Here lies a bloke who's just gone West, <br />A Number One Australian; <br />He took his gun and did his best <br />To mitigate the alien. <br />So long as he could get to work <br />He needed no sagacity; <br />A German, Austrian, or Turk, <br />Were all the same to Cassidy. <br />Wherever he could raise "the stuff" <br />-- A liquor deleterious -- <br />The question when he'd have enough <br />Was apt to be mysterious. <br />'Twould worry prudent folks a lot <br />Through mental incapacity; <br />If he could keep it down or not, <br />Was all the same to Cassidy. <br /> <br />And when the boys would start a dance, <br />In honour of Terpsichore, <br />'Twas just an even-money chance <br />You'd find him rather shickery. <br />But once he struck his proper stride, <br />And heard the band's vivacity, <br />The jazz, the tango, or the slide <br />Was all the same to Cassidy. <br /> <br />And now he's gone to face the Light, <br />With all it may reveal to him, <br />A life without a drink or fight <br />Perhaps may not appeal to him; <br />But when St Peter calls the roll <br />Of men of proved tenacity, <br />You'll find the front-rank right-hand man <br />Will answer; "Here . . . Cassidy."<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassidy-s-epitaph/
