Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547–1616). Don Quixote, Part 1.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Sonnets
Certain Sonnets, Written by Knights-Errant, Ladies, Squires, and Horses, in the Praise of Don Quixote, His Dame, His Squire and Steed
AMADIS OF GAULE, IN PRAISE OF DON QUIXOTE.
THOU that my doleful life didst imitate,When, absent and disdained, it befell,Devoid of joy, I a repentant stateDid lead, and on the Poor Rock’s top did dwell;Thou, that the streams so often from thine eyesDidst suck of scalding tears’ disgustful brine;And, without pewter, copper, plate likewise,Wast on the bare earth oft constrain’d to dine,—Live of one thing secure eternally,That whilst bright Phoebus shall his horses spurThrough the fourth sphere’s dilated monarchy,Thy name shall be renowned, near and fur;And as, ’mongst countries, thine is best alone,So shall thine author peers on earth have none.DON BELIANIS OF GREECE TO DON QUIXOTE OF THE MANCHA.
I TORE, I hackt, abolish’d, said and did,More than knight-errant else on earth hath done:I, dexterous, valiant, and so stout beside,Have thousand wrongs reveng’d, millions undone.I have done acts that my fame eternise,In love I courteous and so peerless was:Giants, as if but dwarfs, I did despise;And yet no time of love-plaints I let pass.I have held fortune prostrate at my feet,And by my wit seiz’d on Occasion’s top,Whose wandering steps I led where I thought meet;And though beyond the moon my soaring hopeDid crown my hap with all felicity,Yet, great Quixote, do I still envy thee.THE KNIGHT OF THE SUN, ALPHEBO, TO DON QUIXOTE.
MY sword could not at all compare with thine,Spanish Alphebo! full of courtesy;Nor thine arm’s valour can be match’d by mine,Though I was fear’d where days both spring and die.Empires I scorn’d, and the vast monarchyOf th’ Orient ruddy (offer’d me in vain),I left, that I the sovereign face might seeOf my Aurora, fair Claridiane,Whom, as by miracle, I surely lov’d:So banish’d by disgrace, even very hellQuak’d at mine arm, that did his fury tame.But thou, illustrious Goth, Quixote! hast prov’dThy valour, for Dulcinea’s sake, so wellAs both on earth have gain’d eternal fame.ORLANDO FURIOSO, PEER OF FRANCE, TO DON QUIXOTE OF THE MANCHA.
THOUGH thou art not a peer, thou hast no peer,Who mightst among ten thousand peers be one;Nor shalt thou never any peer have here,Who, ever-conquering, vanquish’d was of none.Quixote, I’m Orlando! that, cast awayFor fair Angelica, cross’d remotest seas,And did such trophies on Fame’s altar layAs pass oblivion’s reach many degrees.Nor can I be thy peer; for peerlessnessIs to thy prowess due and great renown,Although I lost, as well as thou, my wit;Yet mine thou may’st be, if thy good successMake thee the proud Moor tame, [achieve] that crown,Us equals in disgrace and loving fit.SOLIS DAN TO DON QUIXOTE OF THE MANCHA.
MAUGRE the ravings that are set abroach,And rumble up and down thy troubled brain,Yet none thine acts, Don Quixote, can reproach,Or thy proceedings tax as vile or vain.Thy feats shall be thy fairest ornament(Seeing wrongs t’undo thou goest thus about),Although with blows a thousand time y-shentThou wert well-nigh, yea, even by the miscreant rout.And if thy fair Dulcinea shall wrongBy misregard thy fairer expectation,And to thy cares will lend no listening ear,Then let this comfort all thy woes outwear,—That Sancho fail’d in broker’s occupation:He, foolish; cruel, she; thou, without tongue.THE PRINCESS ORIANA OF GREAT BRITAIN TO LADYDULCINEA DEL TOBOSO.
HAPPY those which, for more commodityAnd ease, Dulcinea fair! could bring to passThat Greenwich, where Toboso is, might be,And London chang’d where thy knight’s village was.Happy she that might body and soul adornWith thy rich livery and thy high desire;And see thy happy knight, by honour borne,In cruel combat, broaching out his ire.But happiest she that might so cleanly ‘scapeFrom Amadis as thou hast whilom doneFrom thy well-manner’d knight, courteous Quixote!O! were I she, I’d envy no one’s hap,And had been merry when I most did moan,And ta’en my pleasure without paying shot.GANDALINE, AMADIS OF GAULE’S SQUIRE, TO SANCHO PANZA, DON QUIXOTE SQUIRE.
HAIL, famous man! whom fortune hath so blist,When first, in squire-like trade, it thee did place,As thou didst soft and sweetly pass disgraceEre thou thereof the threatening danger wist.The shovel or sickle little do resistThe wandering exercise; for now’s in gracePlain squire-like dealing, which doth quite defaceHis pride that would the Moor bore with his fist.Thine ass I jointly envy, and thy name,And eke thy wallet I do emulate,An argument of thy great providence.Hail once again! who, ’cause so good a man,Thy worths our Spanish Ovid does relate,And lovely chants them with all reverence.A DIALOGUE BETWEEN BABIECA, HORSE TO THE CID, A FAMOUS CONQUEROR OF SPAIN; AND ROZINANTE, DON QUIXOTE’S COURSER.
Ba. How haps it, Rozinante, thou art so lean?Ro. Because I travel still, and never eat:Ba. Thy want of barley and straw, what does it mean?Ro. That of my lord, a bit I cannot get.Ba. Away, sir jade! you are ill-mannered,Whose ass’ tongue your lord does thus abase.Ro. If you did see how he’s enamoured,You would conclude that he’s the greater ass.Ba. Is love a folly?—Ro. Sure it is no wit.Ba. Thou art a metaphysician.—Ro. For want of meat.Ba. Complain upon the squire.—Ro. What profits it?Or how shall I my woful plaints repeat?Since, though the world imputes slowness to me,Yet greater jades my lord and Sancho be.