song—will ye go to the indies, my mary?
    tune—“will ye go to the ewe-bughts, marion.”
    will ye go to the indies, my mary,
    and leave auld scotia's shore?
    will ye go to the indies, my mary,
    across th' atlantic roar?
    o sweet grows the lime and the orange,
    and the apple on the pine;
    but a' the charms o' the indies
    can never equal thine.
    i hae sworn by the heavens to my mary,
    i hae sworn by the heavens to be true;
    and sae may the heavens forget me,
    when i forget my vow!
    o plight me your faith, my mary,
    and plight me your lily-white hand;
    o plight me your faith, my mary,
    before i leave scotia's strand.
    we hae plighted our troth, my mary,
    in mutual affection to join;
    and curst be the cause that shall part us!
    the hour and the moment o' time!