DIALOGUE

Between Babieca and Rocinante

SONNET

B . “How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?” R .     “I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.” B .     “But what becomes of all the hay and corn?” R . “My master gives me none; he’s much too mean.” B . “Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween; ’Tis like an ass your master thus to scorn.” R .     He is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born; Why, he’s in love; what’s plainer to be seen?” B . “To be in love is folly?”— R . “No great sense.” B .     “You’re metaphysical.”— R . “From want of food.” B .     “Rail at the squire, then.”— R . “Why, what’s the good? I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye, But, squire or master, where’s the difference? They’re both as sorry hacks as Rocinante.”