I am almost seized by horror
that I, Plato, constantly
have been poring over you;
it’s high time to leave the study
and to stroll across the country,
there, where restful waters spring,
where the lovely flowers grow,
and where fishers' nets are lying.

What are all the studies good for
but for mere adversity?
In the meantime does the brook
of the life that we are leading
reach its final destination, 
ere we are aware of it?
Then, devoid of sense and mind,
all is laid to rest and buried.

Hey, young man, go and inquire
where they offer the best drink;
take the jug, fill it with wine!
All laments and grief and mourning
under which we daily labour
ere the tide sweeps us away,
I shall bury in the juice
which, so sweet, the grapes bestow on us.

Go and likewise buy some melons
and the sugar keep in mind;
and make sure that nothing lacks.
He who may save up the Hellers,
who with all his gold and treasures
ever mortifies the flesh,
never sated goes to bed:
I will have a feast and get it.

Glad to welcome you, my brothers,
to a glass and to some songs:
methinks nothing’s better than
cheerful songs and cheerful drinking.
Even if I leave you little,
I have got some noble wine
and will be merry with my brothers
although I have to die alone.