“May I never share heaven,” said the poor barber, “if your worships are not all mistaken; and may my soul appear before God as that appears to me a packsaddle and not a caparison; but, ‘laws go,’ 382 ⁠—I say no more; and indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it be from sin.”

The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the absurdities of Don Quixote, who now observed:

“There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to him, and to whom God has given it, may St. Peter add his blessing.”