FIFE (as to his mule). There, thou mis-begotten thing, Long-ear'd lightning, tail'd tornado, Griffin-hoof-in hurricano, (I might swear till I were almost Hoarse with roaring Asonante) Who forsooth because our betters Would begin to kick and fling You forthwith your noble mind Must prove, and kick me off behind, Tow'rd the very centre whither Gravity was most inclined. There where you have made your bed In it lie; for, wet or dry, Let what will for me betide you, Burning, blowing, freezing, hailing; Famine waste you: devil ride you: Tempest baste you black and blue: (To Rosaura.) There! I think in downright railing I can hold my own with you. ROS. Ah, my good Fife, whose merry loyal pipe, Come weal, come woe, is never out of tune What, you in the same plight too? FIFE. Ay; And madam--sir--hereby desire, When you your own adventures sing Another time in lofty rhyme, You don't forget the trusty squire Who went with you Don-quixoting. ROS. Well, my good fellow--to leave Pegasus Who scarce can serve us than our horses worse-- They say no one should rob another of The single satisfaction he has left Of singing his own sorrows; one so great, So says some great philosopher, that trouble Were worth encount'ring only for the sake Of weeping over--what perhaps you know Some poet calls the 'luxury of woe.' FIFE. Had I the poet or philosopher In the place of her that kick'd me off to ride, I'd test his theory upon his hide. But no bones broken, madam--sir, I mean?-- ROS. A scratch here that a handkerchief will heal-- And you?-- FIFE. A scratch in _quiddity_, or kind: But not in '_quo_'--my wounds are all behind. But, as you say, to stop this strain, Which, somehow, once one's in the vein, Comes clattering after--there again!-- What are we twain--deuce take't!--we two, I mean, to do--drench'd through and through-- Oh, I shall choke of rhymes, which I believe Are all that we shall have to live on here. ROS. What, is our victual gone too?-- FIFE. Ay, that brute Has carried all we had away with her, Clothing, and cate, and all. ROS. And now the sun, Our only friend and guide, about to sink Under the stage of earth. FIFE. And enter Night, With Capa y Espada--and--pray heaven! With but her lanthorn also.