My Highland Mary, she was true,
As true as not another;
Nor other would I e’er pursue,
Not e’en her pretty sister.

My Mary has such lovely face,
More even than her mother;
Naught in this world can e’er displace,
Not e’en her pretty sister.

I met her yester eve, ’twas dark;
I thought she was not other,
But joy lit a more pow’rful spark
When blind I kissed her sister!

Now Highland Sally, she is true,
As true as but one other;
No others will I e’er pursue,
Not e’en another sister!