A jolly good smoke, a nicely turned joke,
A handful of trumps when at play;
A drop of old wine, champagne that's fine,
And a run of good luck from today.
As you slide down the banister of life
May the splinters never face the wrong way.
Everything of fortune but her instability.
Good luck till we are tired of it.
I give you play days, hey days, and pay days!
May Dame Fortune ever smile on you;
But never her daughter—Miss Fortune.
May the chicken never be hatched that will scratch on your grave.
May we ever be able to part with our troubles to advantage.
May your luck be like the capital of Ireland, "Always Dublin."
May your luck ever spread, like jelly on bread.
No amount of planning can ever replace dumb luck!
Stately galleons there are,
Laden deep with yellow gold;
Treasure argosies from far,
Jewelled riches in their hold;
May they find a lucky star,
Captains staunch, and sailors bold,
Not a storm or shoal to bar,
Not a blast of chill or cold
Till safe harbor they shall win—
Thus may all your ships come in!
Then welcome, stranger, cheer be thine,
If thou art a friend, of a friend of mine,
Here's luck. . . .
-James Monroe Mclean, The Book of Wine
To my friend—luck 'til the end!