Oh, I have n't got long to live, for we all
Die soon, e'en those who live longest;
And the poorest and weakest are taking their
Along with the richest and strongest.
So it 's heigho for a glass and a song,
And a bright eye over the table,
And a dog for the hunt when the game is flush,
And the pick of a gentleman's stable.
There is Dimmock o' Dune, he was here yester-
But he 's rotting to-day on Glen Arragh;
'T was the hand o' MacPherson that gave him
And the vultures shall feast on his marrow.
But it 's heigho for a brave old song
And a glass while we are able;
Here 's a health to death and another cup
To the bright eye over the table.
I can show a broad back and a jolly deep chest,
But who argues now on appearance?
A blow or a thrust or a stumble at best
May send me to-day to my clearance.
Then it 's heigho for the things I love,
My mother 'll be soon wearing sable,
But give me my horse and my dog and my
And a bright eye over the table.