Don Fernan. Uncle Romance, I am coming in, although it don't rain.
Uncle Romance. Welcome, Señor Don Fernan. Your worship comes to this, your house, like the sun, to illumine it. Has your worship any commands?
Don F. I am hungry for a story, Uncle Romance.
Uncle R. Story again! Señor, does your worship think that my yarns are like Don Crispin's titles, that were past counting? Your worship must excuse me; I'm in a bad way to-day; my memory is broken-winded, and my wits are heavier than bean-broth. But, not to disappoint your worship, I'll call my Chana.[79] Ch-a-a-a-na! Sebas-ti-a-a-na! What ails the woman? She is getting to be like the Marquis of Montegordo, who remained mute, blind, and deaf.[80] Ch-a-a-na!!
Aunt Sebastiana. What do you mean, man, by bawling like a cowherd? Oh! Señor Don Fernan is here. God be with you, señor! How is your worship?
Don F. Never better, Aunt Sebastiana; and you are well?
Aunt S. Ay! no, señor; I'm fallen away like a lime-kiln.
Don F. Why, what has been the matter with you?
Uncle R. The same that ailed the other one who was sunning herself:
"Una vieja estaba al sol
Y mirando al almanaque:
En cuando en cuando decia,
'Ya va la luna menguante.'"