  The king sits in Dunfermline toun, Drinking the blude-red wine: ‘O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship of mine?’ O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king’s right knee— ‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea.’ Our king has written a braid letter, And sealed it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. ‘To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o’er the faem; The king’s daughter of Noroway, ’Tis thou maun bring her hame.’ _ The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his e’e. ‘O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o’ me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea?’ ‘Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king’s daughter of Noroway, ‘Tis we must fetch her hame.’ They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi’ a’ the speed they may; And they hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wedensday. They hadna been a week, a week In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o’ Noroway Began aloud to say: ‘Ye Scottishmen spend a’ our king’s gowd, And a’ our queenis fee.’ ‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu’ loud I hear ye lie! ‘For I hae brought as much white monie As gane my men and me— And I hae brought a half-fou’ o’ gude red gowd Ont o’er the sea wi’ me. ‘Make ready, make ready, my merry men a’! Our gude ship sails the morn.’ ‘Now ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm! ‘I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we’ll come to harm.’ They hadna sail’d a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. |
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