Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The White Cockade
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 ta'en the field wi' his white cockade.
Oh, he's a ranting, roving blade!
Oh, he's a brisk and a bonny lad!
Betide what may, my heart is glad
To see my lad wi' his white cockade.
The bonniest lad that e'er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu' sad—
He's ta'en the field wi' his white cockade.
Oh, he's a ranting, roving blade!
Oh, 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 gartered leg!
But aye the thing that glads my e'e,
Is the white cockade aboon the bree.
The hairy hough, and gartered leg!
But aye the thing that glads my e'e,
Is the white cockade aboon 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, and a white cockade.
My rippling kame, and spinning wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,
A braidsword, and a white cockade.
I'll sell my rokely and my tow,
My gude gray mare and hawket cow,
That every loyal Buchan lad
May tak' the field wi' his white cockade.
My gude gray mare and hawket cow,
That every loyal Buchan lad
May tak' the field wi' his white cockade.