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Non che digo nada...
!Pero vaia!
I
Pasan naquesta vida
cousiñas tan estrañas,
tan raros feitos vense
neste mundo de trampa;
tantos milagres vellos,
tan novas insinanzas,
e tan revoltos allos
con nome de ensaladas,
que non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Meniña ben vestida,
meniña ben calzada,
que ten roupa de cote,
que ten roupa de garda;
meniña que ben folga,
meniña que anda maja,
i é probe, malpecado,
como unha triste araña.
Non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Véxote aló antre os millos,
véxote aló nas brañas,
xa no pinar espeso,
xa na beiriña mansa
do río que correndo
vai antre as verdes canas,
e xuras que estás soia,
que naide te acompaña...
Non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Casada casadiña,
que gustas ser falada,
que bailas cas solteiras
nas festas e ruadas,
que tes na boca a risa
e que cos ollos falas,
e que ao falar con eles
parece que che saltan,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Cando mirar te miro
tan limpa e tan peinada,
loitar cos rapaciños
hastra que en ti se fartan,
e ves dimpois xurando
que eres muller sin chata,
e dis que as máis non teñen
contigo comparanza,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
E ti, roxa roxiña,
modesta e recatada,
que falas tan mainiño,
que tan mainiño andas,
que ós pés dos homes miras
para non verlles a cara,
e fas que non entendes
cando de amor che falan,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Vas pola mañanciña
a misa cas beatas;
dempois...(por que, ti o sabes)
de xunta delas largas;
e si na corredoira
xunto da verde parra,
non sei con que xentiña,
páraste ou non te paras,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
E ti, rapás garrido,
de tan melosas falas,
tan majo de monteira,
tan rico de polainas,
tan fino de calzado
como de mans fidalgas,
cando me dis que gustas
de traballar na braña,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Ti falarás de amores
cousiñas ben faladas;
ti loitarás cas nenas
como ningún loitara;
ti beberás do mosto
hastra quedar sin fala,
pero cos teus sudores
mollar a terra ingrata...
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Mais tantas cousas vexo
que me parecen trampa;
tanto sol entre nubes
e tan revoltas auguas
que asemellarse intentan
a unha fontiña crara,
que por non perder tempo
donde non quita racha,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
II
Pasan naquesta vida
cousiñas tan estrañas,
tan raros feitos vense
neste mundo de trampa;
tantos milagres vellos,
tan novas insinanzas,
e tan revoltos allos
con nome de ensaladas,
que non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
E que algo deprendera,
triste de min, coidaba;
e que a esperencia neta
ninguén me iba en puxanza
por ter na frente enrugas
e ter caniñas brancas,
cando hai hoxe uns mociños
mesmo dende que maman,
que non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Xa non che val, Farruco,
que vivas en compaña
dos anos pensadores
nin da esperencia calva,
nin que ollo alerta
vivas como a cordura manda;
que donde menos penses
tamaña lebre salta
que non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Xa sendo noite oscura
dinche que é noite crara;
xa estando o mar sereno
che din que fai borrasca,
e tanto te confunden
e tanto te acobardan,
que anque falar quixeras
tal coma Dios che manda,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Si eres francés, meu vello,
si eres da lonxe Australia,
si aló do sol baixaches
ou das estrelas pálidas,
con seria gravedade
quisais che perguntaran,
e ti, pasmado todo,
calado mormuraras:
Non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Por eso, meu velliño,
si de estudiar non tratas
a cencia destos tempos,
que é como el augua crara,
anque ca parromeira
tamén ten comparanza,
que nesto a cencia estriba,
i en ter distintas caras,
non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Sin entender un ele,
verás que ben se amañan
honrados e sin honra,
rameiras e beatas;
verás como se axuntan,
verás como se tratan,
mentras que ti marmuras
ca lengua dunha coarta:
Non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Verás cor de sireixa
quen foi cor de esmeralda,
i aqueles tan azues
que sangre azul manaban,
manar sangre vermella
pola moderna usanza;
i esto con tal chistura
e con fachenda tanta
que non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Verás que revolturas,
que ricas contradanzas,
que gaitas con salterio,
que pífanos con arpas,
que dengues encarnados
con mantilliñas brancas,
chapurra que chapurra
en confusión tan várea,
que non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Ti pensarás que aquesto
é todo unha antroidada,
que aquí un levita sobra
i unha chaqueta falta;
que alí se comen lebres
en vez de calabazas,
e tocan frautas donde
deben tocar campanas...
Mais non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
Deprende, meu velliño,
a cencia ben amada,
que saibamente insina
tan rica misturanza,
si queres ser sabido
en cousas tan estrañas,
pois antre tantas novas
as costumiñas rancias...
Non che digo nada...
¡Pero vaia!
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I say nothing...
But really!
I
Senior: "Such odd particulars
Come about in this life,
Such peculiar facts crop up
In this deceitful world;
So many miracles of yesteryear,
Such novel teachings,
And such servings of garlic
Given the name of salads,
That I say nothing...
But really!
"A finely dressed girl,
A well-shod girl,
Who owns everyday clothes,
Who owns a wardrobe,
A girl who relaxes well,
Who looks dapper,
And is poor—base sin—
Like a sad spider.
I say nothing...
But really!
"I see you afar in the cornfield,
I spot you on the moor
Or in a dense thicket of pines
Or at the gentle margin
Of the river that courses
Through the green reeds,
And you swear that you are all alone,
Without company...
I say nothing...
But really!
"A happily married woman
Who enjoys the limelight,
Who dances with the maidens
At feasts and street parties,
Who owns laughter in her mouth
And talks with her eyes,
And when they talk
It seems they bug out,
I say nothing...
But really!
"When watching I watch you
So spotless and so groomed
Spar with the young lads
Till they have their fill of you,
And you swear next
That you are an unsullied woman,
And that there is no comparison
Between you and most,
I say nothing...
But really!
"And you, pretty and blonde,
Modest and prim,
Who talks so faintly,
Who walks so daintily,
Who looks at a man's feet
To avoid seeing his face,
And who acts dumb
When they talk to you about love,
I say nothing...
But really!
"You go to mass with the devout
In the early morning hours;
Then... (you alone know why)
You forsake their company;
And whether in the lane
Beside the green grapevine
You linger or not
With I-know-not-what riff-raff,
I say nothing...
But really!
"And you winsome lad
Of such honeyed words,
Smart mountaineer cap,
Rich gaiters,
Choice shoes
And fine hands of a squire,
When you tell me that you like
To work in the mire,
I say nothing...
But really!
"You may utter sweet things
Well spoken about love;
You may spar with the girls
Like no other;
You may drink grape juice
Till you wind up dumb,
But with your sweat moisten
The thankless earth...
I say nothing...
But really!
"Withal I see so many things
That seem a snare to me;
So much sun among clouds
And such churning waters
That endeavour to resemble
A dear clear fountain,
Then to waste no time
He rips what he doesn't take off,
I say nothing...
But really!"
II
Senior: "Such odd particulars
Come about in this life,
Such peculiar facts crop up
In this deceitful world;
So many miracles of yesteryear,
Such novel teachings,
And such servings of garlic
Given the name of salads,
That I say nothing...
But really!
"And I sought to learn
Something of it, sorry me,
And no one was going to beat me
In net experience
For I have a wrinkled forehead
And white whiskers,
When some laddies today
From the time they suck,
I say nothing...
But really!"
Junior: "It no longer helps,
Frank, to dwell on
The thoughtful years
Or the bald experience,
Or to go about as reason bids
With an alert eye;
For where you least expect it
So large a hare pops up
That I say nothing...
But really!
"In a dark night they tell you
That said night is bright;
On a calm sea they tell you
That a gale is blowing,
And they baffle and cow you so
That although
You would like to say
What God commands,
I say nothing...
But really!
"If you are French, my elder,
Or hail from faraway Australia,
If you landed there from the sun
Or from the pale stars,
Perhaps they asked you
With solemn gravity,
And you, dumbfounded,
Tight-lipped, muttered:
I say nothing...
But really!
"Therefore, my dear old man,
If you don't try to study
The science of these times,
Which is as clear as water,
Although it also bears comparison
To a pigeon loft—
Science rests on this
And on having different faces—
I say nothing...
But really!
"Without understanding a jot
You'll see how well
The honourable and the dishonest,
The sluts and the devout make out;
You'll see how they mingle,
How they get along,
While you mumble
Open-mouthed,
I say nothing...
But really!
"You'll see cherry-coloured
One formerly emerald,
And they so blue
That blue blood flowed out
Issue red blood
According to the modern custom;
And this with such levity
And impudence such
That I say nothing...
But really!
"What mixtures you'll see,
What rich country dances,
What pipes with psaltery,
What fifes with harps,
What red shawls
With white mantilla veils,
Garble and garble
In confusion so varied,
That I say nothing...
But really!
"You'll presume that all this
Is just a carnival, that here
A frock-coat is unwarranted
And a jacket wanted,
That there they consume hares
Instead of pumpkins,
And flutes play
Where bells ought to peal...
However I say nothing...
But really!
"Learn, my dear old man,
The well-beloved science
That wisely informs
So lavish a mishmash
If you wish to comprehend
Such odd matters,
For amidst so many novelties
The stale parochial customs...
I say nothing...
But really!"
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