The ropes they 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 whaur will I get a gude sailor
Will tak' the helm in hand,
Until I win to the tall top-mast,
And see if I spy the land?"
"It's here am I, a sailor gude,
Will tak' the helm in hand,
Till ye win to the tall top-mast,
But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land."
He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step but barely ane,
When a bolt flew out of the gude ship's side,
And the saut sea it cam' in.
"Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith,
Anither o' the twine,
And wap them into the gude ship's side,
And let na the sea come in."
They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Anither o' the twine,
And they wapp'd them into that gude ship's side,
But aye the sea cam' in.
O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cock-heeled shoon,
But lang ere a' the play was o'er
They wat their hats abune.
O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their milk-white hands,
But lang ere a' the play was played
They wat their gouden bands.
O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Or ever they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the land.
O lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.