I assume this is the text of which you are speaking?

From A Collection of Songs (Edinburgh: A. Donaldson and J. Reid, 1762), page 211:

    How stands the glass around,
Of which we take no care, my boys?
    How stands the glass around?
    Let wine and mirth abound,
    The trumpets sound;
The colours they do fly, my boys;
    To fight, kill, or wound,
    As you'll be found
Contented with your chear, my boys,
    On the cold ground.

    Why, soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy, boys?
    Why, soldiers, why,
    Whose business is to die?
    Why sigh then? fie!
Damn care, drink on; be jolly, boys,
    'Tis he, you, or I,
    Cold, hot, wet, or dry,
We're only doom'd to fall, my boys,
    We scorn to fly.

    'Tis but in vain,
I mean not to upbraid you, boys,
    'Tis but in vain
    For soldiers to complain;
    The next campaign
Sends you to him who made you, boys,
    Perhaps in pain;
    But if we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady
    Cures all again.