ill-bred, boorish Don Bumpkin, if you don't get out of this at once and
hide yourself from my sight, I'll lay your head open with this chair. You
whoreson rascal, you devil's own painter, and is it at this hour you come
to ask me for six hundred ducats! How should I have them, you stinking
brute? And why should I give them to you if I had them, you knave and
blockhead? What have I to do with Miguelturra or the whole family of the
Perlerines? Get out I say, or by the life of my lord the duke I'll do as
I said. You're not from Miguelturra, but some knave sent here from hell
to tempt me. Why, you villain, I have not yet had the government half a
day, and you want me to have six hundred ducats already!"

The carver made signs to the farmer to leave the room, which he did with
his head down, and to all appearance in terror lest the governor should
carry his threats into effect, for the rogue knew very well how to play
his part.

But let us leave Sancho in his wrath, and peace be with them all; and let
us return to Don Quixote, whom we left with his face bandaged and
doctored after the cat wounds, of which he was not cured for eight days;
and on one of these there befell him what Cide Hamete promises to relate
with that exactitude and truth with which he is wont to set forth
everything connected with this great history, however minute it may be.




CHAPTER XLVIII.

OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH DONA RODRIGUEZ, THE DUCHESS'S DUENNA,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY OF RECORD AND ETERNAL REMEMBRANCE