“You’ll walk unscathed through musket fire. No ploughman’s blade will cut thee down. No cutler’s horn will mark thy face. And you’ll be my ain true love. And as you walk through death’s dark veil. The cannon’s thunder can’t prevail. And those who hunt thee down will fail. And you’ll be my ain true love. Asleep inside the cannon’s mouth. The captain cries ‘Here comes the rout.’. They’ll seek to find me north and south. I’ve gone to find my ain true love. The field is cut and bleeds to red. The cannonballs fly around my head. The infirmary man may count me dead. When I’ve gone to find my ain true love.”