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.
'It moves even me, though old and gray,
To see the cups they're swinging,
And if they drink like me, some day
They'll all in it be singing:
"Pfaffenbeerfurt is gone!
Pfaffenbeerfurt is done!
Pfaffenbeerfurt the dung-sparrow hole, as 'tis called,
Pfaffenbeerfurt the gem of the Odenwald,
Pfaffenbeerfurt is finished and 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.
Pfaffenbeerfurt is gone!
Pfaffenbeerfurt is done!
Pfaffenbeerfurt the dung-sparrow hole, as 'tis called,
Pfaffenbeerfurt is finished and swallowed."'
Hol-li-roh!