Anzoleta when the regatta passes

They're coming, they're coming, look, look at them,

the poor things!, they row hard!

ah, the wind is against them,

but the tide is running their way.

My Momolo, where is he?

ah! I see him, he's the second,

Ah! I'm in a fidget! I get confused,

I feel my heart trembling.

Come on, row!, row!,

before you reach the pole,

if you keep on rowing, I'll lay a bet

you'll leave all the others behind.

Dear boy, he seems to be flying,

he's beating the others hollow,

he's gone half a length ahead,

ah, I understand: he looked at me.