nothing by it but my Nap in an afternoon [Footnote:  Collier, p. 201.].  Why truly this might be thought a little sawcy from one in Trowsers, to one in a Cassock, especially as the Reformer would have him reverenc’d.  But perhaps this Pragmatical Curate Perez was some Non-Juror, and poor Sancho did not think he should profit by his Doctrine; and then the honest fellow was much in the right.  This puts me in mind of a passage in one of Mr Crown’s Comedies, where a surly Joyner is rallying with a Doctor of no very good Reputation too; Sirrah, Sirrah, says the Doctor, I shall have your Ears—­No, No, says Chizzel_, never when you preach, Doctor_.  Our Absolver may apply this now as he pleases.

And here are a bundle of faults together—­Jodolet, another Priest, is call’d holy Cormorant [Footnote:  Ibid.], only because he eats a Turkey, and drinks a Bottle or two of Malaga for his Breakfast; and the Poet is jerk’d because a gormandizing Romish Priest is call’d a Pimp agen; and the Duke’s Steward, Manuel, is no witty pleasant fellow, because he calls the Chaplain, whom I mentioned in the beginning of my Preface, and who is, no doubt, the sole occasion of this Gentleman’s Pique to me—­Mr Cuff-cushion; and because having an insight into his Character, he tells him, a Whore is a Pulpit be loves [Footnote:  Ibid.]; but my hope is, that my Reader will think him no fool for this, tho the Carper does, who then tells the Chaplain Saygrace, and he supposes prays to God to bless the entertainment of the Devil, tho there is not a word of a Grace spoke at all; and after, when he grows hot, positive, and impertinent, which the Duke his patron being at Table, only bears with, to divert himself, he insolently calls Don Quixot, Don Coxcomb, who justly enrag’d, returns him in this Language: 

Oh thou vile black Fox, with a Firebrand in thy Tail, thou very priest, thou kindler of all Mischiefs in all Nations, de’e hear, Homily, did not the reverence I bear these Nobles—­I would so thrum your Cassock, you Church Vermin—­ [Footnote:  Collier, p. 202.]

Here now, to shew his Justice he slily stops and gives a dash, so makes it Nonsense, but I shall make bold to piece it out again. Did not the reverence I bear these Nobles, tye up my hands from doing myself Justice, I would so thrum your Cassock you Church Vermin—­Now, because my Reader shall find that I have naturally pursu’d the character of this Chaplain, as Don Quixot’s Historian has presented him to me, you shall hear what account he gives of him.  Here is, says he,