SONG IX. The Chearful Hibernian

All you that are wise, and think life worth enjoying, Or soldier or sailor, by land or by sea; In loving and laughing your time be employing, Your glass to your lip, and your lass on your knee.

Come sing away honics, and cast off all sorrow, Tho' we all die to-day, let's be merry to morrow, A hundred years hence 'twill be too late to borrow A moment of time to be joyous and free

My lord and the bishop, in spite of their splendor, When death gives the call from their glories must part; Your beautiful dame when the summons is sent her Will feel the blood ebb from the cheek to the heart.

For riches and honors then, why all this riot, Your rangling and jangling and all your alarms; Arrah! burn you my honies, you'd better be quiet, And take while you can, a kind girl to your arms. You'd better be singing and casting off sorrow, Tho' you all die to-day, sure be merry to-morrow; A hundred years hence 'twill be too late to borrow One moment to toy and enjoy her sweet charms.