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her borrowed braids of hair, And a host of made-up beauties That would Love himself ensnare." 'T was a lie, and so I told her, And her cousin at the word Gave me his defiance for it; And what followed thou hast heard. Mine is no high-flown affection, Mine no passion par amours-- As they call it--what I offer Is an honest love, and pure. Cunning cords the holy Church has, Cords of softest silk they be; Put thy neck beneath the yoke, dear; Mine will follow, thou wilt see. Else--and once for all I swear it By the saint of most renown-- If I ever quit the mountains, 'T will be in a friar's gown. Here the goatherd brought his song to an end, and though Don Quixote entreated him to sing more, Sancho had no mind that way, being more inclined for sleep than for listening to songs; so said he to his master, "Your worship will do well to settle at once where you mean to pass the night, for the labour these good men are at all day does not allow them to spend the night in singing." "I understand thee, Sancho," replied Don Quixote; "I perceive clearly that those visits to the wine-skin demand compensation in sleep rather than in music." "It's sweet to us all, blessed be God," said Sancho. "I do not deny it," replied Don Quixote; "but settle thyself where thou wilt; those of my calling are more becomingly employed in watching than in sleeping; still it would be as well if thou wert to dress this ear for me again, for it is giving me more pain than it need." Sancho did as he bade him, but one of the goatherds, seeing the wound, told him not to be uneasy, as he would apply a remedy with which it would be soon healed; and gathering some leaves of rosemary, of which there was a great quantity there, he chewed them and mixed them with a little salt, and applying them to the ear he secured them firmly with a bandage, assuring him that no other treatment would be required, and so it proved. CHAPTER XII. OF WHAT A GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE Just then another young man, one of those who fetched their provisions from the village, came up and said, "Do you know what is going on in the village, comrades?" "How could we know it?" replied one of them. "Well, then, you must know," continued the young man, "this morning that famous student-shepherd called Chrysostom died, and it is rumoured that he died of love for that devil of a village girl the daughter of Guillerm
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