"Anoitecer" by Raimundo Correia (in Portuguese)

Esbraseia o Ocidente na agonia

O sol... Aves em bandos destacados,

Por céus de ouro e púrpura raiados,

Fogem... Fecha-se a pálpebra do dia...

Delineiam-se além da serranja

Os vértices de chamas aureolados,

E em tudo, em torno, esbatem derramados

Uns tons suaves de melancolia.

Um mudo de vapores no ar flutua...

Como uma informe nódoa avulta e cresce

A sombra à proporção que a luz recua.

A natureza apática esmaece...

Pouco a pouco, entre as árvores, a lua

Surge trêmula, trêmula.... Anoitece.

Untitled Poem by Cecília Meireles (in Portuguese)

Eu canto porque o instante existe

e a minha vida está completa.

Não sou alegre nem sou triste:

sou poeta.

Irmão das coisas fugidias,

não sinto gozo nem tormento.

Atravesso noites e dias

no vento.

Se desmorono ou se edifico,

se permaneço ou me desfaço, -

não sei, não sei. Não sei se fico

ou passo.

Sei que canto. E a canção é tudo.

Tem sangue eterno a asa ritmada.

E um dia sei que estarei mudo:

-mais nada.

"The Kissing of Sal Snooboo" by Robert E. Howard (in English)

A bunch of the girls were whooping it up

In the old Lip-stick saloon,

And the kid at the player-piano

Was twanging a jazzy tune,

When out of the night with perfume on his shirt

And stacomb upon his hair,

A young man staggered inside the door

And meowed like a grizzly-bear.

He kicked the kid off the piano stool

And sat him down to play.

The piano yowled like an old tom cat

To the tune of "Hip! Hurray!"

Says he, "Gals, you don’t know me,

But, by gosh, I know you,

And one of you is a classy dame,

And that one is Sal Snooboo!"

She squawked and somebody turned the lights,

Something went “Smack!” in the dark.

There was nothing for anybody to do

But to stand still and s****** and hark.

Somebody turned the lights on,

And Sally was standing there,

But the stranger wasn’t; he was done,

And Sal was arranging her hair.

"A Vision" by Oscar Wilde (in English)

Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone

With no green weight of laurels round his head,

But with sad eyes as one uncomforted,

And wearied with man's never-ceasing moan

For sins no bleating victim can atone,

And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.

Girt was he in a garment black and red,

And at his feet I marked a broken stone

Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.

Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame,

I cried to Beatrice, 'Who are these? '

And she made answer, knowing well each name,

'AEschylos first, the second Sophokles,

And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides.'

Death Laughed Last! by Sheldon Mayer (in English)

art Alex Nino - Forbidden Tales of Dark Mansion #12 - DC Comics, May 1973.

 

"Como Sombras de Nuvens que Passam" (Canto VIII) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Canto VIII
     Ouvi meu nome do fundo de lá; abaixei mais a cabeça e continuei andando.
     Chovia copiosamente, eu tremia e chorava.
     Faltavam dois dias para o embarque pra Rimini. Luciano telefonara-me pouco antes, também em prantos.
     Eduardo tinha razão: eu fugia. Não conseguia ver um futuro feliz entre mim e Luciano e, por causa dessa tristeza adivinhada, fugia.
     Mas para onde me levava o lugarejo próximo a Rimini?



    

"Jonquil And Fleur-de-lys" by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

I

Jonquil was a shepherd lad,

White he was as the curded cream,

Hair like the buttercups he had,

And wet green eyes like a full chalk stream.

II

His teeth were as white as the stones that lie

Down in the depths of the sun-bright river,

And his lashes danced like a dragon-fly

With drops on the gauzy wings that quiver.

III

His lips were as red as round ripe cherries,

And his delicate cheek's and his rose-pink neck

Were stained with the colour of dog-rose berries

When they lie on the snow like a crimson fleck.

IV

His feet were all stained with the cowslips and grass

To amber and verdigris,

And through his folds one day did pass

The young prince Fleur-de-lys.

V

Fleur-de-lys was the son of the king.

He was as white as an onyx stone,

His hair was curled like a daffodil ring,

And his eyes were like gems in the queen's blue zone.

VI

His teeth were as white as the white pearls set

Round the thick white throat of the queen in the hall,

And his lashes were like the dark silk net

That she binds her yellow hair withal.

VII

His lips were as red as the red rubies

The king's bright dagger-hilt that deck,

And pale rose-pink as the amethyst is

Were his delicate cheeks and his rose-pink neck.

VIII

His feet were all shod in shoes of gold,

And his coat was as gold as a blackbird's bill is,

With jewel on jewel manifold,

And wrought with a pattern of golden lilies.

IX

When Fleur-de-lys espied Jonquil

He was as glad as a bird in May ;

He tripped right swiftly a-down the hill,

And called to the shepherd boy to play.

X

This fell out ere the sheep-shearing,

That these two lads did sport and toy,

Fleur-de-lys the son of the king,

And sweet Jonquil the shepherd boy.

XI

And after they had played awhile,

Thereafter they to talking fell,

And full an hour they did beguile

While each his state and lot did tell.

XII

For Jonquil spake of the little sheep,

And the tender ewes that know their names,

And he spake of his wattled hut for sleep,

And the country sports and the shepherds' games.

XIII

And he plucked a reed from the edge that girds

The river bank, and with his knife

Made a pipe, with a breath like the singing birds

When they flute to their loves in a musical strife.

XIV

And he told of the night so long and still

When he lay awake till he heard the feet

Of the goat-foot god coming over the hill,

And the rustling sound as he passed through the wheat.

XV

And Fleur-de-lys told of the king and the court,

And the stately dames and the slender pages,

Of his horse and his hawk and his mimic fort,

And the silent birds in their golden, cages.

XVI

And the jewelled sword with the damask blade

That should be his in his fifteenth spring ;

And the silver sound that the gold horns made,

And the tourney lists and the tilting ring.

XVII

And after that they did devise

For mirth and sport, that each should wear

The other's clothes, and in this guise

Make play each other's parts to bear.

XVIII

Whereon they stripped off all their clothes,

And when they stood up in the sun,

They were as like as one white rose

On one green stalk, to another one.

XIX

And when Jonquil as a prince was shown

And Fleur-de-lys as a shepherd lad,

Their mothers' selves would not have known

That each the other's habit had.

XX

And Jonquil walked like the son of a king

With dainty steps and proud haut look ;

And Fleur-de-lys, that sweet youngling,

Did push and paddle his feet in the brook.

XXI

And while they made play in this wise,

Unto them all in haste did run,

Two lords of the court, with joyful cries,

That long had sought the young king's son.

XXII

And to Jonquil they reverence made

And said, ' My lord, we are come from the king,

Who is sore vexed that thou hast strayed

So far without a following.'

XXIII

Then unto them said Fleur-de-lys

' You do mistake, my lords, for know

That I am the son of the king, and this

Is sweet Jonquil, my playfellow.'

XXIV

Whereat one of these lords replied,

' Thou lying knave, I'll make thee rue

Such saucy words.' But Jonquil cried,

' Nay, nay, my lord, 'tis even true.'

XXV

Whereat these lords were sore distressed,

And one made answer bending knee,

' My lord the prince is pleased to jest.'

But Jonquil answered, ' Thou shalt see.'

XXVI

Sure never yet so strange a thing

As this before was seen,

That a shepherd was thought the son of a king,

And a prince a shepherd boy to have been.

XXVII

' Now mark me well, my noble lord,

A shepherd's feet go bare and cold,

Therefore they are all green from the sward,

And the buttercup makes a stain of gold.

XXVIII

' That I am Jonquil thus thou shalt know,

And that this be very Fleur-de-lys

If his feet be like the driven snow,

And mine like the amber and verdigris.'

XXIX

He lifted up the shepherd's frock

That clothed the prince, and straight did show

That his naked feet all under his smock

Were whiter than the driven snow.

XXX

He doffed the shoes and the clothes of silk

That he had gotten from Fleur-de-lys,

And all the rest was as white as milk,

But his feet were like amber and verdigris.

XXXI

With that they each took back his own,

And when his second change was done,

As a shepherd boy was Jonquil shown

And Fleur-de-lys the king's true son.

XXXII

By this the sun was low in the heaven,

And Fleur-de-lys must ride away,

But ere he left, with kisses seven,

He vowed to come another day.

Caminante no Hay Camino by Antonio Machado (in Spanish)

Extracto de Proverbios y cantares (XXIX)

Caminante, son tus huellas

el camino y nada más;

Caminante, no hay camino,

se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace el camino,

y al volver la vista atrás

se ve la senda que nunca

se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante no hay camino

sino estelas en la mar.

Sonnet VI by William Shakespeare (in English)

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place

With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.

That use is not forbidden usury,

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

That's for thy self to breed another thee,

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;

Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,

If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,

Leaving thee living in posterity?

   Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair

   To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

"Meet Captain America" by Joe Simon (in English)

art by Jack Kirby, ink by Al Liederman. Captain America Comics Vol 1 #1

Timely - March, 1941.

 

"Plenilúnio" by Raimundo Correia (in Portuguese)

Além nos ares, tremulamente,

Que visão branca das nuvens sai!

Luz entre as franças, fria e silente;

Assim nos ares, tremulamente,

Balão aceso subindo vai...

Há tantos olhos nela arroubados,

No magnetismo do seu fulgor!

Lua dos tristes e enamorados,

Golfão de cismas fascinador!

Astros dos loucos, sol da demência,

Vaga, noctâmbula aparição!

Quantos, bebendo-te a refulgência,

Quantos por isso, sol da demência,

Lua dos loucos, loucos estão!

Quantos à noite, de alva sereia

O falaz canto na febre a ouvir,

No argênteo fluxo da lua cheia.

Alucinados se deixam ir...

Também outrora, num mar de lua,

Voguei na esteira de um louco ideal;

Exposta aos éolos a fronte nua,

Dei-me ao relento, num mar de lua,

Banhos de lua que fazem mal.

Ah! quantas vezes, absorto nela,

Por horas mortas postar-me vim

Cogitabundo, triste, à janela,

Tardas vigílias passando assim!

E assim, fitando-a noites inteiras,

Seu disco argênteo na alma imprimi;

Olhos pisados, fundas olheiras,

Passei fitando-a noites inteiras,

Fitei-a tanto, que enlouqueci!

Tantos serenos tão doentios,

Friagens tantas padeci eu;

Chuva de raios de prata frios

A fronte em brasa me arrefeceu!

Lunárias flores, ao feral lume, —

Caçoilas de ópio, de embriaguez —

Evaporaram letal perfume...

E os lençóis d'água, do feral lume

Se amortalhavam na lividez...

Fúlgida névoa vem-me ofuscante

De um pesadelo de luz encher,

E a tudo em roda, desde esse instante,

Da cor da lua começo a ver.

E erguem por vias enluaradas

Minhas sandálias chispas a flux...

Há pó de estrelas pelas estradas...

E por estradas enluaradas

Eu sigo às tontas, cego de luz...

Um luar amplo me inunda, e eu ando

Em visionária luz a nadar,

Por toda a parte, louco, arrastando

O largo manto do meu luar...

Sonnet V by William Shakespeare (in English)

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,

Will play the tyrants to the very same

And that unfair which fairly doth excel;

For never-resting time leads summer on

To hideous winter, and confounds him there;

Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:

Then were not summer's distillation left,

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,

Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:

   But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,

   Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

"The Song of Songs of Solomon" (Chapter V in English)

1 Bridegroom: I have come to my garden, my sister, my bride;

I gather my myrrh and my spices,

I eat my honey and my sweetmeats,

I drink my wine and my milk.

Daughters of Jerusalem: Eat, friends; drink! Drink freely of love!

2 Bride: 2 I was sleeping, but my heart kept vigil;

I heard my lover knocking:

"Open to me, my sister, my beloved,

my dove, my perfect one!

For my head is wet with dew,

my locks with the moisture of the night."

3 I have taken off my robe,

am I then to put it on?

I have bathed my feet,

am I then to soil them?

4 My lover put his hand through the opening;

my heart trembled within me,

and I grew faint when he spoke.

5 I rose to open to my lover,

with my hands dripping myrrh:

With my fingers dripping choice myrrh

upon the fittings of the lock.

6 I opened to my lover -

but my lover had departed, gone.

I sought him but I did not find him;

I called to him but he did not answer me.

7 The watchmen came upon me

as they made their rounds of the city;

They struck me, and wounded me,

and took my mantle from me,

the guardians of the walls.

8 I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem,

if you find my lover -

What shall you tell him?-

that I am faint with love.

9 Daughters of Jerusalem: How does your lover differ from any other,

O most beautiful among women?

How does your lover differ from any other,

that you adjure us so?

10 Bride: My lover is radiant and ruddy;

he stands out among thousands.

11 His head is pure gold;

his locks are palm fronds,

black as the raven.

12 His eyes are like doves

beside running waters,

His teeth would seem bathed in milk,

and are set like jewels.

13 His cheeks are like beds of spice

with ripening aromatic herbs.

His lips are red blossoms;

they drip choice myrrh.

14 His arms are rods of gold

adorned with chrysolites.

His body is a work of ivory

covered with sapphires.

15 His legs are columns of marble

resting on golden bases.

His stature is like the trees on Lebanon,

imposing as the cedars.

16 His mouth is sweetness itself;

he is all delight.

Such is my lover, and such my friend,

O daughters of Jerusalem.

"Como Sombras de Nuvens que Passam" (Cantos VI and VII) by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Canto VI

     - Que vais fazer?

     - Vou para Itália, Eduardo.

     - Quando? Onde na Itália?

     - Um lugarejo perto de Rimini. Já está tudo acertado, casa, trabalho...

     - E ele?

     - Quem é "ele"? Foda-se "ele"!

     - Um lugarejo perto de Rimini?

     - Isso.

     - Estás fugindo. O que houve? Vocês brigaram?

     - Estamos bem e não estou fugindo, mas acabei com o romnace.

      - Eu não acredito! O que houve com o mundo? Só porque mudei-me pra New York, aquele fascista ganha as eleições no Brasil, vocês vão "dar um tempo" e te vais pra "um lugarejo perto de Rimini"? Então fica comigo aqui, no centro do mundo!

      - Luciano precisa resolver alguns problemas seus, eu quero trocar de ares, desanuviar a cabeça, só isso. E estamos bem agora, depois de ele ter dito uma crise de dúvidas e eu me ter afastado pra ele arranjar-se. Através duma agência consegui emprego pra colher azeitonas e ficarei na casa duma tal Rosa.

     Houve uma pausa e depois ele continuou: Acredite, não estou fugindo; nem estou sofrendo. Estava apaixonado e isso passou. Ou se não passou, passará. Mas não vou ficar à mercê de uma pessoa que me quer mas quer conforto familiar mais que a mim. Agora estou indo pra Itália; um mundo novo a desbravar; não sei o que há por lá, mas estou livre para descobrir.

Canto VII

     Eu e Eduardo fomos tomando na vida rumos distintos, em todos os sentidos. Enquanto ele renovava-se tendo romance novo a cada semana, bêbado com a vida novaiorquina, eu era muito, muito mais restrito e os poucos que tive, foram - ao menos de minha parte - sempre intensos, como se fossem minha última opção na vida.

     Poucos conseguiam dar-me o troco devido.

     Giorgio foi um deles.

 

Soneto by Luiz Vaz de Camões (in English)

Sete anos de pastor Jacó servia

Labão, pai de Raquel, serrana bela;

Mas, não servia ao pai, servira a ela,

Que só a ela por prêmio pretendia.

Os dias, na esperança de um só dia,

Passava, contentando-se com vê-la;

Porém o pai, usando de cautela,

Em lugar de Raquel lhe dera Lia.

Vendo o triste pastor que com enganos

Assim lhe era negada sua pastora

Como se a não tivera merecida.

Começou a servir outros sete anos

Dizendo: Mais servira, se não fôra

Para tão longo amor tão curta a vida.

"The Divine Comedy" by Dante Alighieri (Inferno, Chant III) (in Italian)

Inferno: Canto III

Per me si va ne la citta` dolente,

  per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,

  per me si va tra la perduta gente.

Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:

  fecemi la divina podestate,

  la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.

Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create

  se non etterne, e io etterno duro.

  Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate".

Queste parole di colore oscuro

  vid'io scritte al sommo d'una porta;

  per ch'io: <<Maestro, il senso lor m'e` duro>>.

Ed elli a me, come persona accorta:

  <<Qui si convien lasciare ogne sospetto;

  ogne vilta` convien che qui sia morta.

Noi siam venuti al loco ov'i' t'ho detto

  che tu vedrai le genti dolorose

  c'hanno perduto il ben de l'intelletto>>.

E poi che la sua mano a la mia puose

  con lieto volto, ond'io mi confortai,

  mi mise dentro a le segrete cose.

Quivi sospiri, pianti e alti guai

  risonavan per l'aere sanza stelle,

  per ch'io al cominciar ne lagrimai.

Diverse lingue, orribili favelle,

  parole di dolore, accenti d'ira,

  voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle

facevano un tumulto, il qual s'aggira

  sempre in quell'aura sanza tempo tinta,

  come la rena quando turbo spira.

E io ch'avea d'error la testa cinta,

  dissi: <<Maestro, che e` quel ch'i' odo?

  e che gent'e` che par nel duol si` vinta?>>.

Ed elli a me: <<Questo misero modo

  tegnon l'anime triste di coloro

  che visser sanza 'nfamia e sanza lodo.

Mischiate sono a quel cattivo coro

  de li angeli che non furon ribelli

  ne' fur fedeli a Dio, ma per se' fuoro.

Caccianli i ciel per non esser men belli,

  ne' lo profondo inferno li riceve,

  ch'alcuna gloria i rei avrebber d'elli>>.

E io: <<Maestro, che e` tanto greve

  a lor, che lamentar li fa si` forte?>>.

  Rispuose: <<Dicerolti molto breve.

Questi non hanno speranza di morte

  e la lor cieca vita e` tanto bassa,

  che 'nvidiosi son d'ogne altra sorte.

Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa;

  misericordia e giustizia li sdegna:

  non ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa>>.

E io, che riguardai, vidi una 'nsegna

  che girando correva tanto ratta,

  che d'ogne posa mi parea indegna;

e dietro le venia si` lunga tratta

  di gente, ch'i' non averei creduto

  che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta.

Poscia ch'io v'ebbi alcun riconosciuto,

  vidi e conobbi l'ombra di colui

  che fece per viltade il gran rifiuto.

Incontanente intesi e certo fui

  che questa era la setta d'i cattivi,

  a Dio spiacenti e a' nemici sui.

Questi sciaurati, che mai non fur vivi,

  erano ignudi e stimolati molto

  da mosconi e da vespe ch'eran ivi.

Elle rigavan lor di sangue il volto,

  che, mischiato di lagrime, a' lor piedi

  da fastidiosi vermi era ricolto.

E poi ch'a riguardar oltre mi diedi,

  vidi genti a la riva d'un gran fiume;

  per ch'io dissi: <<Maestro, or mi concedi

ch'i' sappia quali sono, e qual costume

  le fa di trapassar parer si` pronte,

  com'io discerno per lo fioco lume>>.

Ed elli a me: <<Le cose ti fier conte

  quando noi fermerem li nostri passi

  su la trista riviera d'Acheronte>>.

Allor con li occhi vergognosi e bassi,

  temendo no 'l mio dir li fosse grave,

  infino al fiume del parlar mi trassi.

Ed ecco verso noi venir per nave

  un vecchio, bianco per antico pelo,

  gridando: <<Guai a voi, anime prave!

Non isperate mai veder lo cielo:

  i' vegno per menarvi a l'altra riva

  ne le tenebre etterne, in caldo e 'n gelo.

E tu che se' costi`, anima viva,

  partiti da cotesti che son morti>>.

  Ma poi che vide ch'io non mi partiva,

disse: <<Per altra via, per altri porti

  verrai a piaggia, non qui, per passare:

  piu` lieve legno convien che ti porti>>.

E 'l duca lui: <<Caron, non ti crucciare:

  vuolsi cosi` cola` dove si puote

  cio` che si vuole, e piu` non dimandare>>.

Quinci fuor quete le lanose gote

  al nocchier de la livida palude,

  che 'ntorno a li occhi avea di fiamme rote.

Ma quell'anime, ch'eran lasse e nude,

  cangiar colore e dibattero i denti,

  ratto che 'nteser le parole crude.

Bestemmiavano Dio e lor parenti,

  l'umana spezie e 'l loco e 'l tempo e 'l seme

  di lor semenza e di lor nascimenti.

Poi si ritrasser tutte quante insieme,

  forte piangendo, a la riva malvagia

  ch'attende ciascun uom che Dio non teme.

Caron dimonio, con occhi di bragia,

  loro accennando, tutte le raccoglie;

  batte col remo qualunque s'adagia.

Come d'autunno si levan le foglie

  l'una appresso de l'altra, fin che 'l ramo

  vede a la terra tutte le sue spoglie,

similemente il mal seme d'Adamo

  gittansi di quel lito ad una ad una,

  per cenni come augel per suo richiamo.

Cosi` sen vanno su per l'onda bruna,

  e avanti che sien di la` discese,

  anche di qua nuova schiera s'auna.

<<Figliuol mio>>, disse 'l maestro cortese,

  <<quelli che muoion ne l'ira di Dio

  tutti convegnon qui d'ogne paese:

e pronti sono a trapassar lo rio,

  che' la divina giustizia li sprona,

  si` che la tema si volve in disio.

Quinci non passa mai anima buona;

  e pero`, se Caron di te si lagna,

  ben puoi sapere omai che 'l suo dir suona>>.

Finito questo, la buia campagna

  tremo` si` forte, che de lo spavento

  la mente di sudore ancor mi bagna.

La terra lagrimosa diede vento,

  che baleno` una luce vermiglia

  la qual mi vinse ciascun sentimento;

e caddi come l'uom cui sonno piglia.

"The Chain-Letter Murders" by Unknown Writer (in English)

Unknown artist - Ellery Queen #1 - Ziff-Davis Comic Group - 1951.

"A Villanelle" by Oscar Wilde (in English)

O singer of Persephone!

In the dim meadows desolate

Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still through the ivy flits the bee

Where Amaryllis lies in state;

O Singer of Persephone!

Simaetha calls on Hecate

And hears the wild dogs at the gate;

Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still by the light and laughing sea

Poor Polypheme bemoans his fate;

O Singer of Persephone!

And still in boyish rivalry

Young Daphnis challenges his mate;

Dost thou remember Sicily?

Slim Lacon keeps a goat for thee,

For thee the jocund shepherds wait;

O Singer of Persephone!

Dost thou remember Sicily?

"Impression de Nuit ( London )" by Lord Alfred Douglas (in English)

See what a mass of gems the city wears

Upon her broad live bosom! row on row

Rubies and emeralds and amethysts glow.

See! that huge circle like a necklace, stares

With thousands of bold eyes to heaven, and dares

The golden stars to dim the lamps below,

And in the mirror of the mire I know

The moon has left her image unawares.

That's the great town at night: I see her breasts,

Pricked out with lamps they stand like huge black towers.

I think they move! I hear her panting breath.

And that's her head where the tiara rests.

And in her brain, through lanes as dark as death,

Men creep like thoughts...The lamps are like pale flowers

"A la Circuncisión" by St. Therese of Avila (in Spanish)

Vertiendo está sangre,

¡Dominguillo, eh!

Yo no sé por qué.

¿Por qué, te pregunto,

hacen dél justicia,

pues es inocente

y no tiene malicia?

Tuvo gran codicia,

yo no sé por qué,

de mucho amarmé,

¡Dominguillo, eh!

¿Pues luego en naciendo,

le han de atormentar?

Sí, que está muriendo

por quitar el mal.

¡Oh, qué gran Zagal

será, por mi fe!

¡Dominguillo, eh!

¿Tú no lo has mirado,

que es niño inocente?

Ya me lo han contado

Brasillo y Llorente.

Gran inconveniente

será no amarlé,

¡Dominguillo, eh!