This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
[The fine tune of "I'll never leave thee" is of
great antiquity, and seems to have been at one time in use
in the church, as it is adapted to some spiritual hymns of
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Ramsav wrote the
following words to the tune, retaining the chorus of the old
song. Ramsay's song appears in the first volume of the
Tea-Table Miscellany, (1724,) and also in the fourth
volume of the London Musical Miscellany, (1730.) In the
latter work, it is adapted to the tune of "A lad and a
lassie lay in a killogie," now better known by the name of
"Bannocks o' bear meal,
bannocks o' barley." To this tune it is also set in Johnson's Museum.]
Though, for seven years and mair, honour should reave me
To fields where cannons rair, thou needsna grieve thee;
For deep in my spirit thy sweets are indented;
And love shall preserve aye what love has imprinted.
Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee,
Gang the warld as it will, dearest, believe me
Oh, Johnny, I'm jealous, whene'er ye discover
My sentiments yielding, ye'll turn a loose rover;
An' nought in the world would vex my heart sairer,
If you prove inconstant, and fancy ane fairer.
Grieve me, grieve me, oh, it wad grieve me,
A' the lang night and day, if you deceive me!
My Nelly, let never sic fancies oppress ye;
For, while my blood's warm, I'll kindly caress ye:
Your saft blooming beauties first kindled love's fire,
Your virtue and wit mak' it aye flame the higher.
Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee,
Gang the world as it will, dearest, believe me!
Then, Johnny! I frankly this minute allow ye
To think me your mistress, for love gars me trow ye;
And gin ye prove false, to yoursel' be it said, then,
Ye win but sma' honour to wrang a puir maiden.
Reave me, reave me, oh, it would reave me
Of my rest, night and day, if you deceive me!
Bid ice-shogles hammer red gauds on the studdy,
And feir summer mornings nae mair appear ruddy;
Bid Britons think ae gate, and when they obey thee,
But never till that time, believe I'll betray thee.
Leave thee, leave thee! I'll never leave thee!
The starns shall gae withershins ere I deceive thee.