Thy country’s name in story shall endure,
And thy sage author stand without a peer.
Don Belianis of Greece22
To Don Quixote of La Mancha
In slashing, hewing, cleaving, word and deed,
I was the foremost knight of chivalry,
Stout, bold, expert, as e’er the world did see;
Thousands from the oppressor’s wrong I freed;
Great were my feats, eternal fame their meed;
In love I proved my truth and loyalty;
The hugest giant was a dwarf for me;
Ever to knighthood’s laws gave I good heed.
My mastery the Fickle Goddess owned,
And even Chance, submitting to control,
Grasped by the forelock, yielded to my will.
Yet—though above yon hornèd moon enthroned
My fortune seems to sit—great Quixote, still
Envy of thy achievements fills my soul.
The Lady of Oriana23
To Dulcinea del Toboso
Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be!
It were a pleasant fancy to suppose so—
Could Miraflores change to El Toboso,
And London’s town to that which shelters thee!
Oh, could mine but acquire that livery
Of countless charms thy mind and body show so!
Or him, now famous grown—thou mad’st him grow so—
Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see!
Oh, could I be released from Amadís
By exercise of such coy chastity
As led thee gentle Quixote to dismiss!
Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy;
None would I envy, all would envy me,
And happiness be mine without alloy.
Gandalin, Squire of Amadís of Gaul
To Sancho Panza, Squire of Don Quixote
All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she
Bound thee apprentice to the esquire trade,
Her care and tenderness of thee displayed,
Shaping thy course from misadventure free.
No longer now doth proud knight-errantry
Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade;
Of towering arrogance less count is made
Than of plain esquire-like simplicity.
I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name,
And those alforjas thou wast wont to stuff
With comforts that thy providence proclaim.
Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again!
To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain
Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff.24
From El Donoso, the Motley Poet25
On Sancho Panza and Rocinante
On Sancho
I am the esquire Sancho Pan—
Who served Don Quixote of La Man—;
But from his service I retreat—,
Resolved to pass my life discreet—;
For Villadiego, called the Si—,
Maintained that only in reti—
Was found the secret of well-be—,
According to the “Celesti—:”26
A book divine, except for sin—
By speech too plain, in my opin—On Rocinante
I am that Rocinante fa—,
Great-grandson of great Babie—,27
Who, all for being lean and bon—,
Had one Don Quixote for an own—;
But if I matched him well in weak—,
I never took short commons meek—,
But kept myself in corn by steal—,
A trick I learned from Lazaril—,
When with a piece of straw so neat—
The blind man of his wine he cheat—.28
Orlando Furioso
To Don Quixote of La Mancha
If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none;29
Among a thousand Peers thou art a peer;
Nor is there room for one when thou art near,
Unvanquished victor, great unconquered one!
Orlando, by Angelica undone,
Am I; o’er distant seas condemned to steer,
And to Fame’s altars as an offering bear
Valour respected by Oblivion.
I cannot be thy rival, for thy fame
And prowess rise above all rivalry,
Albeit both bereft of wits we go.
But, though the Scythian or the Moor to tame
Was not thy lot, still thou dost rival me:
Love binds us in a fellowship of woe.
The Knight of Phoebus30
To Don Quixote of La Mancha
My sword was not to be compared with thine
Phoebus of Spain, marvel of courtesy,
Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine
That smote from east to west as lightnings fly.
I scorned all empire, and that monarchy
The rosy east held out did I resign
For one glance of Claridiana’s eye,
The bright Aurora for whose love I pine.
A miracle of constancy my love;
And banished by her ruthless cruelty,
This arm had might the rage of Hell to tame.
But, Gothic Quixote, happier thou dost prove,
For thou dost live in Dulcinea’s name,
And famous, honoured, wise, she lives in thee.
From Solisdan31
To Don Quixote of La Mancha
Your fantasies, Sir Quixote, it is true,
That crazy brain of yours have quite upset,
But aught of base or mean hath never yet
Been charged by any in reproach to you.
Your deeds are open proof in all men’s view;
For you went forth injustice to abate,
And for your pains sore drubbings did you get
From many a rascally and ruffian crew.
If the fair Dulcinea, your heart’s queen,
Be unrelenting in her cruelty,
If still your woe be powerless to move her,
In such hard case your comfort let it be
That Sancho was a sorry go-between:
A booby he, hard-hearted she, and you no lover.
Dialogue
Between Babieca and Rocinante
Babieca “How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?”
Rocinante “I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.”
Babieca “But what becomes of all the hay and corn?”
Rocinante “My master gives me none; he’s much too mean.”
Babieca “Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween;
’Tis like an ass your master thus to scorn.”
Rocinante “He is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born;
Why, he’s in love; what’s plainer to be seen?”
Babieca “To be in love is folly?”—R. “No great sense.”
Babieca “You’re metaphysical.”—R. “From want of food.”
Babieca “Rail at the squire, then.”—R. “Why, what’s the good?
I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye,
But, squire or master, where’s the difference?
They’re both as sorry hacks as Rocinante.”
I
Which treats of the character and pursuits of the famous gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha.
In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind,32 there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for
