Song to the Men of England
New Model ArmyOriginale | Traduzione francese da Yidlid - Chansons yiddish. |
SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed and clothe and save, From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat - nay, drink your blood? [Wherefore, Bees of England, forge Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, That these stingless drones may spoil The forced produce of your toil?] Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, Shelter, food, love's gentle balm? Or what is it ye buy so dear With your pain and with your fear? The seed ye sow another reaps; The wealth ye find another keeps; The robes ye weave another wears; The arms ye forge another bears. Sow seed - but let not tyrant reap Find wealth - let no impostor heap Weave robes - let not the idle wear Forge arms, in your defence to bear. [Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; In halls ye deck another dwells. Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see The steel ye tempered glance on ye.] With plough and spade and hoe and loom Trace your grave and build your tomb And weave your winding-sheet, till fair England be your sepulchre! | ET TU LABOURES Et tu laboures, et tu sèmes Et tu nourris et tu couds Et tu forges et tu files Dis-moi, mon peuple, ce que tu gagnes? Cling-clang, cling-clang! Faites sonner le marteau! Cling-clang, cling-clang! Rompez les chaînes de l'esclavage! Tisse sur ton métier jour et nuit Extrais-nous du fer de la mine Ramène-nous la corne d'abondance Pleine de grain et de vin. Cling-clang, cling-clang... Mais où est ta table mise? Mais où est ton habit de fête? Mais où est ton épée aiguisée? Quelle joie t'est destinée à toi? Cling-clang, cling-clang... Crée-nous des trésors sans limite Tout - mais pas pour toi; Et pour toi dans la misère, Tu fabriques seulement une chaîne solide Cling-clang, cling-clang... Homme, éveille-toi de ton travail, Et réalise ton grand pouvoir Si ton bras fort le veut Tous les rouages s'immobilisent. Cling-clang, cling-clang... |