Guz. An’t please your Honour, the Mayor of the Town is come to wait on you.
Quix. Give him Admittance. This is the chief Magistrate of the Place, who comes, I suppose, to congratulate me on my Arrival; he might have come sooner; but the Neglect of his Duty is better than the total Omission. In the mean while, Sancho, post thou away this Instant to Toboso; and Heaven prosper thy Embassy.
San. Prosperity may travel with me, without tiring itself.
[Aside.
SCENE III.
Mayor, Don Quixote.
May. I am your Honour’s most humble Servant.
Quix. Sir, I am glad to see you; I think you are the chief Officer of the Town.
May. Yes, an’t please your Honour, I am Mr. Mayor of this Town. I should have done myself the Pleasure to have waited on you sooner, but I was quite ignorant of the Design with which you came hither.
Quix. Be seated, Sir; you are a worthy Man, and to your Praise be it spoken, the first that has done his Duty since my Arrival.
May. I can’t answer for the whole Town; but the Corporation is as well affected a Corporation as any in all England, and I believe highly sensible of the Honour you intend them. No Man knows his Strength till he tries it; and, notwithstanding what you may have heard of the Knight of the Long-Purse, if you oppose him briskly, I dare answer for your Success.
Quix. Is there a Knight on Earth I dare not oppose? Tho’ he had as many Hands as Briareus, as many Eyes as Argus, I should not fear him.
May. This is a special Stick of Wood, I find. — A Benefit-Ticket, adod.
[Aside.
Quix. I see the Reason of your Apprehension; you have heard of my ill Success in my last Adventure — that was not my Fault!
[Sighing.
May. I see he has been thrown out at some other Place already. — I don’t in the least, Sir, apprehend it was your Fault; but there is nothing to be done without bleeding freely on these Occasions.
Quix. Ha! do you think I fear to bleed?
May. Be not so passionate, Sir; this I assure you, you will do your Business with less than any other. I suppose, Sir, it may lay in your Power to do some Services to this Town.
Quix. Be assur’d it does. I will, for your sake, preserve it for ever from any Insults. No Armies shall ever do you any Harm.
May. I assure you, Sir, that will recommend you very much: If you can keep Soldiers from quartering upon us, we shall make very little Difficulty in the Affair: But I-hope your Honour will consider that the Town is very poor, Sir; a little Circulation of Money among us would —
Quix. Sir, you make me concern’d that it is not now in my Power to give whatever you desire; but rest secure of this, there is not one whom you shall recommend, that shall not, within this Twelvemonth, be Governor of an Island.
May. This is a Courtier, I find, by his Promises.
[Aside.
Quix. But who is this Knight whom I am to encounter? Is he now in the Castle?
May. Yes, Sir, he is now at Loveland Castle, a Seat of his about ten Miles off. He was here the very Day before your Honour came to Town, randying for a Knight of his Acquaintance, with no less than Six Hundred Freeholders at his Heels.
Quix. Humph! those are a sort of Soldiers I never heard of in Spain. — How were they arm’d?
May. Arm’d, Sir?
Quix. Ay; with Carbines, with Muskets, Spears, Pistols, Swords, or how? I ask, that I may choose proper Weapons to encounter them.
May. Ha, ha! your Honour is pleas’d to be merry; why truly, Sir, they were pretty well arm’d when they went out of Town; every Man had four or five Bottles in his Head at least.
Quix. Base-born Cowards! who owe their Courage to the Spirit of their Wine! But be easy, Sir, within these two Days not one of them shall be alive.
May. Marry, Heaven forbid! Some of them are as honest Gentlemen as any in the County.
Quix. Ha! honest! and in the Train of the Knight of the Long-Purse! Do I not know him to be a Deflowerer of Virgins, a Destroyer of Orphans, a Despoiler of Widows, a Debaucher of Wives —
May. Who, Sir Thomas Loveland, Sir? Why, you don’t know him. He’s as good-natur’d, civil a Gentleman, as a Man may say —
Quix. Why then do you petition me against him?
May. Nay, Sir, for that matter, let him be as civil as he pleases, one Man’s Money is as good as another’s. You seem to be a civil Gentleman too; and if you stand against him, I don’t know which would carry it: But this, I believe, you guess already, that he who spends most would not have the least Chance.
Quix. Ha! Caitif! dost thou think I would condescend to be the Patron of a Place so mercenary? If my Services cannot procure me the Election, dost thou think my Money should make me their Knight? What should I get by undertaking the Protection of this City and Castle, but Dangers, Difficulties, Tolls, and Inchantments? Hence from my Sight! or by the peerless Dulcinea’s Eyes, thy Blood shall pay the Affront thou hast given my Honour. — Was it for this that I was chosen in full Senate the Patron of la Mancha? Gods! to what will Mankind degenerate! where not only the vile Necessaries of Life; but even Honours, which should be the Reward of Virtue only, are to be bought with Money.
SCENE IV.
Another Chamber.
Squire Badger, Scut his Huntsman, and Guzzle.
Badg. That’s it, Honey’s, Oh! that’s it. — What, have you no Company in the House, Landlord? Could not you find out an honest Lad, one that could take a hearty Pot?
Guz. Faith, noble Squire, I wish you had spoke a little sooner, Mr. Permit the Officer is just gone out of the House; your Worship wou’d have lik’d him hugely; he is rare good Company.
Badg. Well, but hang it, hast thou no body?
Guz. I have not one Guest in the House, Sir, but a young Lady and her Maid, and a Madman, and a Squire, as he calls himself.
Badg. Squire! who, pr’ythee?
Guz. Squire — It is a cursed hard Name, I never can remember it. Squire Pancho Sancho — he calls himself.
Badg. Pr’ythee, what is he, a Whig or a Tory? Hey!
Guz. Sir, I don’t know what he is: His Master and he have been here in my House this Month, and I can’t tell what to make of ‘em; I wish the Devil had ‘em before I had seen ‘em, the Squire and his Master both.
Badg. What, has the Squire a Master?
Guz. I don’t know which is Master, nor which is Man, not I; sometimes I think one is Master, and then again I think it is t’other. — I am sure I had rather be the Squire, for he sleeps most, and eats most; he is as bad as a Grayhound in a House; there is no laying down any thing eatable, but if you turn your Back, slap, he has it up. As for the Knight, as he calls himself, he has more to pay for breaking Windows, than eating: Wou’d I were well rid of him! He will sit you sometimes in the Yard to guard the Castle, as he calls it; but I am afraid his Design is to rob the House, if he could catch an Opportunity. I don’t understand one Word in ten of what he says; he talks of Giants, and Castles, and Queens, and Princesses, and Chanters, and Magicians, and Dulcineas; he has been a mighty Traveller it seems.
Badg. A comical Dog, I fansy; go, give my Service to him, tell him I should be glad of his Company, go.
Guz. I am afraid he is not in any of the best Humours, for he was most confoundedly drubb’d just now.
Badg. Well, pr’ythee go and call him; here is some of the best Physick for him. Come, Scut, sit down, and sing that Song once more.
AIR VII. Mother, quoth Hodge, &c.
Scut.
The Doctor is feed for a dangerous Draught,
Which cures half a Dozen, and kills half a Score;
Of all the best Drugs the Dispensaries taught,
‘Twere well could each cure one Disease, and no more.
But here’s the Juice,
Of sovereign Use,
‘Twill cure your Distempers, whatever they be;
In Body, or Spirit,
Wherever you bear it;
Take of this a large Dose, and it soon sets y
ou free.
By cunning Directors, if trick’d of your Pelf,
Your Losses a Dose of good Claret can heal;
Or if you have been a Director your self,
‘Twill teach you no Loss of your Honour to feel:
Stocks fall or rise,
Tell Truth or Lies,
Your Fame and your Fortune here Remedy find;
If Silvia be cruel,
Take this Water-Gruel,
‘Twill soou cure the Fever that burns up your Mind.
SCENE V.
Don Quixote, Guzzle, Scut, and Badger.
Quix. Most illustrious and mighty Knight, I’m proud to kiss your Hands.
Badg. Your Servant, Sir, your Servant. — A devilish odd Figure this.
[Aside.
Quix. To meet a Person of your Distinction, is a Happiness I little expected; for I am much mistaken but you are either the Knight of the Sun, or of the Black Helmet.
Badg. Or of the Black Cap, Sir, if you please.
Quix. Sir Knight of the Black Cap, I rejoice in meeting you in this Castle; and I wish the Atchievements of this glorious Adventure, in which I have been, by the cursed Power of Inchantment, foil’d, may be reserv’d for you.
Badg. This is honest Cousin Tom, faith, as mad as a March-Hare.
[Aside.
Quix. Would you guess, Sir Knight of the Black Cap, that this uncourteous Person, the Lord of this Castle, should detain within his Walls, the most beautiful Princess in the Universe?
Badg. The Devil he does!
Quix. Inchanted; and, if I mistake not, by that Inchanter Merlin; I humbly suppose, the Delivery of this Princess was the Design with which you came to this Castle.
Badg. Ay, ay, Sir, I’ll deliver her, I warrant you: But come, Sir — Pray, Sir, may I crave the Honour of your Name?
Quix. I am known, Sir, in Chivalry, by the Name of the Knight of the Woful Figure.
Badg. Sir Knight of the Woful Figure, will you please to sit down? Come, Sir, Here’s to you. Landlord, draw your Chair. How long, Sir Knight of the Woful Figure, have you been in these Parts?
Quix. It is not, Sir Knight of the Black Cap, the Business of a Knight-Errant to number Time, like the inferior Part of Mankind, by the Days which he lives, but by the Actions he performs; perhaps you may have sojourn’d longer here than I. Are there many Knights in this Kingdom?
Badg. Oh, numberless! — there are your Knights and Baron Knights, and Knights of the Post; and then there are your blue Knights, and your red Knights, and your green Knights.
Quix. Well, may this Kingdom be said to be happy, when so many Knights conspire for its Safety.
Badg. Come, let us be metry; we’ll have a Hunting-Song. — Sir Knight, I should be glad to see you at my CountryS-Seat. Come, Scut, sing away.
AIR VIII. There was a Jovial Beggar, &c.
Scut.
The dusky Night rides down the Sky,
And ushers in the Morn;
The Hounds all join in glorious Cry,
The Huntsman winds his Horn:
And a Hunting we will go.
The Wife around her Husband throws
Her Arms, and begs his Stay;
My Dear, it rains, and hails, and snows,
Your will not bunt to-day.
But a Hunting we will go.
A burshing Fox in yonder Wood,
Secure to find we seek;
For why, I carry’d sound and good,
A Cartload there last Week.
And a Hunting we will go.
Away he goes, he flies the Rout,
Their Steeds all spur and switch;
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the Ditch:
But a Hunting we will go.
At length his Strength to Faintness worn,
Poor Reynard ceases Flight;
Then hungry, homeward we return,
To feast away the Night:
Then a Drinking we will go.
Badg. Ha, ha, ha! Sir Knight of the Woful Figure; this is the Life, Sir, of most of our Knights in England.
Quix. Hunting is a manly Exercise, and therefore a proper Recreation: But it is the Business of a Knight-Errant to rid the World of other sort of Animals than Foxes.
Badg. Here is my dear Dorothea to you, the most beautiful Woman in the World.
Quix. Ha, Caitif! dost thou dare say that in my Presence, forgetting that the peerless Dulcinea yet lives? Confess thy Fault this Instant, and own her inferior to Dulcinea, or I will make thee a dreadful Example to all future Knights who shall dare dispute the Incomparableness of that divine Lady.
Badg. Throw by your Spit, Sir, throw by your Spit, and I don’t fear you. ‘Sbud! I’ll beat your Lanthorn-Jaws into your Throat, you Rascal.
[Squire Badger offers to strike Don Quixote.
Guz. Oh, that this Fellow were at the Devil! Dear Squire, let him alone.
Quix. Ha! have I discover’d thee, Impostor? Thanks, most incomparable Lady, that hast not suffered thy Knight to pollute his Hands with the base Blood of that Impostor Squire.
SCENE VI.
Don Quixote, Sancho, Squire Badger.
San. Oh, Sir, I have been seeking your Honour, I have such News to tell you!
Quix. Sancho, uncase this Instant, and handle that Squire as he deserves.
San. My Lady Dulcinea, Sir —
Quix. Has been abus’d, has been injur’d, by the slanderous Tongue of that Squire.
San. But, Sir —
Quix. If thou expectest to live a Moment, answer me not a Word, ‘till that Caitif hath felt thy Fist.
San. Nay, Sir, with all my Heart, as far as a Cuff or two goes. — I hate your Squire-Errants that carry Arms about them.
Badge. I’ll box you first one Hand, second with both. Sirrah, I am able to beat a Dozen of you. — If I don’t lamb thee! —
[They both strip.
San. May be not, Brother Squire, may be not; threatned Folks live long; high Words break no Bones; many walk into a Battle, and are carry’d out on’t; one Ounce of Heart is better than many Stone of Flesh; dead Men pay no Surgeons; safer to dance after a Fiddle than a Drum, tho’ not so honourable; a wise Man would be a Soldier in time of Peace, and a Parson in time of War.
SCENE VII.
Mrs. Guzzle, Squire Badger, Sancho.
Mrs. Guz. What in the Devil’s Name is the matter with you? Get you and your Master out of my House, for a couple of Pickpockets as you are. — Sir, I hope your Worship will not be angry with us.
Badg. Stand away, Landlord, stand away. — If I don’t lick him!
San. Come along, out into the Yard, and let me have fair Play, and I don’t fear you — I don’t fear you.
Mrs. Guz. Get you out, you Rascal, get you out, or I’ll be the Death of you; I’ll teach you to fight with your Betters, you Villain, you; I’ll curry you, Sirrah.
SCENE VIII.
Fairlove, Squire Badger.
Fair. I am sorry to see a Gentleman insulted, Sir. What was the Occasion of this Fray?
Badg. I hope you are no Knight-Errant, Sir?
Fair. Sir!
Badg. I say, Sir, I hope you are no Knight-Errant, Sir?
Fair. You are merry, Sir.
Badg. Ay, Sir, and you would have been merry too, had you seen such a Sight as I have. Here is a Fellow in this Inn, that outdoes all the Shows I ever saw. He was going to knock my Brains out for drinking my Mistress’s Health.
Fair. Perhaps he is your Rival, Sir.
Badg. Od! that’s like enough, now I think on’t; who knows but this may be that Son of a Whore, Fairlove, whom I have been told on?
Fair. Ha!
Badg. As sure as a Gun — this is he — Odsbodlikins! Mrs. Dorothea, you have a very strange sort of a Taste, I can tell you that.
Fair. Do you travel towards London, Sir? because I shall be glad of your Company.
Badg. No, Sir, I have not above Fifteen short Miles to go, and quite across the Country.
Fair
. Perhaps you are going to Sir Thomas Loveland’s?
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 315