O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me;
To send me out this time o'the yeir,
To sail upon the se?20
Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.[471]
O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
Late late yestreen I saw the new moone25
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir, my deir mastèr,
That we will com to harme.
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith[472]
To weet their cork-heild schoone;[473]30
Bot lang owre[474] a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.[475]
O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence35
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kems[476] in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.40
Have owre,[477] have owre to Aberdour,[478]
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.[479]
FOOTNOTES:
[469] [English and Scottish Ballads, vol. iii. p. 149.]
[470] A braid letter, i.e. open, or patent; in opposition to close rolls.