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The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"Oh, whaur will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?"
Oh, 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 wi' 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 to Noroway,
'T is thou maun bring her hame."
The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughèd he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.
"Oh, wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king of me,
To send us out at this time o' 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 to Noroway,
'T is we must bring her hame."
They hoysed their sails on Monday morn
Wi' a' the speed they may;
They hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.
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 goud
And a' our queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
Fu' loud I hear ye lie!
"For I brought as mickle white monie
As will gain my men and me,
And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud
Out o'er the sea wi' me.
"Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a'!
Our gude ships 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 sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
"Oh, where will I get a gude sailor
To tak' my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to the tall topmast
To see if I can spy land?"
They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Anither o' the twine,
And they wrapped them round that gude ship's side,
But still the sea cam' in.
Oh, laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their milk-white hands;
But lang ere a' the play was ower
They wat their gowden bands.
Oh, laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang ere a' the play was played
They wat their hats aboon.
Oh, lang, lang may the ladies sit
Wi' their fans intill their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!
And lang, lang may the maidens sit
Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they'll see nae mair.
Half ower, half ower to Aberdour,
It's fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
—Old Ballad.
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