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The songs are over. All is quiet.
God-fearing people are already asleep.
Only the new friends, having agreed not to part, were traveling together.
Do you know the Ukrainian night?
Oh! You do not know the Ukrainian night!
Look upon it: the crescent moon looks out from the centre of the sky;
the boundless dome of heaven unfolds, then unfolds yet more boundlessly.
All the earth is bathed in silver light.
The marvelous air is both refreshingly warm,
and full of languor, and stirs an ocean of fragrances.
But above, all is breathing; all is wondrous, triumphal.
And the soul is full of vastness and marvel,
and streams of silvery visions rise up harmoniously in its depths.
Divine night!
Enchanting night!
Once... though I, honestly, no longer know why,
they banished a demon from hell.
How... how, buddy...
How could a thing like that happen? A demon being banished from hell?
What can I say, buddy? They kicked him out, and that's that!
Like a man kicks out a dog from his hut!
Maybe a whim came over him to do some good deed,
and so... they showed him the door.
And the poor demon got so homesick...
...so homesick for hell, that he was ready to hang himself!
Well, what could he do? Drink his grief away!
And the demon became such a vagabond as you won't find anywhere!
From dawn to dusk, without fail, he'd sit in the pub!
Hey, neighbour, I see you've started nodding in earnest.
You're surely wishing now to be lying at home on your stove.
There's no reason to keep secrets from you.
Do you know
that my soul
was long ago sold to the devil?
As if that was unheard of!
Who hasn't dealt with the devil in his day?
That's why we party like there's no tomorrow, as the saying goes!
I'd party, but on this night...
...comes my fatal hour.
Oh, if you don't abandon me, if you don't sleep for but one night...
...never will I forget your friendship.
Why not help someone with such misfortune?
May I be struck down, if that's not a tavern I see.
And if Satan were to come?
Who's Satan? Spit in his face.
If he had the idea to appear this very minute and stand before me,
I'd be a son of a dog if I didn't sock him right in the nose.
Hooyah! A Cossack can't afford regrets!
I'll spree and twirl for three straight days!
Oh, if only the *** were to last!
I'd get it if I were drunk. But no, I'm not drunk.
Honest to God, I'm not!
I'd sooner let the forelock be cut from my own head,
than let the devil sniff his dog's snout at a Christian soul!
Where now?
Some Hetman's messenger!
Great job of taking the letter to the Tsarina!
Hold him! Hold him!
Stop! Stop! Catch him!
You wily devil!
May you choke on a rotten melon!
May you die young, son of a dog!
I'll bet a new hat that those women were having a laugh at my expense.