CHAP. I. Wherein is related the events of the fearfull Battell which the gallant Biscaine fought with Don-Quixote. W EE left the valorous Biscaine and the famous Don-Quixote, in the first Part, with their Swords lifted up and naked, in termes to discharge one upon another two furious Cleevers, and such, as if they had lighted rightly, would cut and divide them both from the top to the toe, and open them like a Pomgranat. And that in so doubtfull a taking the delightfull Historie stopped and remained dismembred, the Author thereof leaving us no notice where wee might find the rest of the narration. This grieved mee not a little, but wholly turned the pleasure I tooke in reading the beginning there of into disgust, thinking how small commodity was offered, to finde out so much as in my opinion wanted of this so delectable a tale. It seemed unto mee almost impossible, and contrary to all good order, that so good a Knight should want some wise man that would undertake his wonderfull prowesses and feats of Chivalry. A thing that none of those Knights Errant ever wanted, of whom People speake, for each of them had one or two wise men of purpose, that did not only write their Acts, but also depain ted their very least thoughts and toyes, were they never so hidden. And surely so good a Knight could not bee so unfortunate as to want that wherewith Platyr and others his like abounded: and therefore could not induce my self to beleeve, that so gallant a Historie might remaine maimed and lame, and did rather cast the fault upon the malice of the time, who is a consumer and devourer of all things, which had eyther hidden or consumed it. Me thought on the other side, seeing that among his bookes were found some modern workes, such as the Vndeceiving of Iealousie, and the Nymphs and Sheep heards of Henares. That also his owne Historie must have been new; and if that it were not written, yet was the memory of him fresh among the dwellers of his owne Village, and the other Villages adjoyning. This imagination held mee suspended and desirous to learn really and truly all the life and miracles of our famous Spanyard, Don-Quixote of the Mancha, the light and mirror of all Manchicall Chivalrie; being the first who in this our age and time, so full of calamities, did undergoe the travells and exercise of armes Errant; and undid wrongs, succour'd widdowes, protected Dam zels that rode up and down with their whips and Palfreys, and with all their virginity on their backs from hill to hill, and dale to dale; for if it hapned not that some lewd miscreant, or some Clowne with a hatchet and long haire, or some monstrous Giant did force them, Damzels there were in times past that at the end of fourescore yeeres, all which time they never slept one day under a roofe, went as entyre and pure may dens to their Graves, as the very mother that bore them. Therefore I say, that as well for this as for many other good respects, our gallant Don-Quixote is worthy of continu all and memorable praises; nor can the like bee justly denied to my self, for the labour and diligence which I used to finde out the end of this gratefull History, although I know very well that if Heaven, Chance, and Fortune had not assisted mee, the world had beene deprived of the delight and pastime that men may take for almost two houres together, who shall with diligent attention read it. The manner therefore of finding it was this. Being one day walking in the Exchange of Toledo, a certain Boy by chance would have sold divers old quires & scroules of bookes to a Squire that walked up and down in that place, and I being addicted to read such scroules, though I found them torn in the streets, borne away by this my naturall inclination, tooke one of the quires in my hand, and perceived it to bee written in Arabicall Characters, and seeing that although I knew the Letters, yet could I not read the substance, I looked about to view whether I could perceive any Moor turned Spanyard thereabouts, that could reade them; nor was it very difficult to finde there such an Interpreter, for if I had searched one of another better and more ancient language [to Wit a Iew] that place would easily afford him. In fine, my good fortune presented one to mee, to whom telling my desire, and giving him the booke in his hand, hee opened it, and having read a little therein, began to laugh, I demanded of him why hee laughed? and hee answered, at that marginall note which the booke had. I bad him to expound it to mee, and with that tooke him a little aside, and hee continuing still his laughter said, there is written here on this margin these words. This Dulcinea of Toboso so many times spoaken of in this Historie, had the best hand for powdring of Porkes, of any woman in all the Mancha. When I heard it make mention of Dulcinea of Toboso, I rested amazed and suspended, and imagined forthwith that those quires contained the Historie of Don-Quixote, with this conceit I hastned him to read the ibegnning, which hee did, and translating the A rabicall into Spanish in a trice, hee said that it began thus. The Historie of Don-Quixote of the Mancha, written by Cyde Hamete Benegeli, an Arabicall Historiographer. Much discretion was requisite to dissemble the content of mind I conceived when I heard the Title of the book, and preventing the Squire, I bought all the boyes scroles and papers for a Riall, and were he of discretion, or knew my desire, he might have promised himself easily, and also have borne away with him more then six Reals for his Merchan dize. I departed after with the Moor to the Cloyster of the great Church, & I requested him to turn me all the Arabicall sheets that treated of Don-Quixote into Spanish, with out adding or taking away any thing from them; and I would pay him what hee listed for his paines: hee demanded fifty pounds of Raisons, and three Bushells of Wheat, and promised to translate them speedily, well, and faithfully. But I, to hasten the mat ter more, least I should lose such an unexpected and welcome treasure, brought him to my house, where he translated all the work in lesse then a moneth and a half, even in the manner that it is here recounted. There was painted in the first Quier very naturally the battell betwixt Don-Quixote and the Biscaine; even in the same manner that the History relateth it, with their Swords lifted aloft, the one covered with his Buckler, the other with the Cushion: and the Biscaines Mule was delivered so naturally as a man might perceive it was hired; al though he stood farther oft then the shot of a Cross-bow. The Biscaine had a title written under his feet, that said, Don Sancho de Azpetia, for so belike he was called: and at Rozinante his feet, there was another that said Don-Quixote. Rozinante was marvellous well pourtraited, so long and lank, so thin and lean, so like one labouring with an incurable consumption, as he did shew very cleerly with what consideration and propriety he had given unto him the name Rozinante. By him stood Sancho Pan ca, holding his Asse by the halter; at whose feet was another scroule, saying, Sancho Cancas: And I think the reason thereof was, that as his picture shewed, he had a great belly, a short stature, and thick leggs. And therefore I judge he was called Pan ca or Canca, for both these names were written of him indifferently in the History. There were other little things in it worthy nothing; but all of them are of no great Im portance, nor any thing necessary for the true relation of the History, for none is ill if it be true. And if any objection be made against the truth of this; it can be none o ther then that the Authour was a Moor; and it is a known propriety of that Na tion to be lying: Yet in respect that they hate us so mortally, it is to be conjectured that in this History there is rather want and concealement of our Knights worthy acts, then any superfluity; which I imagine the rather, because I finde in the progresse thereof many times, that when he might; and ought to have advanced his penn in our Knights prayses, he doth as it were of purpose passe them over in silence. Which was very ill done, seeing that Historiographers ought and should be very precise, true, and unpassi onate; and that neither profit, or fear, rancor or affection should make them to tread awry from the truth, whose mother is History; the Emulatresse of time; the depository of actions; the witnesse of things past; and advertiser of things to come. In this Hi storie I know a man may finde all that he can desire in the most pleasing manner; and if they want any thing to be desired, I am of opinion that it is through the fault of that ungracious knave that translated it, rather then through any defect in the subject. Finally, the second part thereof (according to the translation) began in this man ner. The trenchant Swords of the two valorous and inraged combatants being listed a loft, it seemed that they threatned Heaven, the Earth, and the Depths. Such was their hardnesse and courage: And the first that discharged his blow was the Biscaine, which fell with such force and fury, as if the Sword had not turned a little in the way, that only blow had been sufficient to set an end to the rigorous Contention, and all other the Adventures of our Knight. But his good fortune which resolved him for greate • Affairs, did wrest his adversaries Sword away in such sort, as though he stroke him on the left shoulder, yet did it no more ha •• then disarm all that side carying away with it a great part of his Beaver, with the half of his eare; all which fell to the ground with a dreadfull ruine, leaving him in very ill case for a good time. Good God! who is he that can well describe at this present, the fury that entred in the heart of our Man chegan, seeing himself used in that manner? Let us say no more, but that it was such, that stretching himself again in the stirrops, and griping his Sword fast in both his hands, he discharged such a terrible blow on the Biscaine, hitting him right upon the Cushion and by it on the head, that the strength and thicknesse thereof so little availed him, that as if a whole Mountain had faln upon him, the blood gushed out of his mouth, nose, and ears, all at once, and he to • teredi so on his Mule, that every step he took, he was ready to fall off, as he would indeed if he had not taken him by the neck: yet never thelesse he lost the stirrops, and loosing his gripe of the Mule, it being likewise frighted by that terrible blow, ran away as fast as it could, about the Fields, and within two or three winches overthrew him to the ground. All which Don-Quixote stood beholding with great quietnesse; and as soon as he saw him fall, he leapt off his Horse, and ran over to him very speedily; and setting the poynt of his Sword on his eyes, he bad him yeeld himself, or else he would cut off his head. The Biscaine was so amazed as he could not speak a word; and it had succeeded very ill with him, considering Don-Quixote fury, if the Ladies of the Coach, which untill then had beheld the Conflict with great anguish, had not come where he was, and earnestly be sought him to doe them the fa vour to pardon their Squiers life. Don-Quixote answered with a great loftinesse and gravity. Truly fair Ladyes I am well appaid to grant you your request, but it must be with this agreement and condition, that this Knight shall promise me to goe to Toboso, and present himself in my name to the Peerlesse Ladie Daloinea, to the end she may dispose of him as shee pleaseth. The timerous and comfortlesse Lady with out considering what Don-Quixote demanded, or asking what Dul •• was, promised that her Squire should accomplish all that he pleased to command. Why then quoth Don-Quixote, trusting to your promise, I'le doe him no more harme, although he hath well deserved it at my hands.