There were eight buttons upon my travelling garb,
Of the eight I'm missing seven.
Of all the friends that I have known,
One has remained faithful to me.

Love for me was rescinded
By Lotte, by Lene, by Liese,
And were I a sensible maid
I would have behaved like these three.

But I call one comrade mine,
There can be no better one,
And if Death were to grab me by the neck,
He would not survive it.

When I am hungry, he sees to it that I have sustenance,
And gives me strength from the bottle,
And what that good one has in his bag,
That is what I have in my pocket.

And if woe and misery take hold of me
And my eyelashes become moist,
The lad is immediately prepared
To strum away the pain.

And if winter shakes me [until I am] cold,
And paralyzes my limbs,
Then he sings to me of the green wood,
Songs of joy warmed by spring.

He travels with me through dust and grass
Upon all my pathways,
And if I look into a mirror,
He looks back at me.