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 gowd,
And a’ our queenis fee.’
‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
Fu’ loud I hear ye lie!
‘For I hae brought as much white monie
As gane my men and me—
And I hae brought a half-fou’ o’ gude red gowd
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 ye get 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.