'Twas the barber come to shave me, curl, shampoo, perfume, and lave me;
But an awful turn it gave me, when I saw he had a knife.
Thought I, "If it's not the barber, peor esta que estaba,
Some designs they sure must harbour 'gainst my sad unhappy life,"
Hombres de colossal talle metièron me en calle,
Saying to each other, "Shall he cheat the sun and stars and moon?
No! but at the rich and costly shrine of Huetzilopoztli
(That's the god they worship mostly) he shall be a victim soon."
Y llevaron me eutonces to the temple, for the dunces
Didn't know that more than once his life the stranger tried to beg.