Nae wooing, nae fleeching,
Since our bra’ Foresters are a’ wed away.
O dool for the order,
Sent our lads to the border!
The English for anes by guile got the day:
The Flowers of the Forest,
That ay shone the foremost,
The prime of our land lies cauld in the clay.
We’ll hear nae mair lilting,
At our ewes’ milking: