We raise the scarlet shield. We place it firmly in the field, and rally round our noble lady, bastion of our sacred fealty.
Long ago in highland mist, we took the King’s Shilling with a skirl and a kiss and went to fight on a foreign shore. Now we live in the nation’s lore.
Soldiers, with a long memory of what is brave and what is free. Warriors, a tartan band of brothers, famous in the field, above all others.
Here we stand at the anniversary, with a Regal Salute to her gracious majesty. A wall of scarlets, ever faithful, and for our commission, ever grateful.