  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 bonny 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 bonny Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; But it's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad make me langer wish to tarry; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar— It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary. |
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