AN ACCOUNT IS GIVEN OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO THE RICH, TOGETHER
WITH THE INCIDENT OF BASILIO THE POOR

Scarce had the fair Aurora given bright Phoebus time to dry the liquid
pearls upon her golden locks with the heat of his fervent rays, when Don
Quixote, shaking off sloth from his limbs, sprang to his feet and called
to his squire Sancho, who was still snoring; seeing which Don Quixote ere
he roused him thus addressed him: "Happy thou, above all the dwellers on
the face of the earth, that, without envying or being envied, sleepest
with tranquil mind, and that neither enchanters persecute nor
enchantments affright. Sleep, I say, and will say a hundred times,
without any jealous thoughts of thy mistress to make thee keep ceaseless
vigils, or any cares as to how thou art to pay the debts thou owest, or
find to-morrow's food for thyself and thy needy little family, to
interfere with thy repose. Ambition breaks not thy rest, nor doth this
world's empty pomp disturb thee, for the utmost reach of thy anxiety is
to provide for thy ass, since upon my shoulders thou hast laid the
support of thyself, the counterpoise and burden that nature and custom
have imposed upon masters. The servant sleeps and the master lies awake
thinking how he is to feed him, advance him, and reward him. The distress
of seeing the sky turn brazen, and withhold its needful moisture from the
earth, is not felt by the servant but by the master, who in time of
scarcity and famine must support him who has served him in times of
plenty and abundance."

To all this Sancho made no reply because he was asleep, nor would he have
wakened up so soon as he did had not Don Quixote brought him to his
senses with the butt of his lance. He awoke at last, drowsy and lazy, and
casting his eyes about in every direction, observed, "There comes, if I
don't mistake, from the quarter of that arcade a steam and a smell a
great deal more like fried rashers than galingale or thyme; a wedding
that begins with smells like that, by my faith, ought to be plentiful and
unstinting."

"Have done, thou glutton," said Don Quixote; "come, let us go and witness
this bridal, and see what the rejected Basilio does."

"Let him do what he likes," returned Sancho; "be he not poor, he would
marry Quiteria. To make a grand match for himself, and he without a
farthing; is there nothing else? Faith, senor, it's my opinion the poor
man should be content with what he can get, and not go looking