MDCV — MDCDV

Poor Don Quixote's wits were sadly jangled!
(Atravesado is Cervantes' word —
" Mixt fat and lean " the term is disentangled)
And so his deeds have seemed to men absurd.

They played all sorts of scurvy tricks to grieve him;
They made his nose bleed and they blacked his eyes;
Wise men and fools united to deceive him,
And Nature too conspired to tell him lies.

Three hundred years have passed and still the gambols
Of that mad Knight and his reluctant Squire
Convulse us. Rozinante gayly ambles
And Dapple charges with undying fire.

We see the Giants with their weapons levelled;
We see the wine-blood gushing from the skins;
We watch Dulcinea shamelessly bedevilled;
We hear the yarn the passing traveller spins.

We rule with Sancho his immortal Island
(We'd like his like sometime for President!);
We quote his proverbs; at his wit we smile and
Laugh at his folly with such wisdom blent.

'Tis a great book, Cervantes, though you wrote it
In such grim poverty in Sixteen Five.
A masterpiece of Art we gladly vote it,
And we would crown you if you were alive.