“Celesti—:” 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—, 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—.
If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none; 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.
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.