قَد أَسحَبُ الزِقُّ يَأباني وَأُكرِهُهُ

قَد أَسحَبُ الزِقُّ يَأباني وَأُكرِهُهُ

حَتّى لَهُ في أَديمِ الأَرضِ أُخدودُ

حَتّى لَهُ في أَديمِ الأَرضِ أُخدودُ

Sometimes I drag the wineskin, though it resists me, and force it along,

The bends have begun to pull me, though I abhor them,

I drag the wineskin—though it resists, I force it on, / Until deep in the earth's skin a furrow is engraved.

Until it leaves a furrow in the skin of the earth.

Until they leave furrows in the skin of the earth.

Indeed, delights are of all kinds, raised and sustained / By flutes to which the warbling lute is tightly bound.

إِنَّ المَلاهِيَ أَصنافٌ يُشَيِّدُها

إِنَّ المَلاهِيَ أَصنافٌ يُشَيِّدُها

نايٌ بِهِ المِزهَرُ الغِرّيدُ مَعقودُ

نايٌ بِهِ المِزهَرُ الغِرّيدُ مَعقودُ

Indeed, diversions are of many kinds, heightened by

Pastimes are of many sorts which they construct;

I do not journey with the draught unless it has / A driver urging on the caravan with borrowed verse.

A reed flute to which the sweet-singing lute is joined.

A reed-pipe with it, the warbler twitters, knotted.

I strike no blows against the merchant for his wine, / For in my view, no thing existing is too dear a price.

لا أَرحَلُ الراحَ إِلّا أَن يَكونَ لَها

لا أَرحَلُ الراحَ إِلّا أَن يَكونَ لَها

حادٍ بِمُنتَحَلِ الأَشعارِ غِرّيدُ

حادٍ بِمُنتَحَلِ الأَشعارِ غِرّيدُ

I do not saddle the wine unless it has

I move not a limb except for a wind whose nature

Awake the oud to speech, for long has been its hush; / True pleasure speaks not till the oud begins to speak.

A sweet-singing camel-driver with borrowed verses.

Is a gift for stealing songs - a twittern warbler.

Its worth among the people of refinement stands / Like the Barmakids' own worth, by generosity exalted.

وَلا أُلاطِمُ دونَ الخَمرِ تاجِرَها

وَلا أُلاطِمُ دونَ الخَمرِ تاجِرَها

لِأَنَّ ظَنِّيَ أَن لَم يَغلُ مَوجودُ

لِأَنَّ ظَنِّيَ أَن لَم يَغلُ مَوجودُ

Nor do I trade slaps with its merchant over the wine,

Nor do I reproach, without wine, its purveyor,

For I believe that nothing obtainable is too dear.

Since I assume no honey has ever gone sour.

فَاِستَنطِقِ العودَ قَد طالَ السُكوتُ بِهِ

فَاِستَنطِقِ العودَ قَد طالَ السُكوتُ بِهِ

لا يَنطِقُ اللَهوُ حَتّى يَنطِقَ العودُ

لا يَنطِقُ اللَهوُ حَتّى يَنطِقَ العودُ

So make the lute speak; its silence has grown long.

Coax the lute - it's been silent too long -

Merriment does not speak until the lute speaks.

Revelry speaks not 'til the lute has spoken.

وَفَضلُهُ عِندَ أَهلِ الظُرفِ كُلِّهُمُ

وَفَضلُهُ عِندَ أَهلِ الظُرفِ كُلِّهُمُ

فَضلُ البَرامِكِ أَن عَلّاهُمُ الجودُ

فَضلُ البَرامِكِ أَن عَلّاهُمُ الجودُ

And its preeminence, in the eyes of all people of refinement,

Its virtue, in the eyes of every genteel man, is

Is that of the Barmakids, since generosity exalted them.

The virtue of heavy rain: it makes generosity gush.