Come join in lamentation, ye queens and princesses
And dukes if a noble degree.
Come listen to the fate of a poor-hearted lady
Who mourned for her darling to see.
Though she was a lady of eight thousand a year
Both lords, dukes, and earls unto her did appear.
She disdained them with silence and bid them disappear
Saying, “So dear is my Charlie to me.”

This lovely lady's dwelling, 'twas in the hielands
Convenient to the great Isle of Skye.
She proposed to fight at the head of an army
She cared not a pin though she's die.
She proposed a battle to conquer or be slain
For the rights of her country, she always would maintain.
In hopes to gain the victory on Culloden's plain
“For so dear is my Charlie to me.”

If you had seen my Charlie at the head of an army
He was a galant sight to behold.
With his fine tartan hose, and his fair flowing locks
And his buckles of pure virgin gold.
The tartan my love wore was yellow, green and silk
And his lovely skin and under was as white as any milk.
No wonder there were thousands of our hielanders killed
Restoring my Charlie to me.

If it's so allowed, my love and I are matched
One objection between us does stand.
He was brought up in the Catholic religion
And I in the Church of Scotland.
Since that's the objection, I soon will let it drop
And I'll turn with my darling and worship on a rock.
Then become a member of St. Peter's flock
For so dear is my Charlie to me.

My love is six-foot-two without stocking or shoe
In proportion my true love is built.
As I told you before, on Culloden's moor
The brave hieland army was killed.
Prince Charles Stuart is my true love's name
The champion of Scotland and the son of King James.
Though far they have banished him from me to Spain
Still dead is my Charlie to me.

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