Syne up an' spak the angry king:
"Haud on for Dumferline!"
Quo' the skipper, "My lord, this maunna be—
I'm king on this boat o' mine!"
He tuik the helm intil his han',
He left the shore un'er the lee;
Syne croodit sail, an', east an' south,
Stude awa richt oot to sea.
Quo' the king, "Leise-majesty, I trow!
Here lies some ill-set plan!
'Bout ship!" Quo' the skipper, "Yer grace forgets
Ye are king but o' the lan'!"
Oot he heild to the open sea
Quhill the north wind flaughtered an' fell;
Syne the east had a bitter word to say
That waukent a watery hell.
He turnt her heid intil the north:
Quo' the nobles, "He s' droon, by the mass!"
Quo' the skipper, "Haud afif yer lady-ban's
Or ye'll never see the Bass."
The king creepit down the cabin-stair
To drink the gude French wine;
An' up cam his dochter, the princess fair,
An' luikit ower the brine.
She turnt her face to the drivin snaw,
To the snaw but and the weet;
It claucht her snood, an' awa like a dud
Her hair drave oot i' the sleet.
She turnt her face frae the drivin win'—
"Quhat's that aheid?" quo' she.
The skipper he threw himsel frae the win'
An' he brayt the helm alee.
"Put to yer han', my lady fair!
Haud up her heid!" quo' he;
"Gien she dinna face the win' a wee mair
It's faurweel to you an' me!"
To the tiller the lady she laid her han',
An' the ship brayt her cheek to the blast;
They joukit the berg, but her quarter scraped,
An' they luikit at ither aghast.