Epistel Nr. 30: Drick Ur Ditt Glas - Bethzaida

Drick ur ditt glas, se doden pa dig vantar,

Slipar sitt svard och vid din troskel star.

Bliv ej forskrackt, han blott pa gravdorn glantar,

Slar den igen, kanske an pa ett ar.

Movitz, din lungsot den drar dig i graven.

Knapp nu oktaven:

Stam dina strangar, sjung om livets var!

Himmel, du dor, din hosta mig forskracker;

Tomhet och klang, inalvorna ge ljud;

Tungan ar vit, det radda hjartat klacker,

Mjuk som en svamp ar sena, marg och hud.

Andas!

— Fy tusan, vad dunst ur din aska!

Lan mig din flaska!

Movitz, gutar!

Skal!

Sjung om vinets gud!

Na sa gutar!

Dig Bacchus avsked bjuder,

Fran Frojas tron du sista vinken far.

Omt till dess lov det lilla blodet sjuder,

Som nu med vald ur dina adror gar.

Sjung, las och glom, tank, begrat och begrunda!

Skull' du astunda

Annu en falsup?

Vill du do?

— Nej, gutar!

Drink from your glass, see death waiting for you,

Sharpen his sword and stand at your doorstep.

Do not be alarmed, he only shines on the grave door,

Beats it again, maybe in a year.

Movitz, your pneumonia it pulls you to the grave.

Button now octave:

Strain your strings, sing about where life is!

Heaven, you die, your cough scares me;

Emptiness and timbre, the intestines give sound;

The tongue is white, the lot of the heart is ringing,

Soft as a sponge is tendon, marrow and skin.

Breathe!

- Damn, what a fume from your ashes!

Lan me your bottle!

Movitz, guys!

Shell!

Sing about the god of wine!

Na sa gutar!

Bacchu's farewell invites you,

From Froja's belief you last wave father.

If to its praise the little blood boils,

As now with selected from your addresses go.

Sing, read and glom, tank, begrat and contemplate!

Should you please

Annu en falsup?

Do you want to go?

- No, guys!