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Poem	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 chance 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-night, But he 's rotting to-day on Glen Arragh; 'Twas the hand o' MacPherson that gave him the blow, 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 glass, [Pg 49]And a bright eye over the table.
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