PITA, my paragon, bright star of Arragon;
Listen, dear, listen; your Cristobal sings.
From my cot that lies buried a short way
from Lerida
Love and a diligence lent me their wings.
Swift as a falcon I flew to thy balcony.
(Is it bronchitis? I can't sing a bar.)
Greet not with merriment Love's first experi-