Carmina burana Page #3

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Some gamble, some drink,

some behave loosely.

But of those who gamble,

some are stripped bare,

some win their clothes here,

some are dressed in sacks. Here

no-one fears death, but they throw the

dice in the name of Bacchus. Here

no-one fears death, but they throw

the dice in the name of Bacchus.

First of all it is

to the wine-merchant

that the libertines drink,

one for the prisoners,

three for the living,

four for all Christians,

five for the faithful dead,

six for the loose sisters,

seven for the footpads in the wood,

Eight for the errant brethren,

nine for the dispersed monks,

ten for the seamen,

eleven for the squabblers,

twelve for the penitent,

thirteen for the wayfarers.

To the Pope as to the king

they all drink without restraint.

The mistress drinks, and the master,

the soldier drinks, and the priest,

the man drinks, the woman drinks,

the servant drinks with the maid,

the swift man drinks, and the lazy,

the white and the black man drinks,

the settled man, the wanderer drinks,

the stupid and the wise man drinks,

The poor man and the sick man drinks,

the exile drinks, and the stranger,

the boy drinks, the old man drinks,

the bishop drinks, and the deacon,

the sister drinks, and the brother,

the old lady drinks, and the mother,

this man drinks, that man drinks,

a hundred drink, a thousand drink.

Six hundred pennies would hardly

suffice, if everyone

drinks immoderately and

immeasurably.

However much they cheerfully drink

we are the ones whom everyone

scolds,

and thus we are destitute.

May those who slander us be cursed

and may their names not be written

in the book of the righteous.

Lo io io io io io io io io!

IQ!

Cupid flies everywhere

seized by desire.

Young men and women

are rightly coupled.

The girl without a lover

misses out on all pleasures,

she keeps the dark night

hidden

in the depth of her heart;

it is a most bitter fate.

Day, night and everything

is against me,

the chattering of maidens

makes me weep,

and often sigh,

and, most of all, scares me.

O friends, you are making fun of me,

you do not know what you are

saying,

spare me, sorrowful as I am,

great

Is my grief,

advise me at least,

by your

honour.

Your beautiful face,

makes me weep a thousand times,

your heart is of ice.

As a cure,

I would be revived

by a kiss.

A girl stood

in a red tunic;

if anyone touched it,

the tunic rustled.

Eia!

Eia! Eia!

Eia!

A girl stood

like a little rose:

her face was radiant

and her mouth in bloom.

Eia!

Eia! Eia!

Eia!

In my heart

there are many sighs

for your beauty,

which wound me sorely.

Ah!

Mandaliet, mandaliet,

my lover does not come.

Mandaliet, mandaliet,

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