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!