song—will ye go to the indies, my mary?

    tune—“will ye go to the ewe-bughts, marion.”

    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?

    o sweet grows the lime and the orange,

    and the apple on the pine;

    but a' the charms o' the indies

    can never equal thine.

    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!

    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.

    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!