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?4
O sweet grows the lime and the orange,And the apple on the pine;But a’ the charms o’ the IndiesCan never equal thine.8
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!12
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.16
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!20