Comforably and well equipped in Ruggell,
a bath once stood.
Its sulphur springs attracted both,
the suffering and the corrupt.

The kitchen and the cellar
were filled at any time.
All kinds of people were there,
they came from far and wide.

The host provided pleasures,
served each and any spleen
and never spent a single
thought about morality.

Rebuke and exhortation,
he answered but with scorn.
His leitmotif his motto,
from the same source was born.

A merry life, a blessed death.
The devil cannot win.
Because this perfect strategy
shall spoil the things for him.

On ash wednesday however,
justice after all did come.
Upon the landlord and his guests
for all the things they've done.

Shrove tuesday still saw plenty going on
'till late at night.
Drinking, music and dance,
spirits were more than high.

It had been close to midnight,
exuberance at its top,
when prudent guests said warningly:
"The festivities should stop!"

Because this wild carousal
surely does profane the lent.
The landlord faced them mockingly
and sneeringly he said:

"I'd rather take these merry guests
and descend straight to hell,
than listen to you praying psalms.
Musicians hear me: Play!"

Passing round his very best wine,
to the guests who did stay
and to the music making party,
as wildly they did play.

But many guests did leave the house
and after walking fifty yards,
they felt a strong vibration,
a strange tremor of the earth.

They all quickened their pace
and as they dared to turn around,
they saw the house and company
descending into the ground.

The music and the shouting
lasted until the end.
Today only a stinking pond
reminds us of this place.