for all that, for the sake of easing my conscience, I want to warn
your worship that it is my opinion this bark is no enchanted one, but
belongs to some of the fishermen of the river, for they catch the best
shad in the world here."

As Sancho said this, he tied the beasts, leaving them to the care and
protection of the enchanters with sorrow enough in his heart. Don
Quixote bade him not be uneasy about deserting the animals, for he who
would carry themselves over such longinquous roads and regions would
take care to feed them.

"I don't understand that logiquous," said Sancho, "nor have I ever heard
the word all the days of my life."

"Longinquous," replied Don Quixote, "means far off; but it is no wonder
thou dost not understand it, for thou art not bound to know Latin, like
some who pretend to know it and don't."

"Now they are tied," said Sancho; "what are we to do next?"

"What?" said Don Quixote, "cross ourselves and weigh anchor; I mean,
embark and cut the moorings by which the bark is held;" and jumping into
it, followed by Sancho, he cut the rope, and the bark began to drift
away slowly from the bank. But when Sancho saw himself somewhere about
two yards out in the river, he began to tremble and give himself up for
lost; but nothing distressed him more than hearing Dapple bray and
seeing Rocinante struggling to get loose, and said he to his master,
"Dapple is braying in grief at our leaving him, and Rocinante is trying
to escape and plunge in after us. O dear friends, peace be with you, and
may this madness that is taking us away from you, turned into sober
sense, bring us back to you."

And with this he fell weeping so bitterly, that Don Quixote said to him,
sharply and angrily, "What art thou afraid of, cowardly creature? What
art thou weeping at, heart of butter-paste? Who pursues or molests thee,
thou soul of a tame mouse? What dost thou want, unsatisfied in the very
heart of abundance? Art thou, perchance, tramping barefoot over the
mountains, instead of being seated on a bench like an archduke on the
tranquil stream of this pleasant river, from which in a short space we
shall come out upon the broad sea? But we must have already emerged and
gone seven hundred or eight hundred leagues; and if I had here an
astrolabe to take the altitude of the pole, I could tell thee how many
we have traveled, though either I know little, or we have already
crossed or shall shortly cross the equinoctial line which pa