Page:Pocock's Everlasting Songster.djvu/78

 HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND?

OW flands the glafs around ? For ihame you take no care, my boys ;

How {lands the glafs around ?

Let mirth and wine abound.

The trumpets found, The colours they are flying, boys,

To fight, kill, or wound ;

May we ftill be found, Content with our hard fate, my boys,

On the cold ground.

Why foldiers, why, Should we be melancholy, boys,

Why foldiers, why,

Whofe bus'nefs 'tis to die ?

What fighing, fie ! 'Drown fear, drink on, be jolly, boys,

'Tis he, you, or I !

Cold, hot, wet or dry, We're always bound to follow, boy 55

And fcorn to fly.

'Tis but in vain, I mean not to upbraid ye, boys ;

'Tis but in vain

For foldiers to complain ! Should the next campaign Send us to him that made us, boys,

We're free from pain !

But if we remain, A bottle and kind landlady

Cure all again.

BLOW

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