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&ot;

&ot;thou art right,&ot; said don ixote, &ot;and i cannot guess or expnwhat this ay an; but stay; let see if this orandu bookthere is anythg written by which we ay be able to trace out ordisver what we want to know&ot;

he opened it, and the first thg he found it, written roughlybut a very good hand, was a n, and readg it aloud thatsancho ight hear it, he found that it ran as follows:

n

or love is lackg tellce,

or to the height of cruelty attas,

or else it is y doo to suffer pas

beyond the asure due to y offence

but if love be a god, it follows thence

that he knows all, and certa it reas

no god loves cruelty; then who ordas

this penance that enthrals while it tornts?

it were a falsehood, chloe, thee to na;

such evil with such goodness cannot live;

and agast heaven i dare not 插r the bla,

i only know it is y fate to die

to hi who knows not whence his alady

a iracle alone a cure can give

&ot;there is nothg to be learned fro that rhy,&ot; said sancho,&ot;unless by that ce there&039;s it, one ay draw out the ball of thewhole atter&ot;

&ot;what ce is there?&ot; said don ixote

&ot;i thought your worship spoke of a ce it,&ot; said sancho

&ot;i only said chloe,&ot; replied don ixote; &ot;and that no doubt, is thena of the lady of who the author of the n pns; and,faith, he t be a tolerable poet, or i know little of the craft&ot;