But Picton had not another bit of it; so he called lustily for some one else to sing. "Hang it, sing something," said the traveller. "'How stands the glass around;' that, you know, was written by Wolfe; at least, it was sung by him the night before the battle of Quebec, and they call it Wolfe's death song—
'How stands the glass around?
For shame, ye take no care, my boys!
How stands the glass around?'"
Here Picton forgot the next line, and substituted a drink for it, in correct time with the music:
"'The trumpets sound;
The colors flying are, my boys,
To fight, kill, or wound'"——
Another slip of the memory [drink]:
"'May we still be found,'"
He has found it, and repeats emphatically:
"'May we still be found!
Content with our hard fare, my boys,
[all drink]
On the cold ground!'