Come busk you gallantlie,
Busk and make you ready,
Maiden, busk and come,
And be a sailor’s lady.
The foamy ocean’s ours,
From Hebride to Havannah,
And thou shalt be my queen,
And reign upon it, Anna.
See my bonnie ship,
So stately and so steady;
Thou shalt be my queen,
And she maun be my lady:
The west wind in her wings,
The deep sea all in motion,
Away she glorious goes,
And crowns me king of ocean.
The merry, lads are mine,
From Thames, and Tweed, and Shannon;
The Bourbon flowers grow pale
When I hangout my pennon;
I’ll win thee gold and gems,
With pike and cutlass clashing,
With all my broad sails set,
And all my cannon flashing.
Come with me and see
The golden islands glowing,
Come with me and hear
The flocks of India lowing:
Thy fire shall be of spice,
The dews of eve drop manna,
Thy chamber floor of gold,
And men adore thee, Anna.