I.
Wer reit't mit zwanzig Knappen ein
Zu Heidelberg im Hirschen?
Das ist der Herr von Rodenstein,
Auf Rheinwein will er pirschen.
Who is it rides with twenty spears,
Straight to the Stag Inn going?
Von Rodenstein and cavaliers,
To set the Rhine wine flowing.
Hurrah! the tap! Give wine to me,
The best of all your tillage!
A whole year long we'll merry, merry be,
Although it cost a village.
I've Pfaffenbeerfurt, o' my soul!
And Reichelsheim so loyal.
The trumps and psaltery played to wine,
Although no drums were beating;
For six months sat the Rodenstein,
To Rhine wine measures treating.
And when six months in frolic fled
He for the reckoning halloed,
And 'Now the fun is o'er,' he said,
'For Reichelsheim is swallowed!
Reichelsheim's gone!
Gone with a race!
Reichelsheim loyal, the schnaps-making place,
Old Reichelsheim is swallowed!
'Hollaheh! it's gone, at worst;
We've all our way of thinking;
They never say a word for thirst,
But always talk of drinking.
Reichelsheim's gone!
Gone with a race!
Reichelsheim loyal, the schnaps-stilling place,
Old Reichelsheim is swallowed.'
Hol-li-roh!
III.
Wer wankt zu Fusse ganz allein
Gen Heidelberg zum Hirschen?
Das ist der Herr von Rodenstein,
Vorbei ist's mit dem Pirschen.
Who trots afoot alone to dine,
Still to the Stag a rover?
That is the Herr von Rodenstein,
But all his drinking's over.
'Landlord, your smallest beer for me
And one poor herring salted;
I've drunk so much of your Malvasie,
That all my taste has halted.
'What once the greatest thirst was called
At length has vanished hollow;
The last place in the Odenwald
I find I cannot swallow.
'Now call me in a notary
To write my will with prudence:
Pfaffenbeerfurt to the University,
And my thirst unto the students.