SIR PATRICK SPENCE
The king sits in Dumferling toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"O where will I get guid sailor,
To sail this ship of mine?"
Up and spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the kings right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
That sails upon the sea."
The king has written a braid letter,
And signed it wi' his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he:
The next line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.
"O wha is this has done this deed,
This ill deed done to me;
To send me out this time o' the year,
To sail upon the sea?
"Mak haste, mak haste, my merry men all,
Our guid ship sails the morn."
"O say na sae, my master dear,
For I fear a deadly storm.
"Late late yestreen I saw the new moon
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And I fear, I fear, my dear master,
That we will come to harm."
O our Scots nobles were right loath
To wet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang erè a the play were playd,
Their hats they swam aboon.
O lang, lang, may their ladies sit
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spence
Come sailing to the land.
O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' their gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for their ain dear lords,
For they'll see them na mair.
shoon, shoes.
Half oer, half oer to Aberdour,
It's fifty fathom deep:
And there lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.