Come, drink a stirrup cup with me,
   Before we close our rouse.
You 're all aglow with wine, I know:
   The master of the house,
   Unmindful of our revelry,
   Has drowned the carking devil care,
      And slumbers in his chair.

Come, drink a cup before we start;
   We 've far to ride to-night.
And Death may take the race we make,
   And check our gallant flight:
   But even he must play his part,
   And tho' the look he wears be grim,
   We 'll drink a toast to him!

For Death,—a swift old chap is he,
   And swift the steed He rides.
He needs no chart o'er main or mart,
   For no direction bides.
   So, come, a final, cup with me,
   And let the soldiers' chorus swell,—
   To hell with care, to hell!

This work was published before January 1, 1925, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.