Drinking Song

Out with it! the knave is a miscreant, and more,
Who behind your back says what he wont say before;
To the yells of foul slander as little I list,
As I list to the howl of a dog in the mist.
Let his tongue in his mouth-roof to rottenness turn;
My God shall assist me his slanders to spurn.

Let the world go to wreck, if the vine-trees be spared,
And their rich ruby drops without culture be reared;
Our minds to enlighten, Our spirits to brighten,
Hurra! and hurra! and hurra! to the pledge;
Dive down to the crystalline deeps from the edge.

I know of a city, and Buda its name;
Near Buda flows onwards the Duna of fame;
In Duna's a fish—'tis the Hartsa—o'er all
May the blessing of God's own benignity fall;
And joy with the honest and excellent be,
While the worthless are given to infamy.
Yes! let bliss be with all from God's bounty divine,
And the clouds drop down rain, and the cellar give wine;
And our garments be free from the taint of a spot;
Our Magyars rule Oláh, and Német, and Tót.

God give us all blessing,
Wine, roast, salt possessing;
Give oats to the Pole,
To our foes the grave's hole,
To Magyar community,
Health, peace, and unity,
Wine and roasted meat beside,
But first a good and lovely bride.