ho to himself at this, "but this master of
mine is a tologian; or, if not, faith, he's as like one as one egg is
like another."

Don Quixote stopped to take breath, and, observing that silence was still
preserved, had a mind to continue his discourse, and would have done so
had not Sancho interposed with his smartness; for he, seeing his master
pause, took the lead, saying, "My lord Don Quixote of La Mancha, who once
was called the Knight of the Rueful Countenance, but now is called the
Knight of the Lions, is a gentleman of great discretion who knows Latin
and his mother tongue like a bachelor, and in everything that he deals
with or advises proceeds like a good soldier, and has all the laws and
ordinances of what they call combat at his fingers' ends; so you have
nothing to do but to let yourselves be guided by what he says, and on my
head be it if it is wrong. Besides which, you have been told that it is
folly to take offence at merely hearing a bray. I remember when I was a
boy I brayed as often as I had a fancy, without anyone hindering me, and
so elegantly and naturally that when I brayed all the asses in the town
would bray; but I was none the less for that the son of my parents who
were greatly respected; and though I was envied because of the gift by
more than one of the high and mighty ones of the town, I did not care two
farthings for it; and that you may see I am telling the truth, wait a bit
and listen, for this art, like swimming, once learnt is never forgotten;"
and then, taking hold of his nose, he began to bray so vigorously that
all the valleys around rang again.

One of those, however, that stood near him, fancying he was mocking them,
lifted up a long staff he had in his hand and smote him such a blow with
it that Sancho dropped helpless to the ground. Don Quixote, seeing him so
roughly handled, attacked the man who had struck him lance in hand, but
so many thrust themselves between them that he could not avenge him. Far
from it, finding a shower of stones rained upon him, and crossbows and
muskets unnumbered levelled at him, he wheeled Rocinante round and, as
fast as his best gallop could take him, fled from the midst of them,
commending himself to God with all his heart to deliver him out of this
peril, in dread every step of some ball coming in at his back and coming
out at his breast, and every minute drawing his breath to see whether it
had gone from him. The members of the band, however, were s