[Music and Lyrics by Carl Michael Bellman (1740-1795)]
Drick ur ditt glas, se doden pa dig vantar,
slipar sitt svard och vid din troskel star.
Bliv ej forskrackt, han blott pa gravdorn glantar,
slar den igen, kanske an pa ett ar.
Movitz, din lungsot den drar dig i graven.
Knapp nu oktaven:
stam dina strangar, sjung om livets var!
Himmel, du dor, din hosta mig forskracker;
tomhet och klang, inalvorna ge ljud;
tungan ar vit, det radda hjartat klacker,
mjuk som en svamp ar sena, marg och hud.
Andas! - Fy tusan, vad dunst ur din aska!
Lan mig din flaska!
Movitz, gutar! Skal! Sjung om vinets gud!
Na sa gutar! Dig Bacchus avsked bjuder,
fran Frojas tron du sista vinken far.
Omt till dess lov det lilla blodet sjuder,
som nu med vald ur dina adror gar.
Sjung, las och glom, tank, begrat och begrunda!
Skull' du astunda
annu en falsup? Vill du do? - Nej, gutar!
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