My bonnie Willie Clague,
Are you not a captain brave,
Arm and heart bent to achieve
Glory or the grave?
Down at Surby green,
There you pitch your little camp;
How the daisies fall and die
'Neath your martial tramp!

My bonnie Willie Clague,
Are you not an Indian fierce,
Uttering war-whoops dread as e'er
Pale-face ear could pierce?
Down at Surby roads,
There you fly with lifted spear;
How the waving of your hands
Fills the fowls with fear!

My bonny Willie Clague,
Are you not a sailor bold,
Skilled to cheat the cruel waves
By stern tempests rolled?
Down at Surby brook,
There you float your gallant bark;
But her voyages all cease
When the day grows dark.