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and my self, hath boumifully recompensed the Portiot he carried, and given to him sufficienr to satisfy hit liberal Disposition, and to me wherewithal to continue my Studies, with the decency and authority needful to advance me to the Rank which now I possess. My Father lives yet, but dying through defire to learn somewhat of his eldest Son, and doth daily importune God with incessant Prayers, that Death may not shut his Ejet until he may once again fee him alive. I only marvel not a little, considering his Discretion, that among all his Labours, Afflictions, or prosperous Successes, he hath been so careless in giving his Father notice of his Proceedings: For if either he, or any one of us had known of his Captivity, he should not have needed to expect the Miracle of the Cane for his Ransom. But that which troubles me most of all is, to think whether these Frenchmen have restored him again to liberty, or else slain him, that tliey might conceal their Robbery the better. All which will be an occasion to me to prosecute any Voyage, not with the Joy wherewithal I began it, hut rather with Melancholy and Sorrow. O dear Brother, I would I might know where thou art, that I my self might go and search thee out, and free thee from thy Pains, although it were with the hazard of my own. On, who is he that could carry News to our old Father, that thou wert alive, although hidden in the most -abstruse Dungeons of Barbary -, for his Riches, my Brother's, and mine, would fetch thee from thence. O beautiful and bountiful Zoraida, who might be able to recompense thee for the good thou hast done to my Brother > How happy were he that might be present at thy spiritual Birth and Baptism, and at thy Nuptials, which would be so grateful to us all? These, and many other such Words, did the Judge deliver, so full of Compassion for the News that he had received of his Brother, as all that heard him, kept him company in shewing Signs of Compassion for his Sorrow. ,
The Curate therefore perceiving the happy Success whereto his Design and the Captain's Desire had sorted, would hold the Company sad no longer, and therefore arising from the Table, and entting the Room wherein
Zoraida was, he took her by the Hand, and after her followed Lucind*, Dorotea^ and the Judge his Daughter, the Captain stood still to fee what the Curate would do; who taking him sast by the other Hand marched over with them Doth towards the Judge and the other Gentlemen, and said, Suppress your Tears, Master Justice, and glut your Desire with all that good which it may wish for, seeing you have here before you your good Brother, and your loving Sister-in-Law: This Man whom you view here, is the Captain Videma, and this the beautiful Moor, which hath done so much for him. The Frenchmen, which I told you of, have reduced them to the Poverty you fee, to the end that you may shew the Liberality of your noble Breast. Then did the Captain draw near to embrace his Brother; but he held him off a while with his'Arms, to note whether it was he, or no; but when he once knew him, he embraced him so lovingly, and with such abundance of Tears, as did attract the like from all the Beholders. The Words that the Brothers spoke to one another, or the feeling Affection which they shewed, can hardly be conceived, and therefore much less written by any one whatsoever. There they did briefly recount the one to the other their Successes: Tiiere did they shew the true Love and Affection of Brothers in his Prime: There did the Judge embrace Zoraida: There he made her an offer of all that was his. There did he also cause his Daughter to embrace her: There the beautiful Christian, and the most beautiful Moor renewed the Tears of them all: There Don fixate was attentive, without speaking a Word, pondering of these rare Occurrences, and attributing them to the Chimera's which he imagined to be incident to Chivalry: And there they agreed that the Captain and Zoraida should return with their Brother to Senile, and thence advise their Father of his finding and liberty, that he, as well as he might, would come to Sevile to the Baptism and marriage of Zoraida, because the Judge could not p Sibly return, or discontinue his Journey, in respect that the Indian Fleet was to depart within a Month from S«» vile towards New Spain.
Every one in conclusion was joyfiil and glad at the Captive's good Success; and two parts of the Night being well nigh spent, they all agreed to repose themselves a-while. Don Quixote offered himself to watch and guard the Castle whilst they slept, lest they should be asfaulted by some Giant, or other Miscreant, desirous to rob the great Treasure of Beauty that was therein immured and kept. Those that knew him render'd unto him infinite Thanks: And withal informed the Judge of hie extravagant Humour, whereat he was not a little recreated; only Sancho Vtmea did fret, because they went so slowly to sleep, and he alone was best accommodated of them all, by lying down on his Beast's Furniture, which cost him dearly, as shall be after recounted. The Ladies being withdrawn into their Chamber, and every one laying himself down where best he might, Don Quixote sallied out of the Inn, to be Centinel of the Castle as he had promised. And a little before Day it happened, that so sweet and tuneable a Voice touched the Ladies ears, as it obliged them all to listen unto it very attentively, but chiefly Dorotea, who first awaked, and by whose Side the young Gentlewoman Donna Clara of Videma (for so the Judge's Daughter was called) slept. None of them could imagine who it was that fung so well without the help of any Instrument: Sometimes it seemed that he sung in the Yard, at others that it was in the Stable: And being thus in siispence, Cardenio came to the Chamber Door, and said, Whosoever is not asleep, let them give ear, and they shall hear the Voice of a Lackey that so chants, as it likewise inchants. Sir, quoth Dorotea, we hear him very welL With this Cardenio departed, and Dorotea using all the Attention possible, heard that his Song was this followina
Wherein is recounted the History of the Lackey, with other strange Adventures befallen in the Inn.
TOfs'd in Doubts and Fears I rove
But Reserv'dness, like a Cloud,
The Singer arriving to this Point of his Song, Dorotea imagin'd that it would not be amiss to let Donna Clara hear so excellent a Voice, and therefore she jogg'd her a little on the one and the other Side, until she had awaked her., and then said, Pardon, me Child, for thus interrupting your sweet Repose, seeing I do it to the end you may joy, by hearing one of the best Voices that perhaps you ever heard in your Lise. Clara awaked at the first dVowsi-. ly, and did not well understand what Dorotea said, and therefore demanding of Her what she said, she told it
I 2 her
her aeain; whereupon Donna Clara was also attentive. But scarce h,ad we heard two Verses repeated by the early Musician, when a marvellous Trembling invaded her, even as if she had then suffer'd the grievous Fit of a Quartan Ague. Wherefore embracing Dorotea very strait1v, she said, Alas! dear Lady, why did you' awake me, feeing the greatest Hap that Fortune could in this Instant have given me, was to have mine Eyes and Ears so shut, as I might neither fee nor hear that unfortunate Musician? What is that you say, Child, quoth Dorotea? Did you not hear one say, that the Musician is but a Horse-boy? He is no Horse-boy, quoth Clara, but a Lordof manyTowns; and lie that hath such firmPossession -of my Soul, as, if he himself will not reject it, he shall never be depriv'd of the Dominion thereof, Dorotea greatly wonder'd at the passionate Words of the young <3irl, whereby it seem'd to her that she sar surpass'd the Discretion which so tender Years did promise: And therefore she reply'd to her, saying, You speak so obscurely, Lady Clara, as I cannot understand you : Expound your self more clearly, and tell me what is that you say of Souls, and Towns, and of this Musician, whose Voice bath alter'd you so much: But do not say any thing to ane now, for I would not lose, by listening to your DisEusts, the Pleasure I take to hear him sing, for methinks be resumes his Mustek with new Verses, and in another Tune. In a good Hour, quoth Donna Clara: And then, because she her self would not hear him, she stopp'd her Ears with her Fingers; whereat Dorotea did also marvel: but being attentive to the Musick, she heard the Lackey prosecute his Song in this manner:
UNconquer'd slope, thou Bane of Fear,