The Adventures of the Noble Knight
Don Quixote de la Mancha
and his Faithful Squire
Sancho Panza

Based on the work of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

By Laurence D. Finston

Copyright (C) 2007, 2008 Laurence D. Finston

Copying is permitted provided this copyright notice is preserved.

(Part II, Chapter 26)
The Adventure of the Puppet-Play

"Don Quixote, for your pleasure,
A puppet-play tonight I'll show,
Of the Lady Melisandra,
And her husband Gayferos."

Thus quoth courteous Master Peter,
And all applauded his intent;
Seated on a row of benches,
Eagerly all ears were bent.

Ears were seated on the benches?
Surely this could not be meant!
Other parts performed the sitting,
While eyes and ears attention lent.

Gayferos at draughts a-playing,
Unconcern he did affect,
When Charlemagne, his lady's father,
Upraided him for his neglect.

"Melisandra is imprisoned,
And you sit at idle game!
While your honor lies a-bleeding,
Gayferos, hast Thou no shame?"

To his face the blood was rushing,
Rage and anger filled his heart,
Pausing but a sword to borrow,
Took his leave and did depart.

In the town of Saragossa,
Bold Don Gayferos found his love,
And quickly making her arrangements,
Herself she lowered from above.

On his steed of fearsome mettle,
Off they rode then, side-by-side,
But some interfering neighbours,
The fleeing lovers had espied.

Side-by-side and riding horseback?
Surely this is some mistake!
Perhaps Gayferos left his horse home,
And the streetcar he did take.

In pursuit the Moorish soldiers,
Marsilius was raging quite,
"She'll not escape me, my fair captive,
Bring me the head of that bold knight!"

"Nay!" roared Don Quixote bravely,
"All your hosts I do disdain,
I protect these Christian lovers,
Offer not to cause them pain!"

Among the Moors he wreaked destruction,
With his sharp and trusty sword,
And the tow'rs of Saragossa,
Lay in ruins with their lord.

But alas! poor Melisandra,
Gayferos and Charlemagne,
With their wires cut and tangled,
Never would they rise again.

"Woe is me!" cried Master Peter,
"What madness has possessed you so?
All my puppets you have ruined,
To the poorhouse I must go!"

"Puppets?" quoth bold Don Quixote,
"I've rescued Charlemagn'es daughter,
And a horde of Moorish soldiers,
In battle's frenzy I did slaughter.

Surely 'twas magician's malice,
As so oft, the same old story,
My enemies to dolls transforming,
Robs me of my rightful glory."

Sad of heart, poor Don Quixote,
Paid the player for the damages;
Then he invited all the comp'ny,
To partake with him of wine and sandwiches.