Vino pellite Curas

Since she, whom I've served so long,
Won't reward me for my song,
Look you, I will flatter
One who takes my cares away,—
Autumn, who the dress of May
Off the boughs doth scatter!
Well I know, it is an ancient saying,—
Luckless loverlings the martyr's part are ever playing.
That same yoke with them I bore:
Aha!
Now I'll carouse and stay with them no more!

Autumn, o'er the sunny May
I will help you win the day,
If for friend you take me.
By your aid my cares have fled;
Now that Gebewein is dead,
Your retainer make me
In his place, though I am but a novice.
"Look you, Steinmar, when I see you're fitted for the office
And well can praise me, so I will!"
Aha!
I'll sing now till we all have drunk our fill.

Autumn, hark what life I lead!—
Host, come serve us fish! Make speed!
Ten kinds, aye, or twenty!
Geese, fowls, peacocks, game, and swine,
Sausages and foreign wine
Let us have in plenty!
Now pile the dishes up! Give us good measure!
I'll clear the plates and drink the cups out to the dregs with pleasure.
Host, give all your sorrows o'er!
Aha!
There's nought like wine to ease a heart that's sore.

Freely put in everything
Lots of spice and seasoning,
Such a heat begetting
That clouds of steam may rise aloft
Like smoke, with every cup that's quaffed,
And that we fall a-sweating
Until we fancy 'tis a bath we're taking.
Fill our mouths with fragrant scents, as of a druggist's making!
If the wine robs me of my speech,
Aha!
Host, pour it into me, I do beseech!

Host, through me a road doth run;
Prithee, set good store thereon,
Every sort of victual!
Wine enough to drive a wheel
That same road would gladly feel.
Troth, 'twould hurt me little
With such a throat a fair fat goose to swallow!
Dearest Autumn, in your train as servant let me follow!
My soul's perched on a rib of mine;
Aha!
She's hopped up there to 'scape the flood of wine!