I woke early on the Sunday. I got myself up looking fine, and hit the Great Church with vim and vigour. I went to hear Mass, though I suspect that I was more keen to be seen; I traversed the whole place three or four times and visited the chapels where more people were gathered until I came to idle among the choirs where there were many ladies and gallants. But I saw myself as the king of the cockerels, the one who’d won the prize, and like the lusty shepherd I showed off all my outfit, wanting them to see me and to remark on everything right up to the Tudescan fastenings. I stretched out my neck and began to inflate my belly and stiffen my legs: I was so vain about my looks and wiggling movements that everyone had to note me, laughing at my infamy. But however much they looked at me I didn’t look into the matter nor did I examine my faults which were the cause of their laughs. Before now it seemed to me that they were admiring my curiosity and gallantry.

Ameneció el domingo. Púseme de ostentación, y di de golpe con mi lozanía en la Iglesia Mayor, para oír misa, aunque sospecho que más me llevó la gana de ser mirado; paséela toda tres o cuatro veces, visité las capillas donde acudía más gente, hasta que vine a parar entre los dos coros, donde estaban muchas damas y galanes.