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SANCHO |
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Your Reverence, could I talk to him? |
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PADRE |
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I'm afraid he won't hear you. |
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SANCHO |
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(moving toward the bed) |
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Then, I won't say much. |
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Just a few words... to lighten his heart. |
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A little gossip... a little chat... |
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A tittle idle talk of this and that... |
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I'll tell him all the troubles I have had, |
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And since he doesn't hear, |
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At least he won't feel bad. |
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(to Don Quixote) |
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When I first got home my wife Teresa beat me, |
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But the blows fell very lightly on my back. |
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She kept missing ev'ry other stroke |
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And crying from the heart |
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That while I was gone |
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She'd gone and lost the knack! |
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Of course, I hit her back, Your Grace, |
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but she's a lot harder than I am, |
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and you know what they say... |
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"Whether the stone hits the pitcher |
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or the pitcher hits the stone |
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it's going to be bad for the pitcher" |
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(to the Padre) |
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A little gossip... a little chat... |
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A little idle talk of this and that... |
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If no one listens, |
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Then it's just as well, |
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At least I won't get caught in any lies I tell! |
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(to Don Quixote) |
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Oh, I haven't fought a windmill in a fortnight |
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And the humble joys get duller ev'ry day, |
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Why, when I'm asleep a dragon |
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With his fiery tongue a-waggin' |
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Whispers, "Sancho. |
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Won't you please come out and play?" |
