ed sneeze, at which they were not a little
pleased, as they desired above all things that he should hear them. The
harp being now tuned, Altisidora began the following song[14]:--

Wake, sir knight, now love's invading,
Sleep in Holland sheets no more;
When a nymph is serenading,
'Tis an arrant shame to snore.

Hear a damsel tall and tender,
Moaning in most rueful guise,
With heart almost burned to cinder
By the sunbeams of thine eyes.

To free damsels from disaster
Is, they say, your daily care:
Can you then deny a plaster
To a wounded virgin here?

Tell me, doughty youth, who cursed thee
With such humors and ill-luck?
Was't some sullen bear dry-nursed thee,
Or she-dragon gave thee suck?

Dulcinea, that virago,
Well may brag of such a Cid,
Now her fame is up, and may go
From Toledo to Madrid.

Would she but her prize surrender,
(Judge how on thy face I dote!)
In exchange I'd gladly send her
My best gown and petticoat.

Happy I, would fortune doom me
But to have me near thy bed,
Stroke thee, pat thee, currycomb thee,
And hunt o'er thy knightly head.

But I ask too much, sincerely,
And I doubt I ne'er must do't,
I'd but kiss your toe, and fairly
Get the length thus of your foot.

How I'd rig thee, and what riches
Should be heaped upon thy bones!
Caps and socks, and cloaks and breeches,
Matchless pearls and precious stones.

Do not from above, like Nero,
See me burn and slight my woe,
But to quench my fires, my hero,
Cast a pitying eye below.

I'm a virgin-pullet, truly;
One more tender ne'er was seen.
A mere chicken fledged but newly;--
Hang me if I'm yet fifteen.

Wind and limb, all's tight about me,
My hair dangles to my feet;
I am straight, too:--if you doubt me,
Trust your eyes, come down and see't.

I've a bob nose has no fellow,
And a sparrow's mouth as rare;
Teeth, like bright topazes, yellow;
Yet I'm deemed a beauty here.

You know what a rare musician
(If you hearken) courts your choice;
I dare say my disposition
Is as taking as my voice.

Here ended the song of the amorous Altisidora, and began the alarm of
the courted Don Quixote, who, fetching a deep sigh, said within himself:
"Why am I so unhappy a knight-errant that no damsel can see but she must
presently fall in love with me? Why is the peerless Dulci