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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!