Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the toun,
I sighed, and said amang them a', 'Ye are ua Mary Morison.'
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? Or canst thou break that heart of his
Whase only f aut is loving thee ?
If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown !
A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison.
��XLVI TRUE UNTIL DEATH
IT was a' for our rightfu' King, We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear, We e'er saw Irish land.
Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain:
My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main,
My dear, For I maun cross the main.
�� �
