Preliminary Verses

TO THE BOOK OF DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

Urganda the Unknown
If, book, you’d join the wise and wor-,
and go to them with careful rea-,
no beardless boy, no foolish bab-
will say you play with clumsy fin-.
But if you cannot wait, and hur-
to fall into the hands of idi-,
you’ll see them, quick from hand to mou-,
not once so much as hit the nai-,
although they gnaw their hands, so ea-
to show the world how wise and clev-.
And since experience has tau-
that he who leans upon good tim-
is sheltered by its goodly sha-,
in Béjar now your lucky plan-
a royal tree to you presen-
that bears its princes for its fru-,
in which there flowered a noble du-
who is a second Alexan-:
go to his shade, for to the dar-
good fortune always shows her fav-.
Of a noble Manchegan hidal-
you’ll tell the deeds and the adven-,
whom idle readings of roman-
have driven clean out of his sen-:
ladies and arms and chival-
so worked upon him in such fash-
that, like Orlando the Furi-,
tuned to the key of lovesick pas-,
he won by mighty strength of ar-
the lady Dulcinea del Tobo-.
Stamp no indiscreet hierogly-
upon the face of your escutch-,
for when the hand is all face car-,
the bid is made on sorry poin-.
If, in addressing, you are hum-,

no scoffer, smirking, will exclai-:
“What a Don Álvaro de Lu-,
what a Hannibal of Cartha-,
what a King Francis, held in Spai-,
laments the cruelty of Fortu-!”
Since heaven did not see fit to ma-
you come out Latin-wise and cun-
as the black scholar Juan Lati-,
refuse to talk in Latin phra-.
Don’t try to pass for sharp and wit-,
nor cite to me philoso-,
for, with a twisting of the mou-,
he who can read the text will sa-,
not one whose ears stretch out a spa-:
“Why come to me with all these flow-?”
Don’t meddle in designs and draw-,
nor pry into the lives of oth-,
for, in what neither comes nor go-,

to pass on by is common sen-.
For they are apt to cuff the hoo-
of anyone who plays the jes-;
but you, go burn your very eyebr-
only to win yourself good fa-;
for he who prints his foolishnes-
has leased them out in perpetu-.
Take note that it is mad and fool-,
when your own roof is made of gla-,
to pick up stones in your two han-
and throw them at your neigh-.
Let the man of sound discern-,
in all the works that he compo-,
go slowly, with his feet of lea-;
for he who publishes his pap-
only to entertain young mai-
writes helter-skelter, hit or mis-.

AMADÍS OF GAUL TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

Sonnet

You who took up the tearful life I led,
absent and scorned, upon the towering bank
of Peña Pobre, where my joy was brought
down to penance; you to whom your eyes
gave drink in plenty of a flowing liquor,
abundant, though it tasted of the salt,
and who, your silver, tin, and copper gone,
were given by the earth your food on earth,
live certain that forever, or at least
as long as in the fourth sphere fair Apollo
goes spurring on his horses, you will have
a shining name for valor; and your country
shall be the first of all; and your wise author
unique and singular in all the world.

DON BELIANÍS OF GREECE TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

Sonnet

I broke, I slashed, I dented, spoke, and did
more than any knight-errant on the earth;
I was deft, I was valiant, I was proud;
I avenged a thousand wrongs, undid a hundred thousand.
I gave to Fame such deeds as she would make eternal;
I was a courteous and a pampered lover;
to me each giant was a dwarf, and every
point of the dueling code I satisfied.
I held Dame Fortune prostrate at my feet,
and my good sense dragged by the forelock
bald Opportunity wherever it pleased.
And yet, though high upon the horn of the moon
my fortune has been always seen enthroned,
I envy your great deeds, O great Quixote!

THE LADY ORIANA TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO

Sonnet

Oh, beautiful Dulcinea, if only I,
for greater comfort and for greater ease,
could set my Miraflores in El Toboso
and trade my London for your little village!
Oh, if I might adorn my soul and body
with your desires and livery, and watch
the famous knight you made so fortunate
fight in some battle against unequal odds!
Oh, if I could have fled as chastely from
my lord Amadís as you have fled
from that most courteous hidalgo Don Quixote!
For then I would be envied, envying none,
and glad would be the time that once was sad,
and I would have my pleasures with no reckoning.

GANDALÍN, SQUIRE OF AMADÍS OF GAUL, TO SANCHO PANZA, SQUIRE OF DON QUIXOTE

Sonnet

Hail, famous man, for whom Fortune,
when she set you to the squirely trade,
arranged it all so gently and so wisely
that you came through it without a single mishap.
The hoe and sickle now are hardly at odds
with the errant calling; now the squire’s plainness
is in fashion, and by it I accuse
the proud man who would trample on the moon.
I envy you your donkey and your name,
and envy you your saddlebags the same,
which showed your sensible foresight.
Hail once again, O Sancho, so good a man
that to you alone our Spanish Ovid
pays his respects with a kiss-and-cuff of homage.

FROM DONOSO, A MOTLEY POET, TO SANCHO PANZA AND ROCINANTE

I’m Sancho Panza, the squi-
of the Manchegan Don Quixo-.
I took to my heels and scam-,
so as to live discreet and pru-;
for silent Villadie-
summed up his policy of sta-
in one well-timed retrea-,
so says the Celesti-,
a book, to my mind, divi-,
if it hid more of the huma-.
To Rocinante
I’m Rocinante, the famo-
great-grandson of great Babie-.
For my sins of weakness and lean-
I fell to one Don Quixo-.
I ran my races limp and la-;
but, by a horse’s nimble hoo-,
no barley ever got awa-;
for this I learned from Lazari-
when, to steal the blind man’s wi-,
I drank it through a stra-.

ORLANDO FURIOSO TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

Sonnet

If you are not a peer, you’ve had no peer,
for you could be a peer among a thousand peers;
nor can there be one wherever you appear,
unconquered conqueror, never overcome.
I am Orlando, Quixote, who, lost
for Angelica, beheld far-distant seas,
offering to Fame upon her altars
that valor which oblivion has respected.
I cannot be your equal; this distinction
is owed to your great deeds and to your fame,
although, like me, you lost your wits.
But you will be my equal, if you tame
the haughty Moor and the fierce Scythian, who today
call us equals in a love that fared badly.

THE KNIGHT OF PHOEBUS TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

Sonnet

My sword was never equal to your own,
O Spanish Phoebus, curious courtier,
nor matched my hand the lofty glory of your valor,
though it was lightning where the day is born and dies.
I scorned whole empires; and the monarchy
the ruddy East held out to me in vain
I left behind, to see the sovereign face
of Claridiana, my own lovely dawn.
I loved her as a miracle, rare and single,
and, absent in her misfortune, very hell
feared this arm of mine, which tamed its fury.
But you, O Gothic Quixote, bright and famous,
through Dulcinea live forever in the world,
and she through you is famous, chaste, and wise.

FROM SOLISDÁN TO DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

Sonnet

Albeit, Sir Quixote, that follies
have toppled down the brain-pan of your head,
ne’er shall ye be reproached by any wight
as one whose deeds are vile and base and low.
Your feats shall be your judges, since ye have
gone riding up and down redressing wrongs,
being a thousand times well cudgeled
by caitiffs, wretched knaves, and churls most mean.
And if your lovely Dulcinea doth
commit foul wrong against you, nor doth show
a kindly mien toward your heavy woes,
in such mischance let this your comfort be:
that Sancho Panza was a sorry go-between,
he a dolt, she hard, and you no lover.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN BABIECA AND ROCINANTE

Sonnet

B. How is it, Rocinante, you’re so thin?
R. Because one never eats, and always works.
B. Well, what’s become of all the barley and straw?
R. My master doesn’t leave me a single mouthful.
B. Come, sir, you’re very badly brought up,
for your ass’s tongue insults your master.
R. One is an ass from cradle to shroud.
Would you like to see? Just look at him in love.
B. Is it folly to love? R. It isn’t great prudence.
B. You’re waxing metaphysical. R. It’s from not eating.
B. Complain about the squire. R. That’s not enough.
How am I to complain in my distress,
if master and squire, or steward,
are just as much a nag as Rocinante?