FREDMAN’S SONGS
No. 21
Mealtime song
Then off we’ll lumber, every one,
leave Bacchus’ din and noisy shout,
when death calls to us: ‘Neighbour, come,
your
hour-glass has run out.’
You, old man, put your crutches down,
and you, sweet youth, my law obey:
the fairest nymph whose smile you own
link
arms with right away.
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
You at your dram and rummer glass,
with cheeks all flushed and hat awry,
ere long your hearse will slowly pass
and
swathed in black go by!
And you who big words ne’er did shun,
your coat by stars and orders hid,
the joiner’s got your coffin done,
is planing smooth its lid!
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
But you who sit lips tightly pressed,
whom bolts, bars, iron and locks protect,
arms folded on your money chest
shut
in and circumspect;
and you who, jealous, smash again
all bottles, goblets, mirrors too,
now say goodnight, your wine-glass drain
your
rival greet anew;
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
And you with titles’ fine array
who gild your beggar’s staff each year,
who though of rank can hardly pay
the
cost of your own bier;
and you who angry, idle, base
would curse your infancy’s own hearth,
will e’er display your drunken face
down
to the cup’s last half;
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
You who to war have strode ahead
in bloodstained shirt at bugle’s call;
and you who romp in curtained bed,
in
Cloris’ fair arms sprawl;
and you who with your golden book
at temple’s echo stand and pause,
who shake your head with learnèd look,
and
wage disastrous wars;
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
And you who with such honest eyes
your friends blaspheme with undue zest
and at your wine them stigmatise
and
do so as in jest;
and you who fail them to defend.
though never fail them to allow
to give you drinks you then up-end,
what
is your answer now?
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
But you who till your dying day,
your host’s glass have not thought to chink
since to his table you did stray,
although
he calls out: Drink!
Force such a guest from food and wine,
Away with him and all his mob,
and wrench then with a look malign
the wine glass from his gob.
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
Say, neighbour, say, are you content?
Then praise your host when he appears.
And should we both be homeward bent,
let’s
walk together: Cheers!
But first with wine, both red and white,
let’s bow deep to our hostess fair,
and slip into the grave aright
in
evening star’s bright flare.
Is the grave too deep, both fore and aft?
Time to take yourself another draught,
once with one you’ve begun, make it two, make it three,
and
die contentedly!
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