Motherwell's Manuscript, 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. |
| 6 |
'Drink, O drink, my merrie men all,
Drink o the beer and wine,
For gin Wedensday by twal o'clock
We'll a' be in our lang hame.' |
| 7 |
Out and spak a pretty little boy:
'I fear a deadlie storm;
For I saw the new mune late yestreen,
And the old ane in her arm,
And readilie, maister,' said he,
'That's the sign of a deadly storm.' |
| 8 |
Aye they sat, and aye they drank,
They drank of the beer and wine,
And gin Wedensday gin ten o'clock,
Their hair was wat abune. |
| 9 |
'Whare wuld I get a pretty little boy,
That wants to win hose and shoon,
Wuld up to the top of my mainmast go,
See if he could spy land?' |
| 10 |
'O here am I, a pretty little boy,
Wants to win hose and shoon;
I'll up to the top of your mainmast go,
Though I should neer come doun.' |
| 11 |
'Come doun, come doun, my pretty little boy,
I think thou tarries lang;
For the jawe is coming in at my coat-neck,
Going out at my richt hand.' |
| 12 |
But there cum a shouir out o the Norewest,
Of dreidfu hail and rain,
It made Young Patrick and his men
A' flat wi the sea faem. |
| 13 |
O is na it a great pitye
To see feather-beds on the main?
But it is a greater pitye, I think,
To see men doing the same. |
| 14 |
There's a brig at the back o Sanct John's toun,
It's fifty fadom deep,
And there lies a' our brau Scots lords,
Young Patrick's at their feet. |
| 15 |
Young Patrick's lady sits at hame,
She's sewing her silken seam;
And aye when she looks to the salt sea waves,
'I fear he'll neer return.' |
| 16 |
Young Patrick's lady sits at hame
Rocking her oldest son;
And aye when she looks to the salt sea waves,
'I'm feared he'll neer come hame.' |
