to Heaven.”—­“What giants?” quoth Sancho Panza.  “Those whom thou seest yonder,” answered Don Quixote, “with their long extended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense a size, that sometimes they reach two leagues in length.”—­“Pray look better, sir,” quoth Sancho; “those things yonder are no giants, but windmills, and the arms you fancy, are their sails, which being whirled about by the wind, make the mill go.” “’Tis a sign,” cried Don Quixote, “thou art but little acquainted with adventures!  I tell thee, they are giants; and therefore if thou art afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in a dreadful unequal combat against them all.”  This said, he clapt spurs to his horse Rozinante, without giving ear to his squire Sancho, who bawled out to him, and assured him that they were windmills, and no giants.  But he was so fully possessed with a strong conceit of the contrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire’s outcry, nor was he sensible of what they were, although he was already very near them; far from that:  “Stand, cowards,” cried he as loud as he could; “stand your ground, ignoble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, who dares encounter you all!” At the same time, the wind rising, the mill-sails began to move, which when Don Quixote spied, “Base miscreants,” cried he, “though you move more arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance.”  He most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her assistance in this perilous adventure; and so covering himself with his shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rozinante’s utmost speed upon the first windmill he could come at, and running his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away both knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good way off in the field.  Sancho Panza ran as fast as his ass could drive to help his master, whom he found lying, and not able to stir, such a blow had he and Rozinante received.  “Mercy o’ me!” cried Sancho, “did not I give your worship fair warning?  Did not I tell you they were windmills, and that nobody could think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head?”—­“Peace, friend Sancho,” replied Don Quixote:  “there is nothing so subject to the inconstancy of fortune as war.  I am verily persuaded that cursed necromancer Freston, who carried away my study and my books, has transformed these giants into windmills to deprive me of the honor of the victory; such is his inveterate malice against me; but in the end, all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove ineffectual against the prevailing edge of my sword.”—­“Amen, say I,” replied Sancho.  And so heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted poor Rozinante, that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall.