Cast away care; he that loves sorrow
Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow ;
Money is trash, and he that will spend it,
Let him drink merrily, fortune will send it.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, oh, ho !
Play it off stiffly, we may not part so.
Wine is a charm, it heats the blood too,
Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good too ;
Quickens the wit, and makes the back able,
Scorns to submit to the watch or constable.
Pots fly about, give us more liquor,
Brothers of a rout, our brains will flow quicker ;
Empty the cask, score up, we care not ;
Fill all the pots again, drink on, and spare not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem