give a loose rein to my thoughts, and seek a vent for them in a little
madrigal which, unknown to thee, I composed in my head last night."

"I should think," said Sancho, "that the thoughts that allow one to make
verses cannot be of great consequence; let your worship string verses as
much as you like and I'll sleep as much as I can;" and forthwith, taking
the space of ground he required, he muffled himself up and fell into a
sound sleep, undisturbed by bond, debt, or trouble of any sort. Don
Quixote, propped up against the trunk of a beech or a cork tree--for Cide
Hamete does not specify what kind of tree it was--sang in this strain to
the accompaniment of his own sighs:

When in my mind
I muse, O Love, upon thy cruelty,
To death I flee,
In hope therein the end of all to find.

But drawing near
That welcome haven in my sea of woe,
Such joy I know,
That life revives, and still I linger here.

Thus life doth slay,
And death again to life restoreth me;
Strange destiny,
That deals with life and death as with a play!

He accompanied each verse with many sighs and not a few tears, just like
one whose heart was pierced with grief at his defeat and his separation
from Dulcinea.