The fools shall mourn, the fools shall drink,
The cynics sneer, the prophets rage,
The moralists rebuke and teach,
The preachers prate, the faint hearts shrink.

Let them cry, threaten, mourn and die!
Till the touch of Chance shall turn the scale
And plunge them all in darkness:
Fate’s a fiddler, Life’s a dance.

And though the heavens be dull and grey,
And though the winds be harsh and dead,
Soon shall the dawn shine forth,
And the sad, close-furled sail,
Filled with a favouring wind,
Shall bear you towards the sun,
While Fortune sends you once again
Her hopeful greeting:

Fate’s a fiddler, Life’s a dance.