Her skin is the colour of the evening sun,
Her good-looks I compare to none.
She has aches that need to heal too,
What good can telling her I love you do? ...
1 It was a' for our rightful king
2 That we left fair Scotland's strand;
3 It was a' for our rightful king
4 We e'er saw Irish land,
5 My dear,
6 We e'er saw Irish land.