II. IN THE TAVERN
 
Burning inside
with violent anger,
in bitterness 
I address my mind:
constructed of matter,
ashes of the fundamental substance,
I am like a leaf
played with by the winds.

For though it is proper 
for a wise man
to set on a rock
the seat of his fundament,
I, being foolish, am like
a flowing river,
on the same path 
never persisting.

I am borne along like
a boat without a boatman,
like a bird wandering 
along the paths of the air;
chains do not hold me,
a key does not hold me,
I seek those like me
and am joined with the wicked.

To me a heavy heart 
seems a burdensome thing;
jesting is pleasant 
and sweeter than a honeycomb;
whatever Venus commands
is pleasant labor,
and she never dwells 
in faint hearts.

I walk a broad road
as a young man does,
and I am entangled in vice,
heedless of virtue,
eager for pleasure 
rather than salvation;
dead in spirit,
I pursue the care of the flesh.