Dos lid funem loyfer

Zayt-zhe yidn sha un shtil!

Mir fangen on dem purim-shpil.

A purim-shpil in gramen,

Vos hot toyznt tamen.

Ver s'vet es leynen,

Vet vi a biber veynen.

Un ver s'vet es hern,

Vet lakhn mit trern.

Ot geyen zey ale shtile,

Di heldn fun der megile:

Akhashveyrosh der keynig,

Vos vifil er trinkt iz im veynik.

Ester hamalke, di grine,

Un vashti in der krinoline.

Mordkhe der khokhem atik

Un homen haroshe, der latik.

Zeyresh di makh'sheyfe,

Vos shelt vi a mageyfe.

Vayzusu der redakter,

Vos hakt a tshaynik hakt er.

Un tsvishn di ale groyse layt

Shteyt fastrigose bay der zayt.

Er vet aykh aleyn dertseyln,

Vos s'tut im nagn un kveyln.

Hakitser, di ale zakhn,

Oyf tsum veynen un tsum lakhn,

Un oyb ikh zog aykh a lign...

Hear now, Jews, be quiet and still!

We're starting up the Purim shpil.

A shpil in rhyme and graces,

Cast with a thousand faces.

Who reads it by eye

Will, like a beaver, cry.

And those who use their ears

Will laugh through their tears.

And here they all come still...eh:

The heroes of the megile:

Akhashveyrosh, the king,

Who can't get enough to drink:

Queenie Ester, the "virgin,"

And Vashti, dressed in crinoline;

Mordkhe, the ancient wise one,

And evil Haman, the despised one;

Zeyresh, in witch's attire,

Curses like a forest fire;

Vayzusu, the editor, who

Is boring to me and you;

And among all these folks of pride

Phastrigossa stands aside.

He himself will tell you all

Why his life's more bitter than gall.

In short, each and every thing

For to cry and for to sing -

And if you think it'll all be crap: