The worst that I know of life
Is that it must end sometime,
Otherwise I, as a thousand-year-old man,
Would still like to twist and turn my little jug.
And if the sober cock crows in the morning,
He would not move me from my stool,
I would beat upon the wobbly tavern table
And thrum and drum and sing:
     Gling glang gloria!
     Potori est victoria! [The goblets have the victory!]
May one pass it to another,
So that it goes from one to the other.

And if people with master’s and doctorates came in,
I would not bow before anyone,
I would stick my tongue out at the devil
And let him peer through the keyhole.
But a drinking companion to the left and a drinking companion to the right,
That I would gladly tolerate,
In the heat of the battle of the goblets
My little voice should ring out beautifully:
     Gling glang gloria!
     Potori est victoria! [The goblets have the victory!]
May one pass it to another,
So that it goes from one to the other.

I do not yet see the end of all things
And the whence and the why here in life,
I am still as young as the oldest wine,
I still wish to take and give everything.
The loveliest maiden, the most faithful chum
And the grandest tankard are mine,
And what I did with all my heart,
That I simply cannot keep to myself.
     Gling glang gloria!
     Potori est victoria! [The goblets have the victory!]
May one pass it to another,
So that it goes from one to the other.

At the second-last glass and the last-last kiss
I might possibly have second thoughts
And think:  very well then! what must be, must be!
The most precious drops trickle away.
Victory to the drinker and glory to the singer!
To roast in hell for that,
Is, you sippers, what I call a martyrdom,
A toast!  to future exploits!
     Gling glang gloria!
     Potori est victoria! [The goblets have the victory!]
May one pass it to another,
So that it goes from one to the other.