, what every
poor little charity-boy gets every month--it is enough to amaze,
astonish, astound the compassionate bowels of all who hear it, nay, all
who come to hear it in the course of time. Turn, O miserable,
hard-hearted animal, turn, I say, those timorous owl's eyes upon these of
mine that are compared to radiant stars, and thou wilt see them weeping
trickling streams and rills, and tracing furrows, tracks, and paths over
the fair fields of my cheeks. Let it move thee, crafty, ill-conditioned
monster, to see my blooming youth--still in its teens, for I am not yet
twenty--wasting and withering away beneath the husk of a rude peasant
wench; and if I do not appear in that shape now, it is a special favour
Senor Merlin here has granted me, to the sole end that my beauty may
soften thee; for the tears of beauty in distress turn rocks into cotton
and tigers into ewes. Lay on to that hide of thine, thou great untamed
brute, rouse up thy lusty vigour that only urges thee to eat and eat, and
set free the softness of my flesh, the gentleness of my nature, and the
fairness of my face. And if thou wilt not relent or come to reason for
me, do so for the sake of that poor knight thou hast beside thee; thy
master I mean, whose soul I can this moment see, how he has it stuck in
his throat not ten fingers from his lips, and only waiting for thy
inflexible or yielding reply to make its escape by his mouth or go back
again into his stomach."

Don Quixote on hearing this felt his throat, and turning to the duke he
said, "By God, senor, Dulcinea says true, I have my soul stuck here in my
throat like the nut of a crossbow."

"What say you to this, Sancho?" said the duchess.

"I say, senora," returned Sancho, "what I said before; as for the lashes,
abernuncio!"

"Abrenuncio, you should say, Sancho, and not as you do," said the duke.

"Let me alone, your highness," said Sancho. "I'm not in a humour now to
look into niceties or a letter more or less, for these lashes that are to
be given me, or I'm to give myself, have so upset me, that I don't know
what I'm saying or doing. But I'd like to know of this lady, my lady
Dulcinea del Toboso, where she learned this way she has of asking
favours. She comes to ask me to score my flesh with lashes, and she calls
me soul of a pitcher, and great untamed brute, and a string of foul names
that the devil is welcome to. Is my flesh brass? or is it anything to me
whether she is enchanted or not? Doe