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!