“He arn’t no right to be more happier nor me,” cried Loggerhead, as the tears swelled in his eyes at such an assumption of superior happiness. “I’m very happy!” he added, in a manner the most miserable that can be conceived. “Unkimmon happy. I’m as happy as a fellow can be in this here molloncholy world;” and he began crying like a fretful child.
“I’m happier nor any body,” muttered the other, sinking back upon the floor.
“Let’s have a song!” cried Scrumpydike.
“A song, a song,” echoed as many of his associates as were able to speak.
“A song, master Log,” continued Scrumpydike, with the desire of preventing a quarrel among his drunken companions. “Come, my prince o’ singing birds! Pipe away till all’s blue. You’re a reg’lar trump at chaunting a good stave; a right-down warbler; a nightingale’s a fool to ye. Arn’t it true, now?”
“True, true—very true—undeniably true—most undeniably true—most undeniably true, indeed, mister Scrumpydike,” cried the captain’s clerk, his gratified vanity visible even through the sleepy expression that now characterised his countenance; and after a few preparatory hems, considerable smirking, and a plentiful affectation of modesty, he sang, in a voice that might have frightened an owl, the following verses:—
“Woman and wine are my delight;
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
Woman and wine are my delight,
From Monday morning till Saturday night;
For they cheer the heart and gladden the sight,
And make a man feel divine:
From woman’s glances all fondness flows,
And wine rejoices wherever it goes,
And both are a cure for all earthly woes,—
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
“I went a courting once on a time,
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
I went a courting once on a time,
And I flattered my deary in prose and in rhyme;
And though the stuff was not by any means prime,
She vowed it was monstrous fine:
But in wine’s inspiration my praise had been clad,
And whatever I said she could never think bad,
For I always ‘saw double’ the charms that she had:
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
“I took to wine as a friend in need;
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
I took to wine as a friend in need,
And have ever since found it a friend indeed,
Which nothing on earth could be brought to exceed,
Or made so completely mine:
In Fortune’s smile, and in Fortune’s frown,
It laid me up, and it laid me down;
And went to my heart by a way of its own,
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
“Oh, woman and wine are capital things—
Woman and wine! woman and wine!
Woman and wine are capital things,
In gladness or care to man’s soul ever springs,
To which each its own perfect felicity brings;
And long may such pleasures combine:
And he who would ever, by night or by day,
In sorrow or joy, turn from either away,
Should never in better men’s company stay,
Woman and wine! woman and wine!”