He set himself to listen attentively, and those below raised their voices so that he could hear these words: "Urge me not to sing, Emerencia, for thou knowest that ever since this stranger entered the castle and my eyes beheld him, I cannot sing but only weep; besides my lady is a light rather than a heavy sleeper, and I would not for all the wealth of the world that she found us here; and even if she were asleep and did not waken, my singing would be in vain, if this strange AEneas, who has come into my neighbourhood to flout me, sleeps on and wakens not to hear it." "Heed not that, dear Altisidora," replied a voice; "the duchess is no doubt asleep, and everybody in the house save the lord of thy heart and disturber of thy soul; for just now I perceived him open the grated window of his chamber, so he must be awake; sing, my poor sufferer, in a low sweet tone to the accompaniment of thy harp; and even if the duchess hears us we can lay the blame on the heat of the night." "That is not the point, Emerencia," replied Altisidora, "it is that I would not that my singing should lay bare my heart, and that I should be thought a light and wanton maiden by those who know not the mighty power of love; but come what may; better a blush on the cheeks than a sore in the heart;" and here a harp softly touched made itself heard.

As he listened to all this Don Quixote was in a state of breathless amazement, for immediately the countless adventures like this, with windows, gratings, gardens, serenades, lovemakings, and languishings, that he had read of in his trashy books of chivalry, came to his mind.

He at once concluded that some damsel of the duchess's was in love with him, and that her modesty forced her to keep her passion secret.

He trembled lest he should fall, and made an inward resolution not to yield; and commending himself with all his might and soul to his lady Dulcinea he made up his mind to listen to the music; and to let them know he was there he gave a pretended sneeze, at which the damsels were not a little delighted, for all they wanted was that Don Quixote should hear them.

So having tuned the harp, Altisidora, running her hand across the strings, began this ballad: O thou that art above in bed, Between the holland sheets, A-lying there from night till morn, With outstretched legs asleep; O thou, most valiant knight of all The famed Manchegan breed, Of purity and virtue more Than gold of Araby; Give ear unto a suffering maid, Well-grown but evil-starr'd, For those two suns of thine have lit A fire within her heart.
Adventures seeking thou dost rove, To others bringing woe; Thou scatterest wounds, but, ah, the balm To heal them dost withhold! Say, valiant youth, and so may God Thy enterprises speed, Didst thou the light mid Libya's sands Or Jaca's rocks first see?
Did scaly serpents give thee suck?
Who nursed thee when a babe?
Wert cradled in the forest rude, Or gloomy mountain cave?
O Dulcinea may be proud, That plump and lusty maid; For she alone hath had the power A tiger fierce to tame.
And she for this shall famous be From Tagus to Jarama, From Manzanares to Genil, From Duero to Arlanza.
Fain would I change with her, and give A petticoat to boot, The best and bravest that I have, All trimmed with gold galloon.
O for to be the happy fair Thy mighty arms enfold, Or even sit beside thy bed And scratch thy dusty poll! I rave,--to favours such as these Unworthy to aspire; Thy feet to tickle were enough For one so mean as I.
What caps, what slippers silver-laced, Would I on thee bestow! What damask breeches make for thee; What fine long holland cloaks! And I would give thee pearls that should As big as oak-galls show; So matchless big that each might well Be called the great "Alone." Manchegan Nero, look not down From thy Tarpeian Rock Upon this burning heart, nor add The fuel of thy wrath.
A virgin soft and young am I, Not yet fifteen years old; (I'm only three months past fourteen, I swear upon my soul).
I hobble not nor do I limp, All blemish I'm without, And as I walk my lily locks Are trailing on the ground.
And though my nose be rather flat, And though my mouth be wide, My teeth like topazes exalt My beauty to the sky.
Thou knowest that my voice is sweet, That is if thou dost hear; And I am moulded in a form Somewhat below the mean.
These charms, and many more, are thine, Spoils to thy spear and bow all; A damsel of this house am I, By name Altisidora.
Here the lay of the heart-stricken Altisidora came to an end, while the warmly wooed Don Quixote began to feel alarm; and with a deep sigh he said to himself, "O that I should be such an unlucky knight that no damsel can set eyes on me but falls in love with me! O that the peerless Dulcinea should be so unfortunate that they cannot let her enjoy my incomparable constancy in peace! What would ye with her, ye queens?
Why do ye persecute her, ye empresses?
Why ye pursue her, ye virgins of from fourteen to fifteen?
Leave the unhappy being to triumph, rejoice and glory in the lot love has been pleased to bestow upon her in surrendering my heart and yielding up my soul to her.