"It is I, who deceives the breeze | with my pretty heartbeats... | O women! Sometimes, I lure her in | to your beautiful radiant eyes; || Sometimes, I catch her: and I bow, | making her my prisoner, | Why He Caresses Your Little Face | with a caress . || I bring you, to moved ears, | – of your hair trembling – | The sigh that makes them red | with sweet words of love. || It is I, who for you I am the one who sums it up: | And I help you to dissemble | or your sly smile, | or tears ready to flow. From Il fan"
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