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Poem	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!
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