Original
Modern English
SONG.
SONG.
Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
Under the greenwood tree Who wants to lie down with me, And sing a happy tune With the sweet birds’ song, Come here, come here, come here: Here, you’ll find no enemy Except the winter and bad weather.
More, more, I prithee, more.
More, more, please, more.
It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
It’ll make you sad, Monsieur Jaques.
I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
I appreciate it. More, please, more. I can get sadness from a song, like a weasel gets eggs. More, please, more.
My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.
My voice is rough: I know I can’t make you happy.
I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you ’em stanzos?
I don’t want you to make me happy; I want you to sing. Come on, more; another verse: do you call them verses?
What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
Whatever you want, Monsieur Jaques.
Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?
I don’t care what they’re called; they don’t owe me anything. Will you sing?
More at your request than to please myself.
More because you asked than because I want to.
Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Well then, if I ever thank anyone, I’ll thank you; but what they call politeness is like the meeting of two dog-apes, and when someone thanks me sincerely, it feels like I gave him a penny and he gives me the poor thanks back. Come, sing; and you who won’t, stay quiet.
Well, I’ll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you.
Alright, I’ll finish the song. Gentlemen, cover for now; the duke will drink under this tree. He’s been looking for you all day.
And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my company: I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun
And I’ve been avoiding him all day. He’s too argumentative for my company: I think of just as many things as he does, but I thank heaven and don’t boast about them. Come, sing, come. SONG. Who avoids ambition
And loves to live i’ the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
And loves to live in the sun, Looking for the food he eats And happy with what he gets, Come here, come here, come here: Here he’ll see No enemy Except winter and bad weather.
I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of my invention.
I’ll give you a verse to this tune that I wrote yesterday, in spite of my own creativity.
And I’ll sing it.
And I’ll sing it.
Thus it goes:-- If it do come to pass That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to me.
Here it goes:-- If it happens that Any man turns into a fool, Leaving his wealth and comfort, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Here he’ll see Big fools like him, And if he comes to me.
What’s that ’ducdame’?
What’s "ducdame"?
’Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I’ll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born of Egypt.
It’s a Greek ritual, calling fools together into a circle. I’ll go to sleep, if I can; if I can’t, I’ll complain about all the first-born of Egypt.
And I’ll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.
And I’ll go find the duke: his banquet is ready.