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 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