THE night was somewhat dark, though the moon were up, but she was obscured; for sometimes my Lady
Diana goes to walk with the Antipodes, and leaves the mountains black and the valleys darkened. Don Quixote complied
with nature; having slept his first sleep, he broke off his second, contrary to Sancho, for his lasted from night
till morning; a sign of his good complexion and few cares. These kept Don Quixote waking in such sort that he
awakened Sancho, and said to him:
‘I wonder, Sancho, at thy free condition: I imagine thou art made of marble or of hard brass, which neither moves
nor hath any feeling. I wake when thou sleepest; I weep when thou singest; I am ready to faint with fasting when
thou art lazy and unwieldy with pure cramming in; ‘twere the part of good servants to have a fellow—feeling of their
master’s griefs, if it were but for decency. Behold this night’s brightness, and the solitude we are in, which
invites us to intermingle some watching with sleep: rise by thy life, and get thee a little apart, and, with a good
courage and thankful cheer, give thyself three or four hundred lashes upon account, for Dulcinea’s disenchanting;
and this I entreat of thee, for I will not now, as heretofore, come to handy-gripes with thee, for I know thou hast
shrewd clutches; and after thou lust done, we will pass the rest of the night, I chanting my absence, and thou thy
constancy, beginning from henceforward our pastoral exercise, which we are to keep in our village.’
‘Sir,’ said Sancho, ‘I am of no religious order, that I should rise out of the midst of my sleep to discipline
myself; neither do I think it possible that from the pain of my whipping I may proceed to music. Pray, sir, let me
sleep, and do not press me so to this whipping, for you will make me vow never to touch so much as a hair of my
coat, much less of my flesh.’
‘O hard heart! O ungodly squire! O ill-given bread, and favours ill placed which I bestowed, and thought to have
more and more conferred upon thee! By me thou wast a governor, and from me thou wast in good possibility of being an
earl, or having some equivalent title; and the accomplishment should not have failed when this our year should end;
for I “post tenebras spero lucem.”’
‘I understand not that,’ said Sancho, ‘only I know that whilst I am sleeping I neither fear nor hope, have neither
pain nor pleasure; and well fare him that invented sleep; a cloak that covers all human thoughts, the food that
slakes hunger, the water that quencheth thirst, and the fire that warmeth cold, the cold that tempers heat, and
finally, a current coin with which all things are bought, a balance and weight that equals the king to the shepherd,
the fool to the wise man; only one thing, as I have heard, sleep hath ill, which is, that it is like death, in that
between a man asleep and a dead man there is little difference.’
‘I have never, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘heard thee speak more elegantly than now; whereby I perceive the proverb
thou often usest is true, “You may know the man by the conversation he keeps.”’
‘God’s me, master mine, I am not only he now that threads on proverbs; and they come freer from you, methinks; and
betwixt yours and mine there is this only difference, that yours are fitly applied, and mine unseasonably.’
In this discourse they were, when they perceived a deaf noise through all the valleys. Don Quixote stood up, and
laid hand to his sword, and Sancho squatted under Dapple, and clapped the bundle of armour and his ass’s pack-saddle
on each side of him, as fearful as his master was outrageous. Still the noise increased, and drew nearer the two
timorous persons, at least one, for the other’s valour is sufficiently known.
The business was, that certain fellows drave some six hundred swine to a fair to sell, with whom they travelled by
night; and the noise they made, with their grunting and squeaking, was so great that it deafened Don Quixote and
Sancho’s ears, that never marked what it might be. It fell out that the goodly grunting herd were all in a troop
together, and, without respect to Don Quixote or Sancho’s persons, they trampled over them both, spoiling Sancho’s
trenches, and overthrowing not only Don Quixote, but Rozinante also. The fury of the sudden coming of these unclean
beasts made a confusion, and laid on ground the pack-saddle, armour, Rozinante, Sancho, and Don Quixote. Sancho rose
as well as he could, and desired his master’s sword, telling him he would kill half a dozen of those unmannerly
hogs, for now he knew them to be so.
Don Quixote said, ‘Let them alone, friend, for this affront is a penalty for my fault, and a just punishment it is
from Heaven, that dogs and wasps eat a vanquished knight-errant, and that swine trample over him.’
‘And it is a punishment of Heaven too, belike,’ said Sancho,’ that flies do bite the squires of vanquished knights,
that lice eat them, and hunger close with them. If we squires were sons or near kinsmen to the knights we serve,
‘twere not much we were partakers with them, even to the fourth generation; but what have the Panzas to do with the
Quixotes? Well, yet let’s go fit ourselves again, and sleep the rest of the night, and ‘twill be day, and we shall
have better luck.’
‘Sleep thou, Sancho,’ said Don Quixote, ‘for thou wast born to sleep, and I was born to wake; betwixt this and
daybreak I will give reins to my thoughts, and vent them out in some madrigal, that without thy knowledge I composed
‘Methinks,’ said Sancho, ‘that thoughts that give way to verse are not very troublesome; and therefore versify you
as much as you list, and I’ll sleep as much as I can and so, taking up as much of the ground as he would, he
crouched up together, and slept liberally; debts, nor suretyship, nor any other affliction disturbing him.
Don Quixote leaning to the body of a beech or cork tree (for Cid Hamet Benengeli distinguisheth not what tree it
was), to the music of his own sighs, sung as followeth, ‘Love, when I think,’ etc.; each of which verses were
accompanied with many sighs, and not few tears, fit for a vanquished knight, and one who had his heart pierced
through with grief, and tormented with the absence of his Dulcinea.
Now day came on, and Sir Sol with his beams played in Sancho’s eyes; who awoke and lazed himself, shaking and
stretching out his lither limbs; he beheld the havoc the swine had made in his sumptery, and he cursed and recursed
Finally, both of them returned to their commenced journey; and toward sunset they saw some ten horsemen coming
toward them, and four or five footmen. Don Quixote was aghast at heart, and Sancho shivered, for the troop drew
nearer to them, who had their spears and shields all in warlike array.
Don Quixote turned to Sancho and said, ‘If, Sancho, it were lawful for me to exercise arms, and that my promise had
not bound my hands, I should think this were an adventure of cake-bread; but perhaps it may be otherwise than we
By this the horsemen came, and, lifting up their lances, without a word speaking, they compassed in Don Quixote
before and behind; one of the footmen threatening him with death, and clapping his finger to his mouth, in sign he
should not cry out; and so he laid hold on Rozinante’s bridle, and led him out of the way; ‘and the rest of the
footmen catching Sancho’s Dapple, all of them most silently followed after those that carried Don Quixote; who twice
or thrice would have asked whither they carried him, and what they would with him; but he no sooner began to move
his lips, when they were ready to close them with their lances’ points; and the same happened to Sancho when one of
the footmen pricked him with a goad, he offering but to speak; and Dapple they punched too, as if he would have
It now began to grow dark, so they mended their pace; the two prisoners’ fears increased, especially when they might
hear that sometimes they were cried out on, ‘On, on, ye Troglodytes! peace, ye barbarous slaves! revenge, ye
Anthropophagi! complain not, ye Scythians! open not your eyes, ye murderous Polyphemans, ye butcherous lions!’ and
other such names as these, with which they tormented the ears of the lamentable knight and squire.
Sancho said within himself,1 ‘We Tortelites? We barbers’ slaves? We popinjays? We little bitches to whom
they cry,’ Hist, hist? I do not like these names; this wind winnows no corn; all our ill comes together, like a whip
to a dog; and I would to God this adventure might end no worse.
Don Quixote was embezzled; neither in all his discourse could he find what reproachful names those should be that
were put upon him; whereby he plainly perceived there was no good to be hoped for, but, on the contrary, much evil.
Within an hour of night they came to the castle, which Don Quixote well perceived to be the duke’s where but a while
before they had been.
‘Now, God defend,’ said he, as soon as he knew the place, ‘what have we here? Why, in this house, all is courtesy
and good usage; but for the vanquished all goes from good to bad, and from bad to worse.
They entered the chief court of the castle, and they saw it so dressed and ordered that their admiration increased
and their fear redoubled, as you shall see in the following chapter.