6 O lang lang may yon ladies stand,
Their fans into their hands,
Before they see Sir Andrew Wood
Come sailing to dry land.
7 O laith laith were our Scottish lords
To weit their cork-heeld shoon;
But ere that a' the play was plaid,
They wat their heads aboon.
8 Nore-east, nore-west frae Aberdeen
Is fifty fathom deep,
And there lies good Sir Andrew Wood,
And a' the Scottish fleet.
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 348.
1 The king sits in Dumfermline toun,
Sae merrilie drinking wine; O
Says, Whare will I get a fine skipper,
Wud sail these ships of mine? O
2 Out and spak an auld rich knicht,
And an ill death may he die!
Says, Young Patrick is the best skipper
That ever set sail on sea.
3 The king did write a lang letter,
Sealed it with his own hand,
And he sent it to Young Patrick,
To come at his command.
4 When Young Patrick read the letter lang,
The tear blindit his ee;
Says Wha is this, or wha is that,
That's tauld the king of me?
Altho he had been better than what he is,
He micht hae askt leave of me.
5 'But busk, O busk, my merry men a',
O busk and mak you braw,
For blaw the wind what airt it will,
Our ship she must awa.