counter you all!"

At the same time, the wind rising, the mill-sails began to move, which
when Don Quixote spied, "Base miscreants," cried he, "though you move
more arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance."

He most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her
assistance in this perilous adventure; and, so covering himself with his
shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rozinante's utmost speed
upon the first windmill he could come at, and running his lance into the
sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity
of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away
both knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good
way off in the field.

Sancho Panza ran as fast as his ass could drive to help his master, whom
he found lying, and not able to stir, such a blow had he and Rozinante
received. "Mercy o' me!" cried Sancho, "did not I give your worship fair
warning? Did not I tell you they were windmills, and that nobody could
think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head!"

"Peace, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote: "there is nothing so
subject to the inconstancy of fortune as war. I am verily persuaded that
cursed necromancer, Freston, who carried away my study and my books, has
transformed these giants into windmills to deprive me of the honour of
the victory; such is his inveterate malice against me; but in the end,
all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove ineffectual against
the prevailing edge of my sword."

"Amen, say I," replied Sancho.

And so heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted
poor Rozinante, that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall.

This adventure was the subject of their discourse, as they made the best
of their way towards the pass of Lapice, for Don Quixote took that road,
believing he could not miss of adventure in one so mightily frequented.
However, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him; and as he
was making his complaint about it to his squire, "I have read," said he,
"friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, having broken his sword
in the heat of an engagement, pulled up by the roots a huge oak tree, or
at least tore down a massy branch, and did such wonderful execution,
crushing and grinding so many Moors with it that day, that he won
himself and his posterity the surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser. I tell
thee t