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!