Ma maîtresse est volage,
Mon rival est heureux;
S'il a son pucelage,
C'est qu'elle en avait deux.
Et vogue la galère,
Tant qu'elle pourra voguer.
Les rois d'Egypte et de Syrie,
Voulaient qu'on embaumât leur corps,
Pour durer plus longtemps morts.
Quelle folie!
Buvons donc selon notre envie,
Il faut boire et reboire encore.
Buvons donc toute notre vie,
Embaumons-nous avant la mort.
Embaumons-nous;
Que ce baume est doux.
Vous êtes belle comme un ange,
Douce comme un petit mouton;
Il n'est point de cœur, Jeanneton,
Qui sous votre loi ne se range.
Mais une fille sans têtons
Est une perdrix sans orange.
Je jure, tant que je vivrai,
De vous aimer, Sylvie.
Parques, qui dans vos mains tenez
Le fil de notre vie,
Allonger, tant que vous pourrez,
Le mien, je vous en prie.
Je suis tant que dure le jour
Et grave et badin tour à tour.
Quand je vois un flacon sans vin,
Je suis grave, je suis grave,
Est-il tout plein, je suis badin.
Je suis tant que dure le jour
Et grave et badin tour à tour.
Quand ma femme me tient au lit,
Je suis sage, je suis sage,
Quand ma femme me tient au lit,
Je suis sage toute la nuit.
Si catin au lit me tient
Alors je suis badin
Ah! belle hôtesse, versez-moi du vin
Je suis badin, badin, badin.
Au dieu d'Amour une pucelle
Offrit un jour une chandelle,
Pour en obtenir un amant.
Le dieu sourit de sa demande
Et lui dit: Belle en attendant
Servez-vous toujours de l'offrande.
Il faut s'aimer toujours
Et ne s'épouser guère.
Il faut faire l'amour
Sans curé ni notaire.
Cessez, messieurs, d'être épouseurs,
Ne visez qu'aux tirelires,
Ne visez qu'aux tourelours,
Cessez, messieurs, d'être épouseurs,
Ne visez qu'aux cœurs.
Cessez, messieurs, d'être épouseurs,
Holà, messieurs, ne visez plus qu'aux cœurs.
Pourquoi se marier,
Quand les femmes des autres
Ne se font pas prier
Pour devenir les nôtres.
Quand leurs ardeurs,
Quand leurs faveurs,
Cherchent nos tirelires,
Cherchent nos tourelours,
Cherchent nos cœurs.
Avec une si belle main,
Que servent tant de charmes,
Que vous devez du dieu malin,
Bien manier les armes.
Et quand cet Enfant est chagrin
Bien essuyer ses larmes.
1The Parcæ or the three Fates, who held the thread of life, drawing, spinning and cutting it with complete disregard to the wishes of anyone.
My mistress is flighty
my rival is happy;
if he has her virginity,
that's because she had two.
And let the galley sail on,
as long as she can sail.
The kings of Egypt and of Syria
wished that their bodies be embalmed
so as to last longer dead.
What folly!
Let's then drink as much as we desire,
one must drink and drink yet more.
Let's then drink our whole life long,
let's embalm ourselves before death.
Let's embalm ourselves;
how sweet this balm is.
You are beautiful as an angel,
gentle as a little sheep;
there is no heart, Jeanneton,
which does not come under your law.
But a girl without tits
is like a partridge without orange.
I swear, whilst I live,
to love you, Sylvie.
Parcæ, who in your hands hold
the thread of our life,
lengthen mine, as long as you can,
I beg you.
I am, for as long as the day lasts,
both serious and merry in turn.
When I see a flask without wine,
I am serious, I am serious,
if it is completely full, I am merry.
I am, for as long as the day lasts,
both serious and merry in turn.
When my wife holds me in bed
I am good, I am good,
when my wife holds me in bed
I am good all through the night.
If whore holds me in bed
then I am merry.
Ah! Beautiful hostess, pour me out some wine
I am merry, merry, merry.
To the god of Love a virgin
offered one day a candle,
with which to obtain a lover.
The god smiled at her request
and told her: Pretty one, whilst waiting
you could always use the offering.
One must always love each other
and hardly ever marry.
One must make love
without parson or notary.
Cease, Sirs, being marrying men,
aim only at the money boxes,
aim only at the tourelours,
Cease, Sirs, being marrying men,
aim only at the hearts.
Cease, Sirs, being marrying men,
ho there, Sirs, henceforth aim only at the hearts.
Why get married,
when the wives of the others
do not wait to be asked
to become our own.
When their ardours,
when their favours,
seek our money-boxes,
seek our tourelours,
seek our hearts.
With such a beautiful hand
served by so many charms,
how well you must handle the weapons
of the mischievous god.
And when this Child is troubled
how well you must wipe away his tears.
© translated by Christopher Goldsack
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