1. At eve my friend was scorned among the tipplers,
Yet none is scorned within that jovial train.

2. He seemed illumined by his flashing goblet,
Brought often to him brimmed with limpid wine.

3. If it is given him while the wine enchants him,
He lacks all sense, neither resigned nor calm.

4. How many a lord has fortune's change reduced
From highland chief to vagabond and beggar!

5. Fortune has made the bitter taste of life
Seem sweet to them; reminder of the grave

6. They shunned. A fleeting pleasure was their quest.
Reckless if flames of hell should be their share.

7. Wine would suffice them — but for craving more —
He who must crave shall find but misery.