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.
‘Gae, fetch a web o’ the silken claith, Another o’ the twine, And wap them into our ship’s side, And letna the sea come in.’
They fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith, Another o’ the twine, And they wapped them round that gude ship’s side, But still the sea came in.
O laith laith were our gude Scots lords To wet their cork-heeled shoon! But lang ere a’ the play was play’d They wat their hats aboon.
And mony was the feather-bed That floated on the faem, And mony was the gude lord’s son That never mair came hame.