Sir Patrick Spens (Child 58)

Lyrics

The king sits in Dumferling town Drinking the blood red wine "Where can I get a good Captian To sail this ship of mine?" Then up and spoke a sailor boy Sitting at the king's right knee "Sir Patrick Spens is the best Captain That ever sailed to sea" The king he wrote a broad letter And he sealed it with his hand And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens Walking out on the strand To Norway, to Norway, to Norway To Norway o'er the foam With all my lords and finery To bring my new bride home The first line that Sir Patrick read He gave a weary sigh The next line that Sir Patrick read A salt tear blinds his eye "Oh, who is it, oh, who is it Who told the king of me To set us out this time of year To sail across the sea? But rest you well, my good men all Our ship must sail the morn With four and twenty noble lords Dressed up in silk so fine And four and twenty feather beds To lay their heads upon Away, away, we'll all away To bring the king's bride home" "I fear, I fear, My captain dear I fear we'll come to harm Last night I saw the new moon clear The old moon in her arm." "Oh be it fair, or be it foul Or be it deadly storm Oh, blow the wind where'er it will Our ship must sail the morn" They hadn't sailed a day, a day A day but only one When loud and boisterous blew the wind And made the good ship moan They hadn't sailed a day, a day A day but only three When oh, the waves came o'er the side And rolled around their knees They hadn't sailed a league, a league A league but only five When the anchor broke and the sails were torn And the ship began to rive They hadn't sailed a league, a league A league but only nine When oh, the waves came o'er the side Driving to their chins "Who will climb the top mast high While I take helm in hand? Who will climb the top mast high To see if there be dry land?" "No shore, no shore, my Captain dear I haven't seen dry land But I have seen a lady fair With a comb and a glass in her hand" "Come down, come down, you sailor boy I think you tarry long The salt sea's in at my coat neck And out at my left arm Come down, come down, you sailor boy Tis here that we must die Our ship is torn at every side And now the sea comes in" Loathe, loathe were those noble lords To wet their high-heeled shoes But long before the day was o'er Their hats, they swam above And many were the feathered beds That fluttered on the foam And many were those noble lords Who never did come home It's fifty miles shore to shore And fifty fathoms deep And there lies good Sir Patrick Spens The lords all at his feet Long, long, may his lady look With a lantern in her hand Before she sees Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing home again