Quixote from "Camino Real" by Tennessee Williams

QUIXOTE (looking about the plaza): --Lonely . . .
(To his surprise the word is echoed softly by almost unseen figures huddled below the stairs and against the wall of the town. Quixote leans upon his lance and observes with a wry smile--)
--When so many are lonely as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone.
(He shakes out a dusty blanket. Shadowy arms extend toward him and voices murmur.)
VOICE: Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
QUIXOTE (arranging his blanket): Yes, I'll sleep for a while, I'll sleep and dream for a while against the wall of this town . . .
(A mandolin or guitar plays "The Nightingale of France.")
--And my dream will be a pageant, a masque in which old meanings will be remembered and possibly new ones discovered, and when I wake from this sleep and this disturbing pageant of a dream, I'll choose on among its shadows to take along with me in the place of Sancho . . .
(He blows his nose between his fingers and wipes them on his shirttail.)
--For new companions are not as familiar as old ones but all the same--they're old ones with only slight differences of face and figure, which may or may not be improvements, and it would be selfish of me to be lonely alone . . .
(He stumbles down the incline into the Pit below the stairs where most of the Street People huddle beneath awnings of open stalls.
(The white cockatoo squawks.)
GUTMAN: Hush, Aurora.
QUIXOTE: And tomorrow at this same hour, which we call madrugada, the loveliest of all words, except the word alba, and that word also means daybreak--
--Yes, at daybreak tomorrow I will go on from here with a new companion and this old bit of blue ribbon to keep me in mind of distance that I have gone and distance I have yet to go, and also to keep me in mind of--