There was a goodly to-do at the Harmony Club on the evening of the production of the new song; for Ronald, as has been said, was much of a favourite; and his friends declared that if Jaap’s music was at all up to the mark, then the new piece would be placed on the standard and permanent list. Mr. Jaap’s little circle, on the other hand, who had heard the air, were convinced that the refrain would be caught at once; and as the success of the song seemed thus secure, Mrs. Menzies had resolved to celebrate the occasion by a supper after the performance, and Jimmy Laidlaw had presented her, for that purpose, with some game which he declared was of his own shooting.
’What’s the use o’ making such a fuss about nothing?’ Ronald grumbled.
’What?’ retorted the big skipper facetiously. ’Naething? Is bringing out a new poet naething?’
Now this drinking song, as it turned out, was a very curious kind of drinking song. Observe that it was written by a young fellow of eight-and-twenty; of splendid physique, and of as yet untouched nerve, who could not possibly have had wide experience of the vanities and disappointments of human life. What iron had entered into his soul, then, that a gay and joyous drinking song should have been written in this fashion?—
_Good friends and neighbours, life is short,_ _And man, they say, is made to mourn;_ _Dame Fortune makes us all her sport,_ _And laughs our very best to scorn:_ _Well, well; we’ll have, if that be so,_ _A merry glass before we go._
_The blue-eyed lass will change her mind,_ _And give her kisses otherwhere;_ _And she’ll be cruel that was kind,_ _And pass you by with but a stare:_ _Well, well; we’ll have, if that be so,_ _A merry glass before we go._
_The silly laddie sits and fills_ _Wi’ dreams and schemes the first o’ life;_ _And then comes heap on heap o’ ills,_ _And squalling bairns and scolding wife:_ _Well, well; we’ll have, if that be so,_ _A merry glass before we go._
_Come stir the fire and make us warm;_ _The night without is dark and wet;_ _An hour or twa ’twill do nae harm_ _The dints o’ fortune to forget:_ _So now will have, come weal or woe,_ _Another glass before we go._
_To bonny lasses, honest blades,_ _We’ll up and give a hearty cheer;_ _Contention is the worst of trades—_ _We drink their health, both far and near:_ _And so we’ll have, come weal or woe,_ _Another glass before we go._