Nous sommes de l'ordre de Saint Babouin (Loyset Compère)

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• (Posted 2006-09-04)  CPDL #12496:        (Finale 2002)  

Editor: Benoît Huwart (submitted 2006-09-04).   Score information: A4, 4 pages, 48 kB   Copyright: Public Domain

Edition notes:

General Information

Title: Nous sommes de l'ordre de Saint Babouin
Composer: Loyset Compère

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Chanson

Language: French
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1501 in Harmonice Musices Odhecaton, Volume 1, no. 39, p. 41
Description: 

Original text and translations

French text Nous sommes de l`ordre de Saint Babouyn L'ordre ne dit mye de lever matin Dormir jusqu`a prime et boire bon vin Et din din din . . . Et dire matines sur un pot de vin A nostre diner le beau chapon gras La soupe au jounet comme au mardi gras La pièce de boeuf et le gras mouton Et don don don . . . Et voila la vie que nous demandons A nostre gouter le bon vin clairet La belle salade au harenc soret Pastés de pigeons si-sont de saison Et don don don . . . A nostre souper les connys rotis Faisans et butor et aussi perdrix Poussins a l'eau rose et force chapons Et don don don . . . Et après souper le beau hypocras La tourte sucrée au fromage gras Les poires confites en plusieurs façons Et don don don . . . A notre coucher nous aurons blancs draps Et la belle fille entre nos deux bras Les tetins poignans, in motte du con Et don don don . . . Et quand ce vint l'eure qu'on sonne minuit Et fille s'eveille pour prendre déduit Le compagnon saute chassant a son con Et don don don . . . A notre lever les beaux instruments Trompettes et clairons, tambourins d'argent Enfants sans soucis jouant du bedon Et don don don...

English translation We are of the Order of Saint Baboon, The Order whose members sleep until noon, Where sleep is our right and good wine’s our boon. Et din din din . . . And with wine in hand our matins we croon, For our dinner a fat capon we eat, With egg soup from Mardi Gras as a treat, And good beef and fat mutton as our main. Et don don don . . . This you see is the lifestyle we maintain, Topped off with a fine claret to our taste, A savory salad with smoked herring laced, Pigeon patés – should the season ordain. Et don don don . . . To our soup we add a fine roasted hare, Pheasant and bittern and partridge our fare, Cock’rels and capons their juices retained. Et don don don . . . And after the soup Sauternes as a treat, A tart of rich cheese that’s sugary sweet, Pears that are candied however we deign. Et don don don . . . Our beds with finest white linen we sheet, And a pretty lassie for us to greet, Her attributes… well, let me not profane. Et don don don . . . And when the midnight hour rings in the square And the wench wakes, a little fun to share, Her bedmate pops up, his intentions plain. Et don don don . . . When we wake up sweet instruments array, Trumpets and clarions, drums silvered and gay, Children without cares all playing away. Et don don don . . Translation by Thomas Daughton