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!