Le Satyre et le Passant Bilingue Français/Anglais

Le Satyre et le Passant

Au fond d’un antre sauvage
Un satyre et ses enfants
Alloient manger leur potage,
Et prendre l’écuelle aux dents.

On les eût vus sur la mousse,
Lui, sa femme et maint petit:
Ils n’avoient tapis ni housse,
Mais tous fort bon appétit.

Pour se sauver de la pluie,
Entre un passant morfondu.
Au brouet on le convie:
Il n’étoit pas attendu.

Son hôte n’eut pas la peine
De le semondre deux fois.
D’abord avec son haleine
Il se réchauffe les doigts;

Puis sur le mets qu’on lui donne,
Délicat, il souffle aussi.
Le satyre s’en étonne:
Notre hôte, à quoi bon ceci?—

L’un refroidit mon potage,
L’autre réchauffe ma main.—
Vous pouvez, dit le sauvage,
Reprendre votre chemin.

Ne plaise aux dieux que je couche
Avec vous sous même toit!
Arrière ceux dont la bouche
Souffle le chaud et le froid!

The Satyr And The Traveller

Within a savage forest grot
A satyr and his chips
Were taking down their porridge hot;
Their cups were at their lips.

You might have seen in mossy den,
Himself, his wife, and brood;
They had not tailor-clothes, like men,
But appetites as good.

In came a traveller, benighted,
All hungry, cold, and wet,
Who heard himself to eat invited
With nothing like regret.

He did not give his host the pain
His asking to repeat;
But first he blew with might and main
To give his fingers heat.

Then in his steaming porridge dish
He delicately blew.
The wondering satyr said, ‘I wish
The use of both I knew.’

‘Why, first, my blowing warms my hand,
And then it cools my porridge.’
‘Ah!’ said his host, ‘then understand
I cannot give you storage.
‘To sleep beneath one roof with you,
I may not be so bold.
Far be from me that mouth untrue
Which blows both hot and cold.’