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 bonnie 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 must leave my bonnie 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 mak me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o‘ war that‘s heard afar,
⁠It‘s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.