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. 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.