The Stirrup Cup
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!