LOPE DE VEGA, Felix
Dorotea
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de mis soledades vengo, porque para andar conmigo me bastan mis pensamientos. No sé qué tiene el aldea donde vivo y donde muero, que con venir de mí mismo no puedo venir más lejos. Ni estoy bien ni mal conmigo, mas dice mi entendimiento que un hombre que todo es alma está cautivo en su cuerpo. Entiendo lo que me basta y solamente no entiendo cómo se sufre a sí mismo un ignorante soberbio. De cuantas cosas me cansan fácilmente me defiendo, pero no puedo guardarme de los peligros de un necio. Él dirá que yo lo soy, pero con falso argumento, que humildad y necedad no caben en un sujeto. La diferencia conozco porque en él y en mí contemplo su locura en su arrogancia, mi humildad en mi desprecio. O sabe naturaleza más que supo en este tiempo, o tantos que naces sabios es porque lo dicen ellos. "Sólo sé que no sé nada", dijo un filósofo haciendo la cuenta con su humildad, adonde lo más es menos. No me precio de entendido, de desdichado me precio, que los que no son dichosos ¿cómo pueden ser discretos? No puede durar el mundo, porque dicen, y lo creo, que suena a vidrio quebrado y que ha de romperse presto. Señales son del juicio ver que todos le perdemos, unos por carta de más, otros por carta de menos. Dijeron que antiguamente se fue la verdad al cielo; tal la pusieron los hombres que desde entonces no ha vuelto.. En dos edades vivimos los propios y los ajenos; la de plata los extraños y la de cobre los nuestros. ¿A quién no dará cuidado, si es español verdadero, ver los hombres a lo antiguo y el valor a lo moderno? Todos andan bien vestidos, y quéjanse de los precios, de medio arriba, romanos; de medio abajo, romeros. Dijo Dios que comería su pan el hombre primero con el sudor de su cara por quebrar su mandamiento. Y algunos, inobedientes a la vergüenza y al miedo, con las prendas de su honor han trocado los efetos. Virtud y filosofía peregrinan como ciegos; el uno se lleva al otro, llorando van y pidiendo. Dos polos tiene la tierra, universal movimiento; la mejor vida, el favor; la mejor sangre, el dinero. Oigo tañer las campanas y no me espanto, aunque puedo, que en lugar de tantas cruces haya tantos hombres muertos. Mirando estoy los sepulcros, cuyos mármoles eternos están diciendo sin lengua que no lo fueron sus dueños. ¡Oh bien haya quien los hizo, porque solamente en ellos de los poderosos grandes se vengaron los pequeños! Fea pintan la envidia, yo confieso que la tengo, de unos hombres que no saben quién vive pared en medio.
sin tratos, cuentas ni cuentos, cuando quieren escribir piden prestado el tintero. Sin ser pobres ni ser ricos tienen chimenea y huerto; no los despiertan cuidados, ni pretensiones, ni pleitos; ni murmuraron del grande, ni ofendieron al pequeño; nunca, como yo, firmaron parabién ni pascua dieron. Con esta envidia que digo y lo que paso en silencio, a mis soledades voy, de mis soledades vengo.
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my solitudes. And walking off by myself My thoughts are enough for me. I don’t know what the village has where I live and where I die But I can’t go any further Than from myself. As for me, I am neither good or bad But something tells me That he who is all soul Is still trapped in his body. I understand what is enough for me But what I don’t understand Is how an ignorant prideful man Can stand himself. Of all the things that tire me I can easily defend myself Yet I can’t guard myself From the dangers of the fool. He will say that I am one too But with false arguments For humility and foolishness Cannot fit together in one man. I know the difference For in him I see His madness and arrogance My humility in my self-hatred Nature knows more than Is found out in this time For many who are born wise It’s only because they say it’s so. “I only know that I no nothing” a philosopher said, making known his humility where more is less. I do not esteem myself as wise But as unfortunate For those who are not fortunate How can they be discrete? The world cannot last long For as they say and I believe it to be so- it is like a cracked glass That will soon shatter. These are signs of judgment- Seeing that we are all losing this game Some for too many cards And others for not having enough. They say that long ago the Truth left for the heavens Thus had man placed her in his esteem And she has not returned since. We live in two ages Our own and someone else’s Silver is ours And copper that of our neighbor. Who would not be worried If he be a good Spaniard- Seeing men in olden times And valor in a modern state? Everyone goes around well dressed And complains about prices- Romans from the waist up And Pilgrims from the waist down. God said that man would first eat his bread By the sweat of his brow For breaking His commandment. And some inobedient Out of shame and fear Have switched the effects for the articles of their honor. Virtue and philosophy wander like blind men One after the other They go along crying and begging. The world has two poles, One single movement, Favor for the best life And money for the best blood. I hear the bells ring And it doesn’t surprise me though it could That in place of so many crosses There be so many dead men. I am peering at the graves Whose marble works though eternal Are saying without tongues That their owners were indeed not. Blessed be he who made them! For only through them Did the lowly have vengeance On the great and the powerful. They paint Envy as ugly I confess that I feel it For some people who don’t know Anyone who lives amongst walls.
Treaties, accounts, or stories When they wish to write They borrow an inkwell. Without being rich or poor They have a chimney and garden Worries don’t wake them Or wranglings and pretensions. Nor do they murmur against the great Or offend the lowly Nor do they ever – unlike me- Sign a promissory note or holiday cards. So with this envy of which I speak And what I pass over in silence I go to and from my solitudes
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Fuenteovejuna
PASCUALA:
You’re right, Laurencia! It’s no joke!
Once men are sated, they grow rude
And show us more ingratitude
Than sparrows do to villagefolk.
In winter, when the weather keeps
Our snowy fields devoid of crops,
These birds swoop down from off the tops
Of houses, all sweet coos and cheeps,
But indoors, head straight for the room
Where they can feed upon our crumbs.
Then, once the warm spring weather comes
And sparrows see the fields in bloom,
We hear the last of all their coos.
Interrogating us for proof
That we’re true Spaniards, from each roof
They chirp accusingly: ‘‘Jews? Jews?’’
Yes, men are like that, too. As long
As they desire us, we’re their soul,
Their heart, their everything, their whole
Life’s being, and can do no wrong,
But once the fire of passion’s spent,
They start to treat us worse than Jews
And what were once seductive coo
Now chastise us for our consent
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The Cretan Labyrinth
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Fedra:
Well, my sweet, they will say that the remora Fedra stopped you from going to this challenge, because I have embraced you like ivy, like an elm is without arms when they are tied in affectionate knots. Hercules occupies the dais of Iole, that beautiful queen, where they say he is spinning like a timid maid. If they know love, they will see that this is love, not cowardice. Jason left to go to war more than once; and in the same way angry Mars loved, and dropped down to the ground; he put his diamond weapons aside, and the boy Love, naked, played with his helmet and shield. Taken in a steel net, Vulcan showed the conclave of the Gods his fierce appearance, and they mocked his strong hand, although well the most honest would also have been caught in such nets. You have made exploits that can excuse any cowardly suspicions regarding this journey; knowing who you are, hang the sword, for a lion never showed his fangs to tender lambs.
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