My Bonie Mary

     Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine,
     And fill it in a silver tassie;
     That I may drink before I go,
     A service to my bonie lassie.
     The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;
     Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry;
     The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
     And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

     The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
     The glittering spears are ranked ready:
     The shouts o' war are heard afar,
     The battle closes deep and bloody;
     It's not the roar o' sea or shore,
     Wad mak me langer wish to tarry!
     Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar—
     It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary!