Speak, sing, be mute, approach, retire,
Thou kindlest still the fire of love.

The freest hearts bend to thy sway,
And lose the pride of liberty;
Bear witness mine, thy captive thrall,
Which would not, if it could, be free.

These lines, thou precious gem of love,
Whose praise all power of verse transcend,
He who for thee will live or die,
Thy poor and humble lover sends.

[66] Piedra preciosa, precious stone.

"The poem ends with 'poor' in the last line," said Preciosa; "and that
is a bad sign. Lovers should never begin by saying that they are poor,
for poverty, it strikes me, is a great enemy to love."

"Who teaches you these things, girl?" said one of the cavaliers.

"Who should teach me?" she replied. "Have I not a soul in my body? Am I
not fifteen years of age? I am neither lame, nor halt, nor maimed in my
understanding. The wit of a gipsy girl steers by a different compass
from that which guides other people. They are always forward for their
years. There is no such thing as a stupid gitano, or a silly gitana.
Since it is only by being sharp and ready that they can earn a
livelihood, they polish their wits at every step, and by no means let
the moss grow under their feet. You see these girls, my companions, who
are so silent. You may think they are simpletons, but put your fingers
in their mouths to see if they have cut their wise teeth; and then you
shall see what you shall see. There is not a gipsy girl of twelve who
does not know as much as one of another race at five-and-twenty, for
they have the devil and much practice for instructors, so that they
learn in one hour what would otherwise take them a year."

The company were much amused by the gitana's chat, and all gave her
money. The old woman sacked thirty reals, and went off with her flock as
merry as a cricket to the house of the senor lieutenant, after promising
that she would return with them another day to please such liberal
gentlemen. Dona Clara, the lieutenant's lady, had been apprised of the
intended visit of the gipsies, and she and her doncellas and duenas, as
well as those of another senora, her neighbour, were expecting them as
eagerly as one looks for a shower in May. They had come to see Preciosa.
She entered with her companions, shining among them like a torch among
lesser lights, and all the ladies pressed towards her. Some kissed her,
some gazed at her; others blessed her sweet fa