The White Cockade (Trad)

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.

Chorus.
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.

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