and begged him not to go about this undertaking, to which the adventure of the windmills, and the fulling mills, and all the brunts he had ever borne in his life, were but cakes and gingerbread.  “Good your worship,” cried he, “here is no enchantment in the case, nor anything like it.  I peeped even now through the grates of the cage, and I am sure I saw the claw of a true lion, and such a claw as makes me think the lion that owns it must be bigger than a mountain.”—­“At any rate,” said Don Quixote, “thy fear will make him bigger than half the world.  Retire, Sancho, and leave me, and if I chance to fall here thou knowest our old agreement; repair to Dulcinea—­I say no more.”  To this he added some expressions which cut off all hopes of his giving over his mad design.

The gentleman in green would have opposed him; but, considering the other much better armed, and that it was not prudence to encounter a madman, as Don Quixote seemed to be, he even took the opportunity, while he was hastening the keeper and repeating his threats, to march off with his mare, as Sancho did with Dapple, and the carter with his mules, every one making the best of their way to get as far as they could from the wagon before the lions were let loose.  Sancho at the same time made lamentations for his master’s death; for he gave him up for lost, not questioning but the lions had already got him into their clutches.  He cursed his ill fortune, and the hour he came again to his service; but for all his wailing and lamenting, he punched on poor Dapple, to get as far as he could from the lions.  The keeper, perceiving the persons who fled to be at a good distance, fell to arguing and entreating Don Quixote as he had done before.  But he told him again that all his reasons and entreaties were but in vain, and bid him say no more, but immediately dispatch.

Now while the keeper took time to open the foremost cage, Don Quixote stood debating with himself, whether he had best make his attack on foot or on horseback; and upon mature deliberation, he resolved to do it on foot, lest Rozinante, at sight of the lions, should be put into disorder.  Accordingly he quitted his horse, threw aside his lance, grasped his shield, and drew his sword; then advancing step by step, with wondrous courage and an undaunted heart, he posted himself just before the door of the cage, commending himself to Heaven, and afterwards to his lady Dulcinea.

At this point it must be known, the author of this faithful history makes the following exclamation.  “O thou most brave and unutterably bold Don Quixote de la Mancha!  Thou mirror and grand exemplar of valor!  Thou second and new Don Emanuel de Leon, the late glory and honor of all Spanish cavaliers!  What words shall I use to express this astonishing deed of thine!  What language shall I employ to convince posterity of its truth!  What praises can be coined, and eulogies invented, that will not be outvied by thy superior merit, though hyperboles