rship does; take my advice, and after eating
lie down and sleep a bit on this green grass-mattress, and you will see
that when you awake you'll feel something better."

Don Quixote did as he recommended, for it struck him that Sancho's
reasoning was more like a philosopher's than a blockhead's, and said he,
"Sancho, if thou wilt do for me what I am going to tell thee my ease of
mind would be more assured and my heaviness of heart not so great; and it
is this; to go aside a little while I am sleeping in accordance with thy
advice, and, making bare thy carcase to the air, to give thyself three or
four hundred lashes with Rocinante's reins, on account of the three
thousand and odd thou art to give thyself for the disenchantment of
Dulcinea; for it is a great pity that the poor lady should be left
enchanted through thy carelessness and negligence."

"There is a good deal to be said on that point," said Sancho; "let us
both go to sleep now, and after that, God has decreed what will happen.
Let me tell your worship that for a man to whip himself in cold blood is
a hard thing, especially if the stripes fall upon an ill-nourished and
worse-fed body. Let my lady Dulcinea have patience, and when she is least
expecting it, she will see me made a riddle of with whipping, and 'until
death it's all life;' I mean that I have still life in me, and the desire
to make good what I have promised."

Don Quixote thanked him, and ate a little, and Sancho a good deal, and
then they both lay down to sleep, leaving those two inseparable friends
and comrades, Rocinante and Dapple, to their own devices and to feed
unrestrained upon the abundant grass with which the meadow was furnished.
They woke up rather late, mounted once more and resumed their journey,
pushing on to reach an inn which was in sight, apparently a league off. I
say an inn, because Don Quixote called it so, contrary to his usual
practice of calling all inns castles. They reached it, and asked the
landlord if they could put up there. He said yes, with as much comfort
and as good fare as they could find in Saragossa. They dismounted, and
Sancho stowed away his larder in a room of which the landlord gave him
the key. He took the beasts to the stable, fed them, and came back to see
what orders Don Quixote, who was seated on a bench at the door, had for
him, giving special thanks to heaven that this inn had not been taken for
a castle by his master. Supper-time came, and they repaired