l the time I have known her. A plague on all the knights-errant in the
world, if they be all ungrateful! Go away, Senor Don Quixote; for this
poor child will not come to herself again so long as you are here."

To which Don Quixote returned, "Do me the favour, senora, to let a lute
be placed in my chamber to-night; and I will comfort this poor maiden to
the best of my power; for in the early stages of love a prompt
disillusion is an approved remedy;" and with this he retired, so as not
to be remarked by any who might see him there.

He had scarcely withdrawn when Altisidora, recovering from her swoon,
said to her companion, "The lute must be left, for no doubt Don Quixote
intends to give us some music; and being his it will not be bad."

They went at once to inform the duchess of what was going on, and of the
lute Don Quixote asked for, and she, delighted beyond measure, plotted
with the duke and her two damsels to play him a trick that should be
amusing but harmless; and in high glee they waited for night, which came
quickly as the day had come; and as for the day, the duke and duchess
spent it in charming conversation with Don Quixote.

When eleven o'clock came, Don Quixote found a guitar in his chamber; he
tried it, opened the window, and perceived that some persons were walking
in the garden; and having passed his fingers over the frets of the guitar
and tuned it as well as he could, he spat and cleared his chest, and then
with a voice a little hoarse but full-toned, he sang the following
ballad, which he had himself that day composed:

Mighty Love the hearts of maidens
Doth unsettle and perplex,
And the instrument he uses
Most of all is idleness.

Sewing, stitching, any labour,
Having always work to do,
To the poison Love instilleth
Is the antidote most sure.

And to proper-minded maidens
Who desire the matron's name
Modesty's a marriage portion,
Modesty their highest praise.

Men of prudence and discretion,
Courtiers gay and gallant knights,
With the wanton damsels dally,
But the modest take to wife.

There are passions, transient, fleeting,
Loves in hostelries declar'd,
Sunrise loves, with sunset ended,
When the guest hath gone his way.

Love that springs up swift and sudden,
Here to-day, to-morrow flown,
Passes, leaves no trace behind it,
Leaves no image on the soul.

Painting that is laid on painting
Maketh no display or show;
Where one beauty's in possession