Song Of The Roisterer

Every tomcat has his she-cat,
Every gander has his she-goose,
Every gentleman his lady,
Every hired hand his she-maid.
I, a man, an oak, a model,
I must have my brandy bottle.

She-cats always beat their tomcats,
She-geese pluck the ganders' feathers,
She-girls make a butt of fellows,
Ladies ridicule their lordships.
Me – I'm lucky. Always handy,
Always true - a friend, my brandy.

In my pocket will I lug it –
How I'll fondle it and hug it!
Out the stopper – and I savor
Brandy of the finest flavor.
Then this breast glows all the lighter,
All my wits spark up the brighter.

Oh were Nemunas, our river,
Wise as it is venerable,
And today, with pity for us,
Spilled out every drop of water –
Filled up to the brim with brandy,
Flowing, glowing just with brandy!

Then, o joyous days, the hubbub!
Then what luck, the cheers, the glut-up:
Far-off folk and beasts, all yearning,
Fish and birds in haste, all journeying
To the Nemunas to tipple
Brandy gurgling in each ripple!

Beasts would drink and roar and bellow,
Hoot and dance – each maid and fellow!
Fish leap high so they could dive in:
What a drink to be alive in!
Joyous, all would hop, a-swigging;
Earth itself would joggle, jigging.

Translated by Demie Jonaitis
(Contributed by daniel on Wednesday, April 6th, 2011)
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