>> This is one that is called Galatea before the mirror.
I've become accustomed these past days to lament my good fortune in front of the mirror,
everything I have, everything, you modeled me perfect Pygmalion.
You covered me with gold, with silks, with perfumes.
You taught me how to act at every moment, had to modulate my voice.
I feel you're satisfied with your creation and perhaps you even desire me.
I don't love you, Pygmalion.
You didn't arouse in me the spark of love.
My perfection isn't mine, you invented it.
I am only the mirror in which you preen yourself and for that very reason, I despise you.
Se me ha hecho costumbre de estos días lamentar mi fortuna ante el espejo.
Todo lo tengo, todo.
Me forjaste perfecta, Pigmalión.
Me cubriste de oro, de sedas, de perfumes.
me enseñaste cómo actuar en cada instante, cómo entonar la voz.
Te siento satisfecho de tu obra y hasta quizá me quieras.
No te amo, Pigmalión.
No despertaste en mi la chispa del amor.
Mi perfección no es mía, la inventaste.
Soy el espejo apenas en el que tú te pules y, por eso mismo, te desprecio.