Saltarello

Come, Romany children,

all singing your gay refrains,

leave the plain and the mountain

to dance to the tambourines.

Holy Rome gives you these pleasures

and the Madonna, high in her oak tree,

forgives you for them,

veiling her face when she has to.

The masked carnival,

sequined bodices,

bells, fantastic cry,

throws the police off the scent.

Let us stamp our feet

and clap our hands!

Night comes, and then the dawn.

There is nothing to do but keep dancing!

More than one kiss escapes and flies off.

Do we complain? The wild dance

makes mothers speechless.

So much the better for love.

The good parish priest, who leaves everything to follow us,

but who knows how to live,

doesn't see anything with his book

that he is not supposed to see.

But what! Tomorrow the Camaldolese

will leave their cells;

and Lent, fasting and bulls

will rain onto the earth.