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Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, ou Mort et convoi de l'invincible Malbrough

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Marlbrook the Prince of Commanders, la versione inglese/americana...
LE CONVOI DU DUC DE GUISE

Qui veut ouïr chanson ?
Qui veut ouïr chanson ?
C'est le grand Duc de Guise
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Qu'est mort et enterré.

Qu'est mort et enterré
Qu'est mort et enterré
Aux quatre coins du poële
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Quat' gentilshomm's y'avait!

Quat' gentilshomm's y'avait!
Quat' gentilshomm's y'avait!
Dont l'un portait son casque
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Et l'autre ses pistolets.

Et l'autre ses pistolets
Et l'autre ses pistolets
Et l'autre son épée
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Qu'a tant d'Huguenots tués!

Qu'a tant d'Huguenots tués!
Qu'a tant d'Huguenots tués!
Venait le quatrième
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Qu'était le plus dolent!

Qu'était le plus dolent
Qu'était le plus dolent
Après venaient les pages
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Et les valets de pied!

Et les valets de pied
Et les valets de pied
Avecque de grands crêpes
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Et des souliers cirés.

Et des souliers cirés
Et des souliers cirés
Et des beaux bas d'étames
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Et des culotes de piau.

Et des culottes de piau
Et des culottes de piau
La cérémonie faite
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Chacun s'alla coucher.

Chacun s'alla coucher
Chacun s'alla coucher
Les uns ave leurs femmes
Et bon bon bon bon
Di dan di dan bon
Et les autres... tout seuls
MARLBROOK THE PRINCE OF COMMANDERS

Marlbrook the Prince of Commanders
Is gone to war in Flanders,
His fame is like Alexander's,
But when will he ever come home?
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

Perhaps at Trinity Feast, or
Perhaps he may come at Easter,
Egad! he had better make haste or
We fear he may never come home.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

For Trinity Feast is over,
And has brought no news from Dover,
And Easter is pass'd moreover,
And Malbrook still delays.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

Milady in her watch-tower
Spends many a pensive hour,
Not knowing why or how her
Dear lord from England stays.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

While sitting quite forlorn in
That tower, she spies returning
A page clad in deep mourning,
With fainting steps and slow.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"O page, prithee come faster!
What news do you bring of your master?
I fear there is some disaster,
Your looks are so full of woe."
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"The news I bring fair lady,"
With sorrowful accent said he,
"Is one you are not ready
So soon, alas! to hear.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"But since to speak I'm hurried,"
Added this page, quite flurried,
"Malbrook is dead and buried!"
And here he shed a tear.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"He's dead! He's dead as a herring!
For I beheld his berring,
And four officers transferring
His corpse away from the field.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"One officer carried his sabre,
And he carried it not without labour,
Much envying his next neighbour,
Who only bore a shield.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"The third was helmet bearer -
That helmet which in its wearer
Fill'd all who saw it with terror,
And cover'd a hero's brains.
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

"Now, having got so far, I
Find that – by the Lord Harry!-
The fourth is left nothing to carry.-
So there the thing remains."
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.


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