Bonny, bonny was my seat in yon red rosy yard
And bonny was my portion in the town of Ballynagard
Shade and shelter was for me till I began to fail
You all may guess now my distress lies near the Nightingale

Grief and woe that I must go to fight for England's King
I neither know his friend nor foe, and war's a [bad word] thing
The Nightingale is near at hand, my time at home is brief
And Carey's streams and mountain land I part with bitter grief

No more I'll walk the golden hills with Nancy by my side
Or dream along the sun-bright rills, or view my land with pride
We sail away at dawn of day, the sails are ready set
When old Benmore I see no more, I'll sigh with deep regret

Now all must change and I must range across the ocean wide
Our ship she may in Biscay's Bay lie low beneath the tide
If I should fall by cannon ball, or sink beneath the sea
Good people all, a tear let fall and mourn for mine and me

If God should spare my graying hair and bring me back again
I'd love far more my Antrim shore, its dark blue hills and rain
Around its fires, my heart's desires, heaven grant till life shall fail
And keep me far from [bad word] war and from the Nightingale.