Of all the birds on bush or tree,
Commend me to the owl;
Since he may best ensample be
To those the cup that trowl.
For when the sun hath left the west
He chooses the tree that he loves best,
And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest.
Though hours be late and weather foul,
We'll drink to the health of the bonny owl.

The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,
He sleeps in his nest till morn;
But my blessing upon the jolly owl,
That all night blows his horn
Then up wi' your cup till you stagger in speech,
And match me this catch till you swagger and screech
And drink till you wink, my merry men each.
Though hours be late and weather foul,
We'll drink to the health of the bonny owl.