Herd's Manuscripts, II, 27, I, 49.
| 1 |
The king he sits in Dumferling,
Drinking the blude reid wine: O
'O where will I get a gude sailor,
That'l sail the ships o mine?' O |
| 2 |
Up then started a yallow-haird man,
Just be the kings right knee:
'Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That ever saild the see.' |
| 3 |
Then the king he wrote a lang letter,
And sealld it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
That was lyand at Leith Sands. |
| 4 |
When Patrick lookd the letter on,
He gae loud laughters three;
But afore he wan to the end of it
The teir blindit his ee. |
| 5 |
'O wha is this has tald the king,
Has tald the king o me?
Gif I but wist the man it war,
Hanged should he be. |
| 6 |
'Come eat and drink, my merry men all,
For our ships maun sail the morn;
Bla'd wind, bla'd weet, bla'd sna or sleet,
Our ships maun sail the morn.' |
| 7 |
'Alake and alas now, good master,
For I fear a deidly storm;
For I saw the new moon late yestreen,
And the auld moon in her arms.' |
| 8 |
They had not saild upon the sea
A league but merely three,
When ugly, ugly were the jaws
That rowd unto their knee. |
| 9 |
They had not saild upon the sea
A league but merely nine,
When wind and weit and snaw and sleit
Came blawing them behind. |
| 10 |
'Then where will I get a pretty boy
Will take my steer in hand,
Till I go up to my tap-mast,
And see gif I see dry land?' |
| 11 |
'Here am I, a pretty boy
That'l take your steir in hand,
Till you go up to your tap-mast,
And see an you see the land.' |
| 12 |
Laith, laith were our Scottich lords
To weit their coal-black shoon;
But yet ere a' the play was playd,
They wat their hats aboon. |
| 13 |
Laith, laith war our Scottish lords
To weit their coal-black hair;
But yet ere a' the play was playd,
They wat it every hair. |
| 14 |
The water at St Johnston's wall
Was fifty fathom deep,
And there ly a' our Scottish lords,
Sir Patrick at their feet. |
| 15 |
Lang, lang may our ladies wait
Wi the tear blinding their ee,
Afore they see Sir Patrick's ships
Come sailing oer the sea. |
| 16 |
Lang, lang may our ladies wait,
Wi their babies in their hands,
Afore they see Sir Patrick Spence
Come sailing to Leith Sands. |
