"This is the earliest note, in all the time, Which I have warbled to the nymphs that guard The tree, whose leaves I once so long'd to wear: Such is the strangeness of the place to me, That I am like a bird, whose cage is changed, And many a day refrains his wonted song: My cousin, wonder not that I am mute; The wonder's greater that I'm not dead with spleen-- Shut as I am, a hundred miles and more, By Alps and snow, and streams and woods, from her Who holds alone the reins of my affection." _Satire V._ Sancho Panza, in his island of Barataria, neither administered justice more wisely, nor was interrupted more provokingly in his personal indulgences, than Ariosto in his government of Graffagnana; and, unfortunately for his comfort, the stronghold of Castelnuovo was not stormed at midnight by some friendly enemy, nor himself ejected by violence, to his heart's content. The poet's miserable reign lasted three long years; while the squire of Don Quixote had the happiness to be relieved from the cares of state in less than as many days. How unfit for the management of a brute people he deemed himself, may be judged from the story with which he closes this epistle. "Methinks that I resemble the Venetian To whom the king of Portugal presented A noble steed of Mauritanian blood; Who, to do justice to the royal gift, Nor once considering, that to turn a helm, And draw a bridle, are two different things, Mounted aloft, and with both hands held fast As at a rudder; then in either flank Cast anchor with his spurs, and bravely mutter'd, 'I'll warrant ye don't fling me overboard.' The horse, thus handled, bolted off full speed; Whereat the gallant seaman pull'd the harder, And deeper struck the rowels sharp as spears, Till mouth and reins were tinged with blood and foam. The beast, not knowing which to obey--the points That urged him on, or curb that held him back-- With a few desperate plunges rid himself Of his strange rider; who, with shatter'd ribs, Crack'd collar-bone, head broken, all begrimed With mud and dirt, and pale with fright, crawl'd off In no good humour with his majesty, And, far away, bewail'd his horsemanship. Well had it been for him, and well for me, If for his charger he, I for my province, Had said,--'O king! O duke! I am not worthy Of such high honour; graciously bestow Your bounty on some other.'"