After a while when he paused for a moment there was a commotion in another part of the room. A slender spark of the company of Ribault, with a well-worn doublet, but wearing a silver ear-ring, a nicely trimmed beard and other marks of gentle taste, was hoisted upon his legs and sang unsteadily a verse which in English goes somewhat like this:—
“Here’s to every merry lass—
Here’s to her who’s shy, sirs,—
Here’s an overflowing glass
To any roguish eye, sirs;
Be she sweet or be she scold,
Be her temper warm or cold,
Be she tall or be she small,
Naught can we but love her.
A-dieu—a-dieu—
A-dieu, belle Marie-e!
Be she stout or be she lean—
Be she pauper, be she queen—
Be she fine or be she jade—
Be she wife or be she maid—
Here’s a toast to woman;
Here’s a health to woman!
A-dieu—A-dieu—
Adieu, belle Marie-e!”
The last two lines he sang in a melancholy drawl, holding his pot up and looking at it with one eye shut. This caused much applause and loud clapping. To this he tried to respond with more spirit, with a song and chorus which they afterwards sang frequently upon the ships. It was very fine and had a martial ring.
“I drink my wine
While others pine,
And toast a lady fair—
Chorus: And toast a lady fair!
And to the eyes
Of her I prize,
In Catharine’s vintage rare—
Chorus: In Catharine’s vintage rare!
I draw my steel
For woe or weal
With foemen of my mettle—
Chorus: With foemen of my mettle!