enthroned My fortune seems to sit—great Quixote, still Envy of thy achievements fills my
Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be! It were a pleasant fancy to suppose so— Could Miraflores change to El Toboso, And London’s town to that which shelters thee! Oh, could mine but acquire that livery Of countless charms thy mind and body show so! Or him, now famous grown—thou mad’st him grow so— Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see! Oh, could I be released from Amadís By exercise of such coy chastity As led thee gentle Quixote to dismiss! Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy; None would I envy, all would envy me, And happiness be mine without alloy.
All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she Bound thee apprentice to the esquire trade, Her care and tenderness of thee displayed, Shaping thy course from misadventure free.
No longer now doth proud knight-errantry Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade; Of towering arrogance less count is made Than of plain esquire-like simplicity.
I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name, And those alforjas thou wast wont to stuff With comforts that thy providence proclaim.
Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again! To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff.
From El Donoso, the Motley Poet