𝐶𝑜𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑖́𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑎,
𝑦 𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑎,
𝑣𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑎,
𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎.
𝐸𝑙 𝑒𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑎,
𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑑, 𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑎,
𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑢 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑒𝑓𝑖́𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑎 𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑎,
𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠, 𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎.
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒,
𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑗𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑢́𝑛 𝑛𝑜 𝘩𝑎 𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑑𝑜,
𝑢𝑛 𝑙𝑎𝑧𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒,
𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑦 𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑛̃𝑎𝑑𝑜.
𝐴𝑠𝑖́, 𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑎,
𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑧𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎,
𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎,
𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎.
⸻ 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡
𝑦 𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑎,
𝑣𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑎,
𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎.
𝐸𝑙 𝑒𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑎,
𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑑, 𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑎,
𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑢 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑒𝑓𝑖́𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑎 𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑎,
𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠, 𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎.
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒,
𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑗𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑢́𝑛 𝑛𝑜 𝘩𝑎 𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑑𝑜,
𝑢𝑛 𝑙𝑎𝑧𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒,
𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑦 𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑛̃𝑎𝑑𝑜.
𝐴𝑠𝑖́, 𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑎,
𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑧𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎,
𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎,
𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎.
⸻ 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡
𝐶𝑜𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑖́𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑎,
𝑦 𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑎,
𝑣𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑢𝑟𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑎,
𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎.
𝐸𝑙 𝑒𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑙 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑎,
𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑑, 𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑎 𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑎,
𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑢 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑒𝑓𝑖́𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑎 𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑎,
𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑜𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠, 𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑎.
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒,
𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑗𝑎 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑢́𝑛 𝑛𝑜 𝘩𝑎 𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑑𝑜,
𝑢𝑛 𝑙𝑎𝑧𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒,
𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑦 𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑛̃𝑎𝑑𝑜.
𝐴𝑠𝑖́, 𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑎,
𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑧𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑖𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎,
𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑑𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎,
𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑐𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎.
⸻ 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡
