The Curate

    der Tod
Ihr Armen seyd getrost, tanzt gleich der Mann mit mir,
So bleibt sein Beutel doch zu eurem Vortheil hier.
Nun suchet wo ihr könnt, den Antheil von Präbenden,
Ich eile, seinen Leib den Würmern auszuspenden

    Death
You poor people, be consoled: Even if the man dances with me,
his purse will stay here for your benefit.
Now seek where you can, the share of the prebends.(1)
I hasten to give his body to the worms

    der Capellan
Ich diente dem Altar, und dieser diente mir,
Er gab mir Unterhalt, und ich war seine Zier,
Den Beutel trug ich zwar, doch nicht auf Iudas Weise,
Drum bin ich auch so leicht zur letzten Todesreise.

    The Curate
I served the altar, and it served me,
It gave me sustenance, and I was its ornament,
I carried the purse, but not in Judas' manner,(2)
That is why I am so light on the final journey of death.

    XXXII. Death to the Chaplain.
Rejoice, ye poor, and don't look sad,
Because your chaplain's very bad,
He'll leave his purse to make you glad;
With all his revenues and places,
To cheer your sad dejected faces.

    XXXIII. The Chaplain's answer.
I serv'd the altar, th' altar me,
From whence I had an ample fee,
Discharg'd my trust with all the love
That could the breast of sinner move.
My conscience tells I've done my best,
Which makes you, sir, a welcome guest.