Cursed be he above all others Who's enslaved by love of money. Money takes the place of brothers, Money takes the place of parents, Money brings us war and slaughter.
Ah, cruel 'tis to love, And cruel not to love, But cruelest of all To love and love in vain.
To-day belongs to me, To-morrow who can tell.
War spares not the brave, but the cowardly.
My Passion uncontrolled shall rove, Doubly debauched with Wine and Love.
I both love and do not love; and am mad and not mad.
How the waves of the sea kiss the shore!
Let others seek renown in arms; For me wine's wars have greater charms: Then fill the bowl, boy; fill it high: 'Tis better drunk, than dead to lie.
Today is ours; what do we fear? Today is ours: we have it here. Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish at least with us to stay.
For when we quaff the gen'rous bowl,
Then sleep the sorrows of our soul.
Let us drink the juice divine,
The gift of Bacchus, god of wine.
When I take wine, my cares go to rest.
The sea drinks the air and the sun the sea.
And last of all comes death.
Thus, while I quaff the genial wine, I live mid transports quite divine.
He who has a mind to fight, let him fight, for now is the time.
Life is like a chariot-wheel that ever rolls along.
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