Motherwell's Manuscript, p. 493, "from the recitation of Buchanan,
alias Mrs. Notman, 9 September, 1826."
| 1 |
The king sat in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude red wine:
'Where will I get a bold sailor,
To sail this ship o mine?' |
| 2 |
Out then spak an auld auld knicht,
Was nigh the king akin:
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the main.' |
| 3 |
The king's wrote a large letter,
Sealed it with his own hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on dry land. |
| 4 |
The first three lines he looked on,
The tears did blind his ee;
The neist three lines he looked on
Not one word could he see. |
| 5 |
'Wha is this,' Sir Patrick says,
'That's tauld the king o me,
To set me out this time o the year
To sail upon the sea! |
| 6 |
'Yestreen I saw the new new mune,
And the auld mune in her arm;
And that is the sign since we were born
Even of a deadly storm. |
| 7 |
'Drink about, my merry boys,
For we maun sail the morn;
Be it wind, or be it weet,
Or be it deadly storm.' |
| 8 |
We hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only ane,
Till cauld and watry grew the wind,
And stormy grew the main. |
| 9 |
We hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only twa,
Till cauld and watry grew the wind,
Come hailing owre them a'. |
| 10 |
We hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only three,
Till cold and watry grew the wind,
And grumly grew the sea. |
| 11 |
'Wha will come,' the captain says,
'And take my helm in hand?
Or wha'll gae up to my topmast,
And look for some dry land? |
| 12 |
'Mount up, mount up, my pretty boy,
See what you can spy;
Mount up, mount up, my pretty boy,
See if any land we're nigh.' |
| 13 |
'We're fifty miles from shore to shore,
And fifty banks of sand;
And we have all that for to sail
Or we come to dry land.' |
| 14 |
'Come down, come down, my pretty boy,
I think you tarry lang;
For the saut sea's in at our coat-neck
And out at our left arm. |
| 15 |
'Come down, come down, my pretty boy,
I fear we here maun die;
For thro and thro my goodly ship
I see the green-waved sea.' |
| 16 |
Our Scotch lords were all afraid
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang or a' the play was played,
Their hats they swam abune. |
| 17 |
The first step that the captain stept,
It took him to the knee,
And the next step that the captain stepped
They were a' drownd in the sea. |
| 18 |
Half owre, half owre to Aberdour
It's fifty fadoms deep,
And there lay good Sir Patrick Spens,
And the Scotch lords at his feet. |
| 19 |
Lang may our Scotch lords' ladies sit,
And sew their silken seam,
Before they see their good Scotch lords
Come sailing owre the main. |
| 20 |
Lang lang may Sir Patrick's lady
Sit rocking her auld son,
Before she sees Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing owre the main. |
