English translations of 2 heitere Männerchöre, opus 9

Innkeeper, do you not have a full barrel?
That barrel we shall tap today,
Here under the trees upon the green grass
There shall be a merry carousing.
The best drink known to man
Is called the good wine,
  Thus here, thus there
Thus there, thus everywhere.
 
Where did I acquire this thirst?
It sticks in my throat,
And if drinking were a sin,
By my poor soul!
Upon earth I should nonetheless never leave off drinking
And would drink even in hell still,
  Thus here, thus there
Thus there, thus everywhere.
 
Come, little priest, come, you rider,
You huntsman and you ferryman,
You weary travellers, stop!
A spring runs down from the mountain here;
Sit down upon the green plain,
Drown the worm living in your hollow tooth,1
  Thus here, thus there
Thus there, thus everywhere.
 
Do not walk past, maiden,
You are what is still missing in our midst,
A greeting from [your] red lips
Falls into the heart like sunshine;
Come, for every kiss, given shyly and quietly,
I shall recompense you with [more] kisses,
  Thus here, thus there
Thus there, thus everywhere.
 
Ho! musician, musician, come quickly!
Whence, whither the paths?
Here one can live merrily, well and freely,
Look upon the grace of God!
Make room, comrades, see! [the musician] is waving,
He comes, now laugh and sing and drink,
  Thus here, thus there
Thus there, thus everywhere.

I truly cannot help it
That my nose sits crookedly in my face,
And that it is easier to walk to the door of the tavern
Than to walk behind a plow in the field,
And that the miller's child is more pleasing to me
Than our fat pastor -
But I preach to the winds;
For this bad old world never understands me.
 
The miller, now there's a wrathful old crony for you!
He says that I am a good-for-naught,
And the folk in the town believe him,
And even his rosy little daughter says it.
And when she sees me standing at the millstream,
She wrinkles up her nose and makes a face,
And yet knows how to turn so gracefully the while
That my heart breaks for anger and love.
 
Now I tell my troubles to the trees out there,
But they remain so mute, but they remain so unyielding;
The cuckoo and the bullfinch whistle and boo,
And the beetles hum: you fool! you fool!
And if that does not change soon, and I mean soon,
Then I shall never be able to stand it in the village;
Then through the great forest I shall depart
And go playing my fiddle from house to house.