Traditional: Sir Patrick Spens

Lyrics

The king sits in Dunfermline town Drinking the blude-red wine o: "O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship of mine o?" O up and spake an eldern-knight Sat at the king's right knee: "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever saild the sea." Our king has written a braid letter And seald it with his hand And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens Was walking on the strand "To Noroway, to Noroway To Noroway oer 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 ee "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 hall, 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; 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 much white monie As gane my men and me And I brought a half-fou' o' gude red goud Out 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 The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship Till a' her sides were torn "O where will I get a gude sailor To take my helm in hand Till I get up to the tall top-mast; To see if I can spy land?" "O here am I, a sailor gude To take the helm in hand Till you go up to the tall top-mast But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." He hadna gane a step, a step A step but barely ane When a bout flew out of our goodly ship And the salt sea it came in "Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith Another o' the twine And wap them into our ship's side And let na the sea come in." They fetchd a web o the silken claith Another o the twine And they wapped them roun that gude ship's side But still the sea came in O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heel'd shoon! But lang or a the play was play'd They wat their hats aboon And mony was the feather-bed That fluttered on the faem And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame The ladyes wrang their fingers white The maidens tore their hair A' for the sake of their true loves For them they'll see na mair O lang, lang may the ladyes sit Wi' their fans into 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 na mair O forty miles off Aberdeen 'Tis fifty fathoms deep And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens Wi' the Scots lords at his feet