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!