence that I used, to shun the occasion, if I gave thee any, thus to nourish and canonize thy wicked intentions. I say againe, that the suspicion I have, that my little regard hath ingendred in thee these distracted thoughts, is that which afflicteth mee most, and that which I meane to chastise most with mine owne hands; for if another executioner punished mee, then should my crime become more notorious. but before I doe this, I dying, will kill, and carie him away with mee, that shall end and satisfie the greedie desire of revenge which I hope for, and I have; seeing before mine eyes wheresoever I shall goe, the punishment which disingaged justice shall inflict, it still remayning unbowed or suborned by him, which hath brought me to so desperate termes. And having said these words, shee flew upon Lothario with incredible force and lightnesse, and her Ponyard naked, giving such arguments and tokens that shee meant to stab him, as hee himselfe was in doubt whether her demonstrations were false or true; wherefore hee was driven to helpe himselfe by his wit and strength, for to hinder Cami la from striking of him, who did so lively act her strange guile and fiction, as to give it colour, shee would give it a blush of her owne blood: for perceiving, or else feighning that shee could not hurt Lothario, shee said, Seeing that adverse fortune will not satis fie throughly my just desires, yet at least it shall not bee potent wholly to crosse my de signes: and then striving to free the dagger hand, which Lothario held fast, shee snatch ed it away, and directing the point to some place of her body, which might hurt her, but not very grievously, shee stab'd her selfe, and hid it in her apparell neere unto the left shoulder, and fell forthwith to the ground, as if shee were in a trance, Lothario and Leonela stood amazed at the unexpected event, and still rested doubtfull of the truth of the matter, seeing Camila to lye on the ground bathed in her blood: Lotha rio ranne all wanne and pale, very hastily to her, to take out the Ponyard, and seeing how little blood followed, hee lost the feare that hee had conceived of her greater hurt, and began a new to admire the cunning wit and discretion of the beautifull Camila; but yet that hee might play the part of a friend, hee began a long and dolefull lamenta tion over Camila's body, even as she were dead, and began to breathe forth many cur ses and execrations not onely against himself, but also against him that had imployed him in that unfortunate affaire. And knowing that his friend Anselmo did listen unto him, he said such things as would move a man to take more compassion of him then of Camila her selfe, although they accounted her dead. Leonela tooke her up betweene her armes, and laid her on the Bed, and intreated Lothario to goe out, and finde some one that would undertake to cure her secretly. Shee also demanded of him his advice, touching the excuse they might make to Anselmo concerning her Mistresse her wound, if hee came to towne before it were fully cured. Hee answered, that they might say what they pleased, for hee was not in an humour of giving any counsell worth the following; and only said this, that shee should labour to stanch her Ladies blood; for he meant to goe there whence they should hear no news of him ever after: And so departed out of the house with very great tokens of grief and feeling; and when hee was alone in place where no body perceived him, hee blest him self a thousand times to think of Camilaes art, and the gestures so proper and accom modated to the purpose, used by her Maid Leonela. Hee considered how assured An selmo would remain that hee had a second Portia to wife, and desired to meet him, that they might celebrate together the fiction, and the best dissembled truth that could bee ever imagined. Leonela, as is said, stanched her Ladies blood, which was just as much as might serve to colour her invention and no more; and washing the would with some Wine, shee tyed it up the best that shee could, saying such words whilest shee cured her as were able, though nothing had been done before, to make Anselmo be lieve that hee had an Image of honestly in Camila to the plants of Leonela: Camila added others, terming her self a Coward of base Spirit since shee wanted time (being a thing so necessary) to deprive her life which shee hated so mortally; shee demanded counsell of her Maiden, whether shee would tell or conceal all that successe to her be loved Spouse: And shee answered, That it was best to conceal it, lest shee should in gage her Husband to bee revenged on Lothario, which would not bee done without his very great perill, and that every good Wife was bound, not to give occasion to her Husband of quarrelling, but rather to remove from him as many as was possible. Camila answered, That shee allowed of her opinion, and would follow it; and that in any sort they must studie some device to cloak the occasion of her hurt from An selmo, who could not chuse but espye it. To this Leonela answered, That shee her self knew not how to lye, no, not in very jest it self. Well friend, quoth Camila, and I, what doe I know? for I dare not to forge or report an untruth if my life lay on it: And if wee know not how to give it a better issue, it will bee better to report the naked truth then to bee overtaken in a leasing. Doe not trouble your self Madame, quoth Leonela; for I will bethink my self of somewhat between this and to morrow morn ing, and perhaps the wound may be concealed from him • by reason that it is in the place where it is; and Heaven perhaps may bee pleased to favour our so just and honourable thoughts. Bee quiet, good Madam, and labour to appease your alteration of minde, that my Lord at his return may not finde you perplexed; and leave all the rest to Gods and my charge, who doth allwaies assist the just. With highest attention stood Anselmo listening and beholding the Tragedy of his dying honours, which the personages thereof had acted with so strange and forceable effects, as it verily seemed that they were transformed into the opposite truth of their well contrived fiction: Hee longed greatly for the night and leisure to get out of his house, that hee might goe and congratulate with his good friend Lothario, for the pre cious Jewell that hee had found in this last tryall of his Wife. The Mistrisse and Maiden had as great care to give him the oportunity to depart; and hee fearing to lose it, issued out in a trice, and went presently to finde Lothario, who being found, it is not possible to recount the imbracements hee gave unto him, the secrets of his contentment that hee revealed, or the attributes and praises that hee gave to Camila. All which Lothario heard, without giving the least argument of Love; having represented to his minde at that very time, how greatly deceived his friend lived, and how injustly hee himself injuried him. And although that Anselmo noted that Lothario took no delight at his relation, yet did hee believe that the cause of his sorrow proceeded from having left Camila wounded, and hee himself given the occasion thereof: And therefore among many other words, said unto him, That there was no occasion to grieve at Ca milaes hurt, it doubtlesly being but light, seeing shee and her Maid had agreed to hide it from him; and that according unto this there was no great cause of fear, but that from thence forward hee should live merrily and contentedly with him, seeing that by his industry and means, hee found himself raised to the highest felicitie that might bee desired; and therefore would from thenceforth spend his idle times in writing of Verses in Camila's praise, that hee might eternize her name, and make it famous in insuing ages. Lothario commended his resolution therein, and said that hee for his part would also help to raise up so noble an edefice; and herewithall Anselmo rested the most soothingly and contentedly deceived that could be found in the World: And then himself took by the hand to his house (believing that hee bore the instrument of his glory) the utter perdition of his fame. Camila entertained him with a frowning countenance, but a cheerfull minde: the fraud rested unknown a while, untill at the end of certain moneths, Fortune turned the wheel, and the wickednesse that was so ar tificially cloaked, issued to the publique notice of the World; and Anselmo his imper tinent-curiosity cost him his life. CHAP. VIII. Wherein is ended the History of the Curious-Impertinent: And like wise recounted the rough Incounter and Conflict passed betweene Don-Quixote and certain baggs of red Wine. A Little more of the novell did rest unread, when Sancho Panca all per plexed ranne out of the Chamber where his Lord reposed, crying as loud as he could, Come, good Sirs, speedily, and assist my Lord, who is ingaged in one of the most terrible battails that ever mine eyes have seen: I swear that hee hath given such a blow to the Giant, my Lady the Princesse Micomicona her enemie, as hee hath cut his head quite off as round as a Turnep. What sayest thou friend, quoth the Curate (leaving off at that word to prosecute the reading of his novell) art thou in thy wits Sancho? What a Divill man, how can that bee, seeing the Giant dwels at least two thousand leagues from hence? By this they heard a marvellous great noyse within the Chamber, and that Don-Quixote cried out aloud, Stay false Thiefe, Robber, stay; for since thou art here, thy Semiter shall but little availe thee: and therewithall it seemed that hee struck a number of mighty blows on the walls. And Sancho said, There is no need tostand thus listening abroad, but rather that you goe in and part the fray, or else assist my Lord; although I think it bee not very necessary: for the Gyant is questionlesse dead by this, and giving account for the ill life hee led: For I saw his blood runne all about the house, and his head cut off, which is as great as a great Wine-bagge. I am content to bee hewn in pieces, quoth the Inn-keeper, hearing of this, if Don-Quixote or Don-Divell have not given some blow to one of the Wine-baggs that stood filled at his Beds-head, and the shed Wine must needs bee that which seems blood to this good man: And saying so, hee entred into the Room, and all the rest followed him, where they found Don-Quixote in the strangest guise that may bee imagined: Hee was in his Shirt, the which was not long enough before to cover his Thighs, and it was six fingers shorter behinde: His Leggs were very long and lean, full of hair, and horrible dirty: Hee wore on his Head a little red, but very greazie night Cap, which belonged to the Inn-keeper: Hee had wreathed on his left Arme the Coverlet of his Bead; on which Sancho looked very often and angerly, as one that knew well the cause of his own malice to it: and in his right hand hee griped his naked Sword, wherewithall hee laid round about him many a thwack; and withall spake as if hee were in battail with some Gyant: And the best of all was, that hee held not his eyes open; for hee was indeed asleep and dreaming that he was in fight with the Gyant: For the imagination of the Adventure which hee had undertaken to finish, was so bent upon it, as it made him to dream that hee was already arived at the kingdom of Micomicon, and that he was then in combat with his enemy, and he had given so many blowes on the wine bags, supposing them to be Giants, as all the whol chamber flowed with wine: Which being perceived by the Host, all infla med with rage, hee set upon Don-Quixote with drie sists, and gave unto him so many blowes, that if Cardenio and the Curate had not taken him away, he would doubtlesly have finished the war of the Gyant, and yet with all this did not the poor Knight awake untill the Barber brought in a great kettle full of cold water from the Well, and threw it all at a clap upon him, and therewithall Don-Quixote awaked, but not in such sort as he perceived the manner wherein he was. Dorotea seeing how short and how thin her Champion was arayed, would not goe in to see the conflict of her combatant and his Adversarie. Sancho went up and downe the floore searching for the Gyants head, and seeing that hee could not finde it hee said, Now I doe see very well, that all the things of this house are inchantments, for the last time that I was here, in this very same roome, I got many blowes and buffets, and knew not who did strike mee, nor could I see any body; and now the head appeares not, which I saw cut off with mine owne eyes, and yet the blood ran as swiftly from the body, as water would from a Fountaine. What blood, or what Fountaine doest thou tattle of here, thou enemy of God and his Saints? quoth the In-keeper, thou Theefe, dost not thou see that the blood and the fountaine is no other thing then these wine-bags which are slashed here, and the wine red that swims up and down this Chamber (and I wish that I may see his Soule swimming in hell which did bore them. I know nothing replyed Sancho but this, that if I cannot find the Giants head, I shall become so unfortunate, as mine Earledome will dissolve like Salt cast into water. And certes Sancho awake, was in worse case then his Master sleeping, so much had his Lords promises distracted him. The In-keeper on the other side was at his wits end, to see the humor of the Squire, and unhappinesse of his Lord, and swore that it should not succeede with them now as it had done the other time, when they went away without payment: and that now the priviledges of Chi valrie should not any whit availe him, but hee should surely pay both the one and the other, yea even for the very patches that were to bee set on the bored Wine bagges. The Curate held fast Don-Quixote by the hands, who beleeving that hee had a • chie ved the Adventure, and was after it come into the Princesse Micomicona her presence, hee laid himselfe on his knees before the Curate saying, Well may your greatnesse high and famous Ladie, live from henceforth secure from any danger, that this unfor tunate wretch may doe unto you; and I am also freed from this day forward from the promise that I made unto you, seeing I have, by the assistance of the heavens, and through her favour by whom I live and breathe, so happily accomplished it. Did not I say so quoth Sancho, hearing of his Master? yea, I was not drunke; see if my Master hath not powdred the Gyant by this? the matter is questionlesse, and the Earle dome is mine owne. Who would not laugh at these raving fits of the Master and man? all of them laughed save the In-keeper, who gave himself for anger to the Devill more then a hundred times. And the Barber, Cardenio and the Curate got Don-Quixote to bed againe, not without much adoe, who presently fell a sleepe with tokens of marvei lous wearinesse, They left him sleeping and went out to comfort Sancho Panca for the griefe hee had, because he could not finde the Giants head; but yet had more adoe to pacifie the In-keeper, who was almost out of his wits for the unexpected and suddaine death of his wine-bags. The Oast • sse on the other side went up and down whining and saying, in an ill season and an unlucky houre did this Knight errant enter into my house, alas; and I would that mine eyes had never seene him seeing hee costs mee so deere. The last time that hee was here, hee went away scot-free for his Supper, Bed, Straw and Barley, both for himselfe and his man, h • s Horse and his Asse, saying that hee was a Knight Adventu rous (and God give to him ill venture, and to all the other Adventurers of the world) and was not therefore bound to pay any thing, for so it was written in the Statutes of Chivalry. And now for his cause came the other Gentleman, and tooke away my good tayle, and hath returned it mee backe, with two quarters of dammage, for all the haire is falln off, and it cannot stand my husband any more in stead for the purpose hee had it; and for an end and conclusion of all, to breake my wine-bags and shed my wine; I wish I may see as much of his blood shed: And doe not thinke otherwise, for by my fathers old bones, and the life of my mother, they shall pay mee every doit, one quart upon another, or else I will never bee called as I am, nor bee mine owne fathers daughter. These and such like words spake the Inn-keepers Wife with very great furie, and was seconded by her good Servant Maritornes. The Daughter held her peace, and would now and then smile a little: But Master Parson did quiet and pacifie all, by promi sing to satisfie them for the dammages as well as hee might, as well for the Wine as for the Baggs, but chiefly for her tail, the which was so much accounted of and valued so highly. Dorotea did comfort Sancho, saying to him, that whensoever it should bee verified that his Lord had slain the Gyant, and established her quietly in her Kingdome, shee would bestow upon him the best Earldome thereof. With this hee took courage and assured the Princesse, that hee himself had seen the Gyants head cut off; and for a more certain token thereof, hee said, That hee had a beard that reached him down to his girdle; and that if the Head could not now bee found, it was by reason that all the Affairs of that house were guided by inchantment, as hee had made experience to his cost the last time that hee was lodged therein. Dorotea replyed, That shee was of the same opinion, and bade him to bee of good cheer, for all would bee well ended to his hearts desire. All parties being quiet, the Curate resolved to finish the end of his novell because hee perceived that there rested but a little unread thereof. Car denio, Dorotea, and all the rest intreated him earnestly to finish it. And hee de siring to delight them all herein and recreate himself, did prosecute the Tale in this manner. It after befell, That Anselmo grew so satisfied of his Wifes Honestie, as hee led a most contented and secure life: And Camila did for the nonce look sowrely upon Lothario, to the end Anselmo might construe her minde amisse: And for a greater confirmation thereof Lothario requested Anselmo to excuse his comming any more to his house, seeing that hee cleerly perceived how Camila could neither brook his company nor presence. But the hood-wink'd Anselmo answered him, That hee would in no wise consent thereunto; and in this manner did weave his own dishonour a thousand waies, thinking to work his contentment. In this season such was the delight that Leonela took also in her affections, as shee suffered her self to bee borne away by them head longly, without any care or regard confident because her Lady did cover it, yea, and sometimes instructed her how shee might put her desires in practice without any fear or danger. But finally Anselmo heard on a night some body walk in Leonelaes Cham ber, and being desirous to know who it was, as hee thought to enter, hee felt the door to bee held fast against him, which gave him a greater desire to open it; and therefore hee strugled so long, and used such violence, as hee threw open the door and entred just at the time that another leaped out at the Window; and therefore hee ran out to overtake him, or see wherein hee might know him; but could neither compasse the one or the other, by reason that Leonela embracing him hardly, with-held him and said, Pacifie your self, good Sir, and bee not troubled, nor follow him that was here; for hee is one that belongs to me, and that so much, as hee is my Spouse. Anselmo would not believe her, but rather blinde with rage, hee drew out his Ponyard and would have wounded her, saying, That shee should presently tell him the truth, or else hee would kill her. Shee distracted with fear, said, without nothing her own words, Kill me not Sir, and I will acquaint you with things which concern you more then you can imagine. Say quickly then, quoth Anselmo, or else thou shalt die. It will bee impossible, replied Leonela, for me to speak any thing now I am so affrighted; but give respit till morn ing and I will recount unto you things that will marvellously astonish you; and in the mean time rest secure, that hee which leaped out of the Window is a young man of this Citie, betwixt whom and me hath passed a promise of marriage. Anselmo was some what satisfied by these words; and therefore resolved to expect the terme which shee had demanded to open her minde; for hee did not suspect that hee should hear any thing of Camila, by reason hee was already so assured of her Virtue: and so depart ing out of the Chamber, and shutting up Leonela therein, threatning her withall, That shee should never depart thence, untill shee had said all that shee promised to reveal unto him. Hee went presently to Camila, to tell unto her all that which his Mayden had said and the promise shee had passed, to disclose greater and more important things. Whether Camila hearing this were perplexed or no, I leave to the discreet Readers judgement: for such was the fear which shee conceived, believing certainly (as it was to be doubted) that Leonela would tell to Anselmo all that shee knew of her disloy alty, as shee had not the courage to expect and see whether her su • mise would become false or no: But the very same night, as soon as shee perceived Anselmo to bee asleep, gathering together her best Jewels and some Money, shee departed out of her House unperceived of any, and went to Lothario's lodging, to whom shee recounted all that had past, and requested him either to leave her in some safe place, or both of them to depart to some place where they might live secure out of Anselmo's reach. The con fusion that Cimila struck into Lothario, was such as he knew not what to say, and much less how to resolve himself what he might do. But at last he determined to carry Camila to a Monastery wherein his sister was Prioresse; to which shee easily coudescended; and therefore Lothario departed and left her there with all the speed that the case re quired, and did also absent himself presently from the Citie, without acquainting any body with his departure. Anselmo, as soon as it was day, without heeding the absence of his Wife, arose and went to the place where hee had shut up Leonela, with desire to know of her what shee had promised to acquaint him withall: Hee opened the Chamber door and entred, but could finde no body therein but some certain sheets knit together and tied to the window as a certain signe how Leonela had made an escape by that way: Wherefore hee returned very sad to tell to Camila the adventure; but when hee could neither finde her at bed nor in the whole house, hee remained astonied, and demanded, for her of his Servants, but none of them could tell him any thing. And as hee searched for her, hee hapned to see her Coffers lye open and most of her Jewels wanting; and herewithall fell into the true account of his disgrace, and that Leonela was not the cause of his misfor tune, and so departed out of his house sad and pensive, even as hee was, half ready and unapparrelled, to his friend Lothario to recount unto him his disaster: but when hee found him to bee likewise absented, and that the Servants told him how their Ma ster was departed the very same night and had borne away with him all his Money, hee was ready to runne out of his wits. And to conclude, hee returned to his own house again, wherein he found no ceature, man or woman, for all his folk were departed, and had left the house alone and desart: Hee knew not what hee might think, say, or doe; and then his judgement began to faile him. There hee did contemplate and behold himself in an instant without a Wife, a Friend, and Servants; abandoned (to his seem ing) of Heaven that covered him, and chiefly without honour; for hee cleerly noted his own perdition in Camilaes crime. In the end hee resolved, after hee had bethought himself a great while, to goe to his friends Village wherein hee had been all the while that hee afforded the leisure to contrive that disaster: And so shutting up his house hee mounted a horseback, and rode away in languishing and dolefull wise: And scarce had hee ridden the half way when hee was so fiercely assaulted by his thoughts, as hee was constrained to alight, and tying his Horse to a Tree, hee leaned himself to the trunck thereof and breathed out a thousand pittifull and dolorous sighs; and there hee abode untill it was almost night, about which hour espyed a man to come from the Citie a Horse-back by the same way, and having saluted him, hee demanded of him what news hee brought from Florence? The Citizen replyed, The strangest that had hapned there many a day: For it is there reported publiquely, That Lothario the great friend of the rich man, hath carried away the said Anselmo's Wife Camila this night; for shee is also missing: all which a Waiting-maid of Camilaes hath confest, whom the Governour apprehended yesternight as shee slipt down at a window by a pair of sheets out of the said Anselmo's house. I know not particularly the truth of the Affair, but well I wot that all the Citie is amazed at the accident; for such a fact would not bee as much as surmized from the great and familiar amitie of them two, which was so much as they were called The two friends. Is it perhaps yet known, replyed Anselmo, which way Lothario and Camila have taken? In no wise, quoth the Citizen, although the Governour hath used all possible diligence to finde them out. Farewell then, good Sir, said Anselmo. And with you Sir, said the Traveller: And so departed. With these so unfortunate news poore Anselmo arived, not only to termes of losing his wits, but also well nigh of losing his life; and therefore arising as well as hee might, hee came to his friends house, who had heard nothing yet of his disgrace; but percei ving him to arive so wan, pined and dried up, hee presently conjectured that some grie vous evill afflicted him. Anselmo requested him presently that hee might bee caried to his Chamber, and provided of paper and inke to write withall: all was done, and hee left in bed, and alone, for so hee desired them; and also that the dore should bee fast locked: And being alone, the imagination of his misfortune gave him such a terrible charge, as hee cleerely perceived that his life would shortly faile him, and therefore re solved to leave notice of the cause of his suddaine and unexpected death; and therefore hee began to write it; but before hee could set an end to his discourse, his breath fayled, and hee yeelded up his life into the hands of sorrow, which his impertinent curiositie had stirred up in him. The Gentleman of the house seeing that it grew late, and that Anselmo had not called, determined to enter, and know whether his indisposition pas sed forward, and hee found him lying on his face, with halfe of his body in the bed, and the other half leaning on the table whereon he lay, with a written paper unfolded, and held the pen also yet in his hand. His Oast drew neere unto him, and first of all, having called him he took him by the hand; and seeing that he answered not, and that it was cold, he knew that he was dead; and greatly perplexed and grieved thereat, he called in his people, that they might also be witnesses of the disastrous successe of Anselmo, and after all he took the paper and read it, which he knew to be written with his own hand the substance whereof was this: A Foolish and Impertinent Desire hath dispoyled me of Life. If the newes of my Death shall arrive to Camila, let her also know that I doe pardon her, for shee was not bound to worke Miracles; nor had I any neede to desire that she should worke them. And seeing I was the builder and contriver of mine owne dishonour, there is no reason— Hitherto did Anselmo write, by which it appeared that his life ended in that point, ere he could set an end to the Reason he was to give. The next day ensuing, the Gen tleman his friend acquainted Anselmoes kinsfolke with his death; the which had already knowledge of his misfortune, and also of the Monastery wherein Camila had retyred her self, being almost in terms to accompany her husband in that forcible voyage; not for the newes of his death, but for grief of others which she had received of her absent friend. It is said, that although she was a widow, yet would she neither depart out of the Monastery, nor become a Religious woman, untill she had received within a few daies after, news how Lothario was slaine in a battell given by Monsieur de Lau • re • , to the great Captain Goncalo Fernandez of Cordova, in the kingdom of Naples; and that was the end of the late repentant friend, the which being known to Camila, she made a profession, and shortly after deceased between the rigorous hands of sorrow and Melanchollie: and this was the end of them all, sprung from a rash and inconsiderate beginning. This Novell quoth the Curate, having read it, is a pretty one; but yet I cannot per swade my self that it is true, and if it be a fiction, the Author erred therein; for it can not be imagined that any husband would be so foolish, as to make so costly an experience as did Anselmo: but if this accident had been devised betwixt a Gentleman and his love, then were it possible; but being between Man and Wife, it containes somewhat that is impossible and unlikely, but yet I can take no exception against the manner of recount ing thereof. CHAP. IX. Which treates of many rare Successes befaln in the Inne. W HIL'ST they discoursed thus, the In-keeper, who stood all the while at the dore, said, Here comes a faire troope of Guests, and if they will here alight, wee may sing Gaudeamus. What folke is it, quoth Cardenio? Foure men on Horseback quoth the Hoast, and ride Gennet-wise, with Lances and Targets, and Maskes on their faces; and with them comes likewise a woman apparelled in white, in a side-Saddle, and her face also masked, and two Lacquies that run with them a foote. Are they neere quoth the Curate? So neere replyed the Inn keeper, as they doe now arive. Dorotea hearing him say so, covered her face, and Car denio entred into Don-Quixotes chamber; and scarce had they leisure to doe it, when the others of whom the Oast spake, entred into the Inne, and the foure Horsemen a lighting, which were all of very comely and gallant disposition; they went to helpe downe the Lady that rode in the side-Saddle, and one of them taking her downe in his armes did seat her in a chair that stood at the Chamber door, into which Cardenio had entred: and all this while neither shee nor they took off their Ma • ks, or spake a word, only the Gentlewoman at her sitting down in the chair breathed forth a very deep sigh, and let fall her armes like a sick and dismayed person: The Lacquies carried away their Horses to the Stable. Master Curate seeing and nothing all this, and curious to know what they were that came to the Inn in so unwonted an attire, and kept such profound silence therein, went to the Lacquies and demanded of one of them that which hee desired to know, Who answered, In good faith Sir, I cannot tell you what folk this is; only this I know, that they seem to bee very Noble, but chiefly hee that went and took down the Lady in his armes that you see there; and this I say, because all the others doe respect him very much, and nothing is done but what hee ordains and com mands. And the Lady, what is shee quoth the Curate? I can as hardly informe you, quoth the Lacquie; for I have not once seen her face in all this Journey; yet I have heard her often groan and breath out so profound sighs, as it seems shee would give up the ghost at every one of them: And it is no marvell, that wee should know no more then wee have said; for my Companion and my self have been in their companie but two dayes; for they incountred us on the way, and prayed and perswaded us to goe with them unto Andalusia, promising that they would recompence our pains largely. And hast thou heard them name one another, said the Curate? No truely, answered the Lacquie; for they all travail with such silence, as it is a wonder: for you shall not hear a word among, but the sighs and throbs of the poor Ladie, which doe move in us very great compassion: And we doe questionlesse perswade our selves that shee is forced wheresoever shee goes: and as it may bee collected by her attire, shee is a Nunne, or, as is most probable, goes to bee one; and perhaps shee goeth so sorrowfull as it seems, because shee hath no desire to become Religious. It may very well bee so, quoth the Curate: And so leaving them, hee returned to the place where hee had left Dorotea; who hearing the disguised Lady to sigh so often moved by the native compassion of that Sex, drew neer her and said, What ayles you, good Madame? I pray you think if it bee any of those inconveniences to which Women bee subject, and whereof they m • y have use and experience to cure them: I doe offer unto you my Service, Assistance, and good-Will to help you, as much as lyes in my power. To all those complements the dolefull Ladie answered nothing; and although Dorotea made her again larger offers of her Service, yet stood shee ever silent, untill the bemasked Gentleman (whom the Lacquie said the rest did obey) came over and said to Dorotea; Ladie, doe not trouble your self to offer any thing to that woman, for shee is of a most ingratefull nature, and is never wont to gratifie any courtesie, nor doe you seek her to answer unto your demands, if you would not heare some lie from her mouth. I never said any (quoth the silent Ladie) but rather because I am so true and sincere without guiles; I am now drowned here in those misfortunes; and of this I would have thy self bear witnesse, seeing my pure truth makes thee to bee so false and disloyall. Cardenio over-heard those words very cleere and distinctly, as one that stood so neer unto her that said them, as only Don-Quixotes chamber door stood between them: And instantly when hee heard them, hee said with a very loud voyce; Good God! what is this that I heare? What voyce is this that hath touched mine eare? The Ladie moved with a sodain passion, turned her head at those out-cries, and seeing shee could not perceive him that gave them, shee got up, and would have entred into the Roome, which the Gentleman espying with-held her, and would not let her stir out of the place: and with the alteration and sodain motion the Mask fell off her face, & she discovered an incomparable beautie, and an Angellicall countenance, although it was somewhat wan and pale, and turned here and • here with her eyes to every place so earnestly as shee seemed to bee distracted: which motions without knowing the rea son why they were made, struck Dorotea and the rest that beheld her into very great compassion. The Gentleman holding her very strongly fast by the shoulders, the Mask he wore on his own face was falling; and he being so busied could not hold it up, but in the end fell wholy. Dorotea, who had likewise imbraced the Ladie, lifting up her eyes by chance, saw that hee, which did also imbrace the Ladie, was her Spouse Don Fernando: and scarce had shee known him, when breathing out a long and most pittifull Alas from the bottome of her heart, shee fell backward in a Traunce: And if the Barber had not been by good hap at hand, shee would have faln on the ground with all the weight of her body. The Curate presently repaired to take off the vaile of her face and cast water thereon: and as soon as hee did discover it, Don Fernando, who was hee indeed that held fast the other, knew her, and looked like a dead man as soon as hee viewed her; but did not all this while let goe Luscinda, who was the other whom hee held so fast, and that laboured so much to escape out of his hands. Cardenio likewise heard the Alas that Dorotea said when shee fell into a Trance, and believing that it was his Luscinda, issued out of the chamber greatly altered, and the first hee espied was Don Fernando which held Luscinda fast, who forthwith knew him. And all the three, Luscinda, Cardenio, and Dorotea, stood dumbe and amazed, as folk that knew not what had befaln unto them. All of them held their peace and beheld one another: Dorotea looked on Don Fernando, Don Fernando on Cardenio, Cardenio on Lu scinda, and Luscinda again on Cardenio: but Luscinda was the first that broke silence, speaking to Don Fernando in this manner; Leave me off, Lord Fernando, I conjure thee, by that thou shouldest be, for that which thou art: and if thou wilt not doe it for any other respect; Let me cleave to the wall whose Ivie I am; to the supporter, from whom, neither thy importunitie nor threats, promises or gifts, could once deflect me. Note how Hea ven, by unusuall, unfrequented, and from us concealed waies, hath set my true Spouse before mine eyes: and thou doest know well by a thousand costly experiences, that only death is potent to blot forth his remembrance out of my memorie: Let then so manifest truths bee of power (if thou must doe none other) to convert thine affliction into rage, and thy good will into despight, and therewithall end my life: for if I may render up the Ghost in the presence of my deer Spouse, I shall account it fortunately lost. Perhaps by my death hee will remain satisfied of the faith which I ever kept sincere towards him, untill the last period of my life. By this time Dorotea was come to her self, and listened to most of Luscindaes reasons, and by them came to the knowledge of her self: But seeing Don Fernando did not yet let • er depart from between his armes, nor answer any thing to her words, encouraging her self the best that shee might, shee arose and kneeling at his feet, and shedding a number of Cristall and penetrating T • ares, she spoke to him thus. If it bee not so my Lord, that the beames of that Sunne which thou holdest eclyp sed betweene thine armes, doe darken and deprive those of thine eyes, thou mightest have by this perceived, how shee that is prostrated at thy feete, is the unfortunate (un till thou shalt please) and the disastrous Dorotea. I am that poore humble country-wo man, whom thou eyther through thy bountie, or for thy pleasure didst daigne to rayse to that height that shee might call thee her owne. I am shee which sometime immured within the limits of honestie, did lead a most contented life, untill it opened the gates of her recollection and wearinesse to thine importunity, and seeming just, and amorous requests, and rendred up to thee the keyes of her libertie; a griefe by thee so ill recom penced, as the finding my selfe in so remote a place as this wherein you have met with mee, and I seene you, may cleerely testifie; but yet for all this, I would not have you to imagine that I come here guided by dishonourable steps, being only hitherto condu cted by the tracts of dolour and feeling, to see my selfe thus forgotten by thee. It was thy will that I should bee thine owne, and thou didst desire it in such a manner, as al though now thou wouldst not have it so, yet canst not thou possibly leave off to be mine. Know my deere Lord, that the matchlesse affections that I doe beare towards thee, may recompence and be equivalent to her beautie and nobilitie for whom thou dost aban don mee. Thou canst not bee the beautifull L • scindaes because thou art mine; nor shee thine, for as much as shee belongs to Cardenio, and it will bee more easie, if you will note it well, to reduce thy will to love her that adores thee, then to addresse hers, that hates thee, to beare thee affection: Thou diddest sollicite my wretchlessenesse, thou prayedst to mine integritie, and wast not ignorant of my qualitie; thou knowest also very well upon what termes I subjected my selfe to thy will, so as there remaines no place nor co lour to term it a fraud or deceit; and all this being so, as in veritie it is, & that thou beest as Christian as thou art noble, why dost thou with these so many untoward wreathings dilate the making of mine end happy, whose co ̄ mencement thou didst illustrate so much? and if thou wilt not have mee for what I am, who am thy true and lawfull Spouse; yet at least take and admit mee for thy slave, for so that I may bee in thy possession, I will account my selfe happy and fortunate. Doe not permit that by leaving and abandoning mee, meetings may bee made to discourse of my dishonour. Doe not vexe thus the de clining yeeres of my Parents, seeing that the loyall services which they ever have done as Vassals to thine, deserve not so dishonest a recompence: And if thou esteemest that thy blood by medling with mine shall bee stayned or embased, consider how few noble houses, or rather none at all, are there in the world, which have not runne the same way; and that the womans side is not essentially requisite for the illustrating of noble discents: how much more, seeing that true Nobilitie consists in virtue, which if it shall want in thee, by refusing that which thou owest mee so justly, I shall remain with many more degrees of Nobilitie then thou shalt. And in conclusion, that which I will lastly say is, that whether thou wilt or no, I am thy wife; the witnesses are thine owne words, which neither should nor ought to lie, if thou dost pri • e thy selfe of that for whose want thou despisest mee. Witnesse shall also bee thine owne hand writing. Wit nesse Heaven, which thou didst invoke to beare witnesse of that which thou didst pro mise unto mee; and when all this shall faile, thy very Conscience shall never faile from using clamors, being silent in thy myrth and turning, for this truth which I have said to thee now, shall trouble thy greatest pleasure and delight. These and many other like reasons did the sweetly grieved Dorotea use with such fee ling and abundance of teares, as all those that were present, as well such as accompani ed Don Fernando, as all the others that did accompany her. Don Fernando listned unto her without replying a word, untill shee had ended her speech, and given beginning to so many sighs and sobs, as the heart that could indure to behold them without moving, were harder then brasse. Luscinda did also regard her, no lesse compassionate of her sorrow, then admired at her discretion and beautie, and although shee would have ap proached to her, and used some consolatorie words, yet was shee hindred by Don Fer nandoes armes, which held her still embraced; who full of confusion and marvell, after hee had stood very attentively beholding Dorotea a good while, opening his armes, and leaving Luscynda free said, Thou hast vanquished, O beautifull Dorotea, thou hast van quished me; for it is not possible to resist or denie so many united truths. Luscinda through her former trance and weakenesse, as Don Fernando left her, was like to fall, if Cardenio who stood behind Don Fernando all the while lest hee should bee known, shak ing off all feare and in indangering his person, had not started forward to stay her from falling; and clasping her sweetly betweene his armes hee said. If pittifull Heaven bee pleased, and would have thee now at last take some ease, my loyall, constant and beau tifull Ladie, I presume that thou canst not possesse it more securely then betweene these armes which doe now receive thee, as whilom they did when fortune was pleased that I might call thee mine owne. And then Luscinda first severing her eye lids beheld Car denio, and having first taken notice of him by his voyce, and confirmed it againe by her sight, like one quite distracted, without farther regarding modest respects, shee cast both her armes about his neck, and joyning her face to his said, Yea, thou indeede art my Lord; thou the true owne of this poore Captive, howsoever adverse fortune shall thwart it, or this life, which is only sustayned and lives by thine, bee ever so much threat ned. This was a marvelous spectacle to Don Fernando, and all the rest of the beholders, which did universally admire at this so unexpected an event: and Dorotea perceiving Don Fernando to change colour, as one resolving to take revenge on Cardenio, for hee had set hand to his Sword, which shee conjecturing, did with marvelous expedition kneele, and catching hold on his legs, kissing them, shee strained them with so loving embracements, as hee could not stir out of the place, and then with her eyes overflown with teeres, said unto him, What meanest thou to doe, my only refuge in this unexpe cted trance? Thou hast here thine own Spouse at thy feete, and her whom thou wouldst faine possesse is betweene her owne husbands armes: Judge then whether it become thee, or is a thing possible to dissolve that which Heaven hath knit, or whether it bee a ny wise laudable to endeavor to raise and equall to thy selfe her, who contemning all dangers and inconveniences, and confirmed in faith and constancy, doth in thy presence bathe her eyes with amorous liquor of her true Loves face and bosome. I desire thee for Gods sake, and by thine owne worths; I request thee, that this so notorious a ve ritie may not only asswage thy choller, b • t also diminish it in such sort, as thou maiest quietly and peaceably permit those two Lovers to enjoy their desires without any en cumbrance, all the time that Heaven shall grant it to them; and herein thou shalt shew the generositie of thy magnanimous and noble brest, and give the world to understand how reason prevaileth in thee, and domaniereth over passion. All the time that Doro tea spoke thus to Don Fernando, although Cardenio held Luscinda betweene his armes, yet did hee never take his eye off Don Fernando, with resolution, that if hee did see him once stir in his prejudice, hee would labor both to defend himself and offend his adver sary & all those should joyn with him to do him any harm, as much as he could, although it were with the rest of his life: but Don Fernandoes friends, the Curat and Barber that were present and saw all that was past, repayred in the meane season, without omitting the good Sancho Panca, and all of them together compassed Don Fernando, intreating him to have regard of the beautifull Doroteas teares, and it being true (as they beleeved it was) that she had said, he should not permit her to remain defrauded of her so just and lawfull hopes, assuring him that it was not by chance, but rather by the parti cular providence and disposition of the Heavens, that they had all met together so un expectedly: And that hee should remember, as Master Curate said very well, that only death could sever Luscinda from her Cardenio: And that although the edge of a Sword might divide and part them asunder, yet in that case they would account their death most happy, and that in irremedilesse events, it was highest prudence, by strain ing and overcoming himself, to shew a generous minde, permitting that hee might conquer his own will, they two should joy that good which Heaven had already grant ed to them, and that hee should convert his eyes to behold the beautie of Dorotea, and hee should see that few or none could for feature paragon with her; and much lesse excell her; and that hee should conferre her humilitie and extreame love which shee bore to him with her other indowments; and principally that if hee gloried in the titles of Nobility or Christianity, hee could not doe any other then accomplish the promise that hee had past to her; and that by fulfilling it hee should please God and satisfie discreet persons, which know very well how it is a speciall prerogative of beautie though it bee in an humble and mean subject, if it bee consorted with Modestie and Virtue, to exalt and equall it self to any dignitie, without disparagement of him which doth help to raise or unite it to himself. And when the strong laws of delight are ac complished (so that there intercurre no sinne in the acting thereof) hee is not to bee condemned which doth follow them. Finally, they added to these reasons others so many and forcible, that the valorous brest of Don Fernando (as commonly all those that are warmed and nourished by Noble Blood are wont) was mollified, and permitted it self to bee vanquished by that truth which hee could not denye though hee would: And the token that hee gave of his being overcome, was to stoop down and imbrace Dorotea, saying unto her, A • ise Ladie; for it is not just that shee bee prostrate at my feet, whose image I have erected in my minde: And if I have not hitherto given de monstrations of what I now averr, it hath perhaps befaln through the disposition of Heaven, to the end I might by noting the constancie and faith wherewithall thou doest affect me, know after how to value and esteeme thee according unto thy merits: and that which in recompence thereof I doe intreat of thee is, that thou wilt excuse in mee mine ill manner of proceeding and exceeding carelessenesse in repaying thy good will: For the very occasion and violent passions that made me to accept thee as mine, the very same did also impell me again not to be thine: & for the more verifying of mine assertion, doe but once behold the eyes of the now contented Luscinda and thou mayest read in them a thousand excuses for mine errour: & seeing shee hath found and obtained her hearts desire, and I have in thee also gotten what is most convenient: for I wish shee may live securely and joyfully many and happie yeers with her Cardenio; for I will pray the same, that it will licence me to enjoy my beloved Dorotea: And saying so, hee embraced her again, and joyned his face to hers with so lovely moti on, as it constrained him to hold watch over his Teares, lest violently bursting forth, they should give doubtlesse arguments of his servent Love, and re morse. Cardenio Luscinda and almost all the rest could not doe so, for the greater number of them shed so many teares, some for their private contentment, and others for their friends, as it seemed that some grievous and heavie misfortune had betided them all; even very Sancho Panca wept, although hee excused it afterward, saying, That he wept only because that hee saw that Dorotea was not the Queene Micomicona, as hee had imagined, of whom hee hoped to have received so great gifts and favours. The admira tion and teares joyned, indured in them all for a pretty space, and presently after Car denio and Luscinda went and kneeled to Don Fernando, yeelding him thanks for the fa vour that hee had done to them, with so courteous complements, as hee knew not what to answere, and therefore lifted them up, and embraced them with very great a fection and kindnesse, and presently after he demanded of Dorotea how she came to that place, so far from her own dwelling? and shee recounted unto him all that shee had told to Cardenio; wherea • Don Fernando and those which came with him took so great delight, as they could have wished that her story had continued a longer time in the telling then it did; so great was Doroteaes grace in setting out her misfortunes. And as soon as shee had ended, Don Fernando told all that had befaln him in the Citie, after that hee had found the scroule in Luscindaes bosome, wherein shee declared Cardenio to bee her Husband; and that hee therefore could not marrie her; And also how hee attempted to kill her, and would have done it, were it not that her Parents hindred him; And that hee therefore departed out of the house full of shame and despight, with resolution to revenge himself more commodiously: And how hee understood the next day following, how Luscinda was secretly departed from her fathers house, and gone no body knew where; but that hee finally learned within a few moneths after, that shee had entred into a certain Monastery, with intention to re main there all the daies of her life, if shee could not passe them with Cardenio: And that as soon as hee had learned that, choosing those three Gentlemen for his Associates, hee came to the place where shee was, but would not speake to her, fearing lest that as soon as they knew of his being there, they would increase the guards of the Mona stery; and therefore expected untill he found on a day the gates of the Monastery open, and leaving two of his fellows to keep the doore, hee with the other entred into the Abby in Luscindaes search, whom they found talking with a Nunne in the Cloyster; and snatching her away e're shee could retire her self, they brought her to a certain Village, where they disguised themselves in that sort they were; for so it was requisite for to bring her away: All which they did with the more facilitie, that the Monastery was seated abroad in the Fields, a good way from any Village. Hee like wise told, That as soon as Luscinda saw her self in his power, shee fell into a Swone; and that after shee had returned to her self, shee never did any other thing but weep and sigh, without speaking a word; And that in that manner, accompanied with silence and tears, they had arrived to that Inne, which was to him as gratefull as an arrivall to Heaven, wherein all earthly mis-haps are concluded and finished.