Bide ye yet (1825)/How stands the glass around

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how stands the glass around.

How stands the glass around?
For shame, ye take no care my boys.
Let mirth and wine abound.
The trumpets sound,
The colours they are flying, boys.
To fight, kill, or wound.
May we still be found,
Content with our hard fate my boys,
On the cold ground.

Why, soldiers, why,
Shou'd we be melancholy, boys?
Why, soldiers, why?
Whose business ‘tis to die?
What, sighing? fie!
Don’t fear, drink on, be jolly boys,
‘Tis he, you, or I,
Cold, hot, wet, or dry,
We’re always bound to follow, boys,
And scorn to fly.

‘Tis but in vain,—
I mean not to upbraid you boys,—
‘Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain,
Should next campaign
Send us to him who made us, boys,
We're free from pain,
But, if we remain,
A bottle, ann kind landlady
Cure all again.