All care to the wind we merrily fling,
For the damp, cold grave is a dead sure thing!
It's a dead sure thing we're alive tonight
And the damp, cold grave is out of sight.

Here's to death, because death will give me one last bier.

May we all come to peaceful ends,
And leave our debts unto our friends.

Oh, here's to other meetings,
and merry greetings then;
And here's to those we've drunk with;
But never can again.

Over the hallowed graves may the winds of heaven whisper hour benedictions.

Though life is now pleasant and sweet to the sense
We'll be damnable mouldy a hundred years hence.

Time cuts down all,
Both great and small.

To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.