When Fortune Turns Her Wheel

One of those awesome songs that doesn't easily categorize. It's not a ballad, there's not a lot of chorus or refrain, and it's not funny, which cuts it out of a lot of contexts where I might otherwise sing it. You could take it as a celebration of friendship and personal growth, or you could take it as I'M NOT BITTER, LET ME SING YOU SEVERAL VERSES ABOUT HOW BITTER I'M NOT.
This song hasn't been collected from a lot of people. The singer Alan Rogerson, a shepherd living near Wooler, Northumberland, taught it to Louisa Jo Killen in 1958. She then recorded it on an album called "Old Songs, Old Friends" (1978) and I listened to that album obsessively through childhood, the lyrics haunting me. For a long time I didn't think to learn it myself because I felt that there was no way to equal Killen's delivery, but I've finally decided that I'd rather learn it now, with my current abilities, than put it off till I achieve some future level of mastery.
Please note, the lyrics have been slightly reworded from the original Northumbrian dialect, and I made several small paraphrases and creative choices. Original lyrics here: mainlynorfolk....]
Lyrics:
Come fill the cup, let’s drink about, this night we’ll merry be,
For friendship and for harmony, likewise my comrades three;
To meet once more some other night, my secret joy reveal,
For I now must stray so far away, till Fortune turns her wheel.
Not power, nor gold, nor dress I’ll take my estimate of man,
But when I meet a friend in need, I'll stretch a helping hand;
To him I’ll drink, for him I’ll fight, to him my mind reveal,
And friends we’ll be, whatever way blind Fortune turns the wheel.
But it’s some of my pretended friends, if friends ye may them call,
They falsely turned their backs on me when mine was at the wall;
Yet in a glass I’ll drink their health-you'll ken I wish them well,
That someday I may pay the debt, when Fortune turns her wheel.
And it’s of a lovely lassie, aye, it’s her I’ll justly blame,
When foul misfortune frowned on me she denied she knew my name;
But friendship by remorse is passed-to her I’ll never kneel,
I’ll sweethearts find, both true and kind, when Fortune turns her wheel.
O ye dewy hills of Caledon, likewise sweet Coquetdale,
Where friendship binds the firmest ties, love tells the sweetest tale;
Here’s to my friends and to my foes, you’ll ken I wish them well,
That we all may meet some other night when Fortune turns her wheel.