"Clamor me lads towards the fire's eager glow,
We be passin' round the goblet of life.
From bottoms of barrels we bury our strife.
We sing of war, we sing of life!
Under the stars ye tankards be giving,
From cold northern climes the winds do blow.
Come now, Mary,
Come now me darling.
Come, sweet child, to stifle our woes."