 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
THE WHITE COCKADE
Chorus
O, he's a ranting, roving lad!He is a brisk an' a bonie lad!
Betide what may, I will be wed,
And follow the boy wi' the White Cockade!
I
My love was born in Aberdeen,The boniest lad that e'er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu' sad—
He takes the field wi' his White Cockade.
II
I'll sell my rock, my reel, my tow,My guid gray mare and hawkit cow,
To buy mysel a tartan plaid,
To follow the boy wi' the White Cockade.
69
Chorus
O, he's a ranting, roving lad!He is a brisk an' a bonie lad!
Betide what may, I will be wed,
And follow the boy wi' the White Cockade!
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |