_Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship, And a gruff old soul was he: “Oh! I have a wife in fair Plymouth town, But a widow I fear she will be.”_
_And then up spoke the little cabin-boy, And a pretty little boy was he: “Oh! I am more grievd for my daddy and my mammy, Than you for your wives all three.”_
_Then three times round went our gallant ship, And three times round went she: For the want of a life-boat they all went down, And she sank to the bottom of the sea._
_While the raging seas did roar, And the stormy winds did blow, While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top, And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below, And the land-lubbers lying down below._
The king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine; “O whare will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship of mine?”
O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king’s right knee,-- “Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, That ever sailed the sea.”--
Our king has written a braid letter, And seal’d it with his hand, And sent it to sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand.
“To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o’er the faem; The king’s daughter of Noroway, ’Tis thou maun bring her hame.”
The first word that sir Patrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he; The neist word that sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee.
“O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o’ me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea?
“Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king’s daughter of Noroway, ’Tis we must fetch her hame.”--
They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi’ a’ the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday.
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 goud, And a’ our queenis fee.”-- “Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu’ loud I hear ye lie:
“For I brought as much white monie, As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou o’ gude red goud, Out o’er the sea wi’ me.
“Make ready, make ready, my merrymen 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.”