From The Tomb, by H.P. Lovecraft
Come hither my lads with your tankards of ale,
And drink to the present before it shall fail;
Pile each on your platter a mountain of beef,
For ‘tis eating and drinking that bring us relief:
So fill up your glass,
For life will soon pass;
When you’re dead ye’l l ne’er drink to your king or your lass!
Anacreon had a red nose, so they say;
But what’s a red nose if ye’re happy and gay?
Gad split me! I’d rather be red while I’m here,
Than white as a lily – and dead half a year!
So Betty, my miss,
Come give me a kiss;
In hell there’s no innkeeper’s daughter like this!