In Taberna - A medieval drinking song
When we are in the tavern,
we do not think about mortality,
but get right down to gambling,
which always raises a sweat.
What goes on in the tavern,
where a penny gets you a drink,
if that is what you want to know,
then listen to what I tell you.
Some gamble, some drink,
some behave indiscretely.
But of those who habitually gamble,
some lose their clothes,
some others win clothes to put on,
and some wear sacks.
There nobody fears death,
but they throw the dice for Bacchus.
First the libertines toast
the wine they drink;
then they drink to prisoners and captives,
third they drink to the living,
fourth to Christendom,
fifth to the faithful departed,
sixth to their painted sisters,
seventh to the forest soldiers.
An eighth time they drink to wayward brothers,
ninth to monks all over the world,
tenth to those at sea,
eleventh to those who are at odds,
twelfth for the penitent,
thirteenth for those who undertake journeys.
To the king, and to the pope as well,
they all drink without limit.
The mistress drinks, the master drinks,
the soldier and the cleric drink,
he drinks, she drinks,
the servant and the handmaiden drink,
the white man and the black man drink,
the steady and the capricious drink,
the illiterate and the professor drink.
The pauper and the sick man drink,
the exile and the stranger drink,
the boy drinks, the old man drinks,
the bishop and the deacon drink,
the sister and the brother drink,
the old .... and the mother drink,
this one drinks and that one drinks,
a hundred drink, a thousand drink.
For about six hundred turns
they continue drinking
immoderately and without measure.
Even though they drink innocently,
most people disapprove, and
therefore we will always be outcasts.
May those who dissaprove be damned,
and never be inscribed with the good people.