Miss Harris's Manuscript, fol. 4, from the singing of her mother.
| 1 |
Hie sits oor king in Dumfermline,
Sits birlin at the wine;
Says, Whare will I get a bonnie boy
That will sail the saut seas fine?
That will hie owre to Norraway,
To bring my dear dochter hame? |
| 2 |
Up it spak a bonnie boy,
Sat by the king's ain knie:
'Sir Patrick Spens is as gude a skipper
As ever sailed the sea.' |
| 3 |
The king has wrote a broad letter,
And signed it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
To read it gif he can. |
| 4 |
The firsten line he luikit on,
A licht lauchter gae he;
But ere he read it to the end,
The tear blindit his ee. |
| 5 |
'O wha is this, or wha is that,
Has tauld oor king o me?
I wad hae gien him twice as muckle thank
To latten that abee! |
| 6 |
'But eat an drink, my merrie young men,
Eat, an be weel forn;
For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet,
Oor gude ship sails the morn.' |
| 7 |
Up it spak his youngest son,
Sat by Sir Patrick's knie:
'I beg you bide at hame, father,
An I pray be ruled by me. |
| 8 |
'For I saw the new mune late yestreen,
Wi the auld mune in her arms;
An ever an alake, my father dear,
It's a token o diedly storms.' |
| 9 |
'It's eat an drink, my merrie young men,
Eat, an be weel forn;
For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet,
Oor gude ship sails the morn.' |
| 10 |
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only three,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Cam drivin to their knie. |
| 11 |
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only five,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Their gude ship began to rive. |
| 12 |
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only nine,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Cam drivin to their chin. |
| 13 |
'O whaur will I get a bonnie boy
Will tak the steer in hand,
Till I mount up to oor tapmast,
To luik oot for dry land?' |
| 14 |
'O here am I, a bonnie boy,
Will tak the steer in hand,
Till you mount up to oor tapmast,
To luik oot for dry land.' |
| 15 |
He's gaen up to the tapmast,
To the tapmast sae hie;
He luikit around on every side,
But dry land he couldna see. |
| 16 |
He luikit on his youngest son,
An the tear blindit he ee;
Says, I wish you had been in your mother's bowr,
But there you'll never be. |
| 17 |
'Pray for yoursels, my merrie young men,
Pray for yoursels an me,
For the first landen that we will land
Will be in the boddam o the sea.' |
| 18 |
Then up it raise the mermaiden,
Wi the comb an glass in her hand:
'Here's a health to you, my merrie young men,
For you never will see dry land.' |
| 19 |
O laith, laith waur oor gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang, lang ere the play was played,
Their yellow locks soomed aboun. |
| 20 |
There was Saturday, an Sabbath day,
An Monnonday at morn,
That feather-beds an silken sheets
Can floatin to Kinghorn. |
| 21 |
It's och, och owre to Aberdour,
It's fifty faddoms deep;
An there lie a' oor gude Scots lords,
Wi Sir Patrick Spens at their feet. |
| 22 |
O lang, lang will his lady sit,
Wi the fan into her hand,
Until she see her ain dear lord
Come sailin to dry land. |
| 23 |
O lang, lang will his lady sit,
Wi the tear into her ee,
Afore she see her ain dear lord
Come hieing to Dundee. |
| 24 |
O lang, lang will his lady sit,
Wi the black shoon on her feet,
Afore she see Sir Patrick Spens
Come drivin up the street. |
