Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

Reminds Me We're In A Pandemic

Saw a post in newsfeed and started fishing to learn more about these lyrics:

Seventeen coal-black horses,
hitched to a rubber tied hack.
Seven girls going to the graveyard,
only six of them coming back.

Traditional Irish Folk:
The Unfortunate Rake (Lyrics)

As I was a walking down by the “Lock”
As I was walking one morning of late
Who did I spy but my own dear comrade
Wrapp'd in flannel, so hard is his fate

Had she but told me when she disordered me
Had she but told me of it at the time
I might have got salts and pills of white mercury
But now I'm cut down in the height of my prime

I boldly stepped up to him and kindly did ask him
Why he was wrapp'd in flannel so white?
My body is injured and sadly disordered
All by a young woman, my own heart's delight

My father oft told me, and of times chided me
And said my wicked ways would never do
But I never minded him, nor ever heeded him
I always kept up in my wicked ways

Get six jolly fellows to carry my coffin
And six pretty maidens to bear up my pall
And give to each of them bunches of roses
That they may not smell me as they go along

Over my coffin put handsful of lavender
Handsful of lavender on every side
Bunches of roses all over my coffin
Saying there goes a young man cut down in his prime

Muffle your drums, play your pipes merrily
Play the death march as you go along
And fire your guns right over my coffin
There goes an unfortunate lad to his home

Updated in Jazz Style:
St. James Infirmary
Louis Armstrong (1928)

I went down to the St. James Infirmary
Saw my baby there
Stretched out on a long white table
So sweet, so cold, so fair

Let her go, let her go, God bless her
Wherever she may be
She can look this wide world over
She'll never find a sweet man like me

When I die, want you to dress me in straight-lace shoes
Box-back coat and a Stetson hat
Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain
So the boys'll know that I died standin' pat

Cab Calloway Version


AND AGAIN --
Folk Style:
St. James Infirmary
Arlo Guthrie

It was down in Old Joe's barroom
At the corner by the square
The drinks were served as usual
And the usual crowd was there

Now on my left stood Big Joe McKennedy
His eyes were bloodshot red
And as he looked at the gang around him
These were the very words he said:

"I went down to the St. James Infirmary
I saw my baby there
Stretched out on a long white table
So young, so cold, so fair"

Seventeen coal black horses
Hitched to a rubber-tired hack
Seven girls goin to the graveyard
Only six of them are coming back

Well let her go, let her go
God bless her, wherever she may be
She may search this wide world over
And never find another man like me

Oh, when I die, just bury me
In my high top Stetson hat
Place a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain
To let the Lord know I died standin' pat

I want six crap shooters for pall bearers
A chorus girl to sing me a song
Place a jazz band on my hearse wagon
Just to raise hell as we roll along

Well now that you've heard my story
I'll take another shot of booze
And if anyone here should ask you
I've got the gambler's blues

And yet, I can't help thinking of: