Señor Don Quixote, your worship has, no doubt, perceived the beauty of my lady duchess; that freshness of complexion that shines like polished steel, those cheeks of milk and crimson, with the sun on one side, and the moon on the other, and that gaiety with which she treads, or rather disdains the ground, seeming to diffuse health and joy wheresoever she walks. Well then, your worship must know, that she may thank God for that, in the first place; and, secondly, two cuts in her legs, that discharge the foul humours, with which the doctors say she abounds.