  I. The Sailing.IThe king sits in Dunfermline town Drinking the blude-red wine; ‘O whare will I get a skeely To sail this new ship o’ mine?’ IIO up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the king’s right knee: ‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sail’d the sea.’ IIIOur king has written a braid letter, And seal’d it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. IV‘To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o’er the faem; The king’s daughter o’ Noroway, ’Tis thou must bring her hame.’ VThe first word that Sir Patrick read So loud, loud laugh’d he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read The tear blinded his e’e. VI‘O wha is this has done this deed And tauld the king o’ me, To send us out, at this time o’ year, To sail upon the sea? VII‘Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king’s daughter o’ Noroway, ’Tis we must fetch her hame.’ VIIIThey hoysed their sails on Monenday morn Wi’ a’ the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. II. The Return.IX‘Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a’! Our gude ship sails the morn.’— ‘Now ever alack, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm. X‘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.’ XIThey hadna sail’d a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift And gurly grew the sea. XIIThe ankers brak, and the topmast lap It was sic a deadly storm: And the waves cam owre the broken ship Till a’ her sides were torn. XIII‘O where will I get a gude sailor To tak’ my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast To see if I can spy land?’— XIV‘O here am I, a sailor gude, To tak’ the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast, But I fear you’ll ne’er spy land.’ XVHe hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bolt flew out of our goodly ship, And the saut sea it came in. XVI‘Go fetch a web o’ the silken claith, Another o’ the twine, And wap And let nae the sea come in.’ XVIIThey fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith, Another o’ the twine, And they wapp’d them round that gude ship’s side, But still the sea came in. XVIIIO laith, laith were our gude Scots lords To wet their cork-heel’d shoon; But lang or a’ the play was play’d They wat their hats aboon. XIXAnd mony was the feather bed That flatter’d And mony was the gude lord’s son That never mair cam hame. XXO lang, lang may the ladies sit, Wi’ their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! XXIAnd lang, lang may the maidens sit Wi’ their gowd kames A-waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they’ll see nae mair. XXIIHalf-owre, half-owre to Aberdour, ’Tis fifty fathoms deep; And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet! |
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