The White Cockade

My love was born in Aberdeen,

The bonniest lad that e'er was seen;

But now he makes our hearts fu' sad,

He's taen the field wi' his white cockade.

O he's a rantin, rovin blade,

He's a brisk and a bonny lad,

Betide what may, my heart is glad,

To see my lad wi his white cockade.

Oh leeze me on the philabeg

The hairy hough and garten'd leg;

But aye the thing that blinds my ee,

The white cockade aboun the bree.

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,

My rippling-kame and spinning wheel,

To buy my lad a tartan plaid,

A braidsword, dirk, and white cockade.

I'll sell my rokelay and my tow,

My good grey mare and hawkit cow,

that every loyal Buchan lad

May tak the field wi the white cockade.