第357章

  • DON QUIXOTE
  • 佚名
  • 648字
  • 2016-03-02 16:28:49

Adventures seeking thou dost rove, To others bringing woe;

Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm To heal them dost withhold!

Say, valiant youth, and so may God Thy enterprises speed, Didst thou the light mid Libya's sands Or Jaca's rocks first see?

Did scaly serpents give thee suck?

Who nursed thee when a babe?

Wert cradled in the forest rude, Or gloomy mountain cave?

O Dulcinea may be proud, That plump and lusty maid;

For she alone hath had the power A tiger fierce to tame.

And she for this shall famous be From Tagus to Jarama, From Manzanares to Genil, From Duero to Arlanza.

Fain would I change with her, and give A petticoat to boot, The best and bravest that I have, All trimmed with gold galloon.

O for to be the happy fair Thy mighty arms enfold, Or even sit beside thy bed And scratch thy dusty poll!

I rave,- to favours such as these Unworthy to aspire;

Thy feet to tickle were enough For one so mean as I.

What caps, what slippers silver-laced, Would I on thee bestow!

What damask breeches make for thee;

What fine long holland cloaks!

And I would give thee pearls that should As big as oak-galls show;

So matchless big that each might well Be called the great "Alone."

Manchegan Nero, look not down From thy Tarpeian Rock Upon this burning heart, nor add The fuel of thy wrath.

A virgin soft and young am I, Not yet fifteen years old;

(I'm only three months past fourteen, I swear upon my soul).

I hobble not nor do I limp, All blemish I'm without, And as I walk my lily locks Are trailing on the ground.

And though my nose be rather flat, And though my mouth be wide, My teeth like topazes exalt My beauty to the sky.

Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, That is if thou dost hear;

And I am moulded in a form Somewhat below the mean.

These charms, and many more, are thine, Spoils to thy spear and bow all;

A damsel of this house am I, By name Altisidora.

Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while the warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh he said to himself, "O that I should be such an unlucky knight that no damsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me!

O that the peerless Dulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her enjoy my incomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye queens? Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses? Why ye pursue her, ye virgins of from fourteen to fifteen? Leave the unhappy being to triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow upon her in surrendering my heart and yielding up my soul to her. Ye love-smitten host, know that to Dulcinea only I am dough and sugar-paste, flint to all others; for her I am honey, for you aloes.

For me Dulcinea alone is beautiful, wise, virtuous, graceful, and high-bred, and all others are ill-favoured, foolish, light, and low-born. Nature sent me into the world to be hers and no other's;

Altisidora may weep or sing, the lady for whose sake they belaboured me in the castle of the enchanted Moor may give way to despair, but I must be Dulcinea's, boiled or roast, pure, courteous, and chaste, in spite of all the magic-working powers on earth." And with that he shut the window with a bang, and, as much out of temper and out of sorts as if some great misfortune had befallen him, stretched himself on his bed, where we will leave him for the present, as the great Sancho Panza, who is about to set up his famous government, now demands our attention.