Lord Bacchus is a good man,
Of that I can assure you;
Better than Apollo, the man of the lyre,
With his music books.

The whole estate of a poor man is
[The jangling of his lyre]1,
Of which he brags, as you know,
That it is horrendously expensive.

But no wise person would lend him a penny
With his instrument as collateral.
For [more joyful]2 music sounds
[From out of]3 Bacchus’ cellar.

[Although Apollo]4 comes forward first
To puff himself up over his poetic artistry:
Bacchus, too, is a certainly a man
Who understands how to make verses.

By the forested Parnassus, how can
[Apollo’s] descant be pleasing?
Here the cantor-like bass of [Bacchus]5
Should [truly resound far]6 better.

Arise, let us ask for him as the god of poetry
In Apollo’s stead!
For he is very well tolerated
By great lords.

[Deeply bowed]7 down and stooped, Apollo must
Creep into the halls of princes;
With Bacchus, however, they consort 
As they do with their equals.

Then up to Mount Parnassus
Let us, before all else, bring
The great Heidelberg tun
Full of Nierenstein wine.

Instead of laurel [trees]8 let us
Plant [grapevines]9 there,
And [round about full]10 vats, 
[Let us] dance just like bacchants.

After the old customs one had lived
There far too soberly until now.
Hence the nine virgins also
Forever remained so shy.

Ha! would they draw their libations
From the nectar vats of Bacchus,
They would chase weakness and duress
[Into the cloister]11 where the nuns are.

Truly! it would not require great pains
To move them to dispense the smallest of favours,
And unasked they would
Leap into our arms.