Non più andrai, farfallone amoroso,
Notte e giorno d’intorno girando,
Delle belle turbando il riposo,
Narcisetto, Adoncino d’amor.
Non piu avrai questi bei penacchini,
Quel cappello leggiero e galante,
Quella chioma, quell’aria brillante,
Quel vermiglio donnesco color!
Fra guerrieri, poffar Bacco!
Gran mustacchi, stretto sacco,
Schioppo in spalla, sciabla al fianco,
Collo dritto, muso franco,
Un gran casco, o un gran turbante,
Molto onor, poco contante.
Ed in vece del fandango
Una marcia per il fango.
Per montagne, per valloni,
Con le nevi, e i solioni,
Al concerto di tromboni,
Di bombarde, di cannoni,
Che le palle in tutti i tuoni,
All’orecchio fan fischiar.
Cherubino, alla vittoria!
Alla gloria militar!

You won’t go any more, amorous butterfly,
Fluttering around inside night and day,
Disturbing the sleep of beauties,
A little Narcissus and Adonis of love.
You won’t have those fine feathers any more,
That light and jaunty hat,
That hair, that shining aspect,
That womanish red color [in your face]!
Among soldiers, by Bacchus!
A huge moustache, a little knapsack,
Gun on your back, sword at your side,
Your neck straight, your nose exposed,
A big helmet, or a big turban,
A lot of honour, very little pay.
And in place of the dance
A march through the mud.
Over mountains, through valleys,
With snow, and heat-stroke,
To the music of trumpets,
Of bombards, and of cannons,
Which, at every boom,
Will make bullets whistle past your ear.
Cherubino, go to victory!
To military glory!