I have no fancy for that ancient cant br That makes us masters of our destinies, br And not our lives, to hold or give them up br As will directs; I cannot, will not think br That men, the subtle worms, who plot and plan br And scheme and calculate with such shrewd wit, br Are such great blund'ring fools as not to know br When they have lived enough. br Men court not death br When there are sweets still left in life to taste. br Nor will a brave man choose to live when he, br Full deeply drunk of life, has reached the dregs, br And knows that now but bitterness remains. br He is the coward who, outfaced in this, br Fears the false goblins of another life.