| |
| TURN out more ale, turn up the light; | |
| I will not go to bed to-night. | |
| Of all the foes that man should dread | |
| The first and worst one is a bed. | |
| Friends I have had both old and young, | 5 |
| And ale we drank and songs we sung: | |
| Enough you know when this is said, | |
| That, one and all,—they died in bed. | |
| In bed they died and I ’ll not go | |
| Where all my friends have perished so. | 10 |
| Go you who glad would buried be, | |
| But not to-night a bed for me. | |
| |
| For me to-night no bed prepare, | |
| But set me out my oaken chair. | |
| And bid no other guests beside | 15 |
| The ghosts that shall around me glide; | |
| In curling smoke-wreaths I shall see | |
| A fair and gentle company. | |
| Though silent all, rare revellers they, | |
| Who leave you not till break of day. | 20 |
| Go you who would not daylight see, | |
| But not to-night a bed for me: | |
| For I ’ve been born and I ’ve been wed— | |
| All of man’s peril comes of bed. | |
| |
| And I ’ll not seek—whate’er befall— | 25 |
| Him who unbidden comes to all. | |
| A grewsome guest, a lean-jawed wight— | |
| God send he do not come to-night! | |
| But if he do, to claim his own, | |
| He shall not find me lying prone; | 30 |
| But blithely, bravely, sitting up, | |
| And raising high the stirrup-cup. | |
| Then if you find a pipe unfilled, | |
| An empty chair, the brown ale spilled; | |
| Well may you know, though naught be said, | 35 |
| That I ’ve been borne away to bed. | |
| |
