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!