Al buen Pedro
Dicen, buen pedro, que de mí murmuras
Porque tras mis orejas el cabello
En crespas ondas su caudal levanta.
¡diles, bribón, que mientras tú en festines,
En rubios caldos y en fragantes pomas,
Entre mancebas del astuto norte,
De tus esclavos el sudor sangriento
Torcido en oro descuidado bebes,
Pensativo, febril, pálido, grave,
Mi pan rebano en solitaria mesa
Pidiendo ¡oh triste! al aire sordo modo
De libertar de su infortunio al siervo
Y de tu infamia a ti!
Y en estos lances,
Suéleme, pedro, en la apretada bolsa
Faltar la monedilla que reclama,
Con sus húmedas manos el barbero.
To Good Pedro
They say, good Pedro, that you gossip about me
Because my hair's a mess behind my ears
In curly waves it lifts its flow.
Tell them, you scoundrel, that while you feast,
In golden broths and fragrant fruits,
Among the young ladies of the sly north,
You drink the bloody sweat of your slaves,
Twisted into careless gold,
Thoughtful, feverish, pale, serious,
I break my bread at a lonely table
Pleading, oh sad one! to the deaf air
To free the servant from his misfortune
And from your disgrace, you!
And in these moments,
It often happens, Pedro, that in the tight purse
The coin that the barber demands
Is missing, with his damp hands.