A sits our king in Dunfermline
Drinking the blood-red wine,
Where can I get me a good skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?
And up and spoke a noble lord,
Who sat at the king's right hand.
Its you must get Sir Patrick Spens
He's walking out on the strand.
And the king has written a broad letter
And sealed it with his hand,
And sent it along to Patrick Spens
As he walking out on the strand.
The first line that Sir Patrick read
Loud, loud laugh laughed he,
The next line that Sir Patrick read
A tear blinded is he.
Oh, who is this, has done this deed
And the king on me,
To send us out this time of the year
To sail on the Wintery sea?
For I saw the old moon late last night
With the new moon in her arms
Oh Master dear if you set to sea
I fear you'll come to harm
Be it wind, be it wet, be it snow or sleet
A good ship must sail the board
To guide her over to Norowa
To take the King's bride home
We poised to sail on the Monday morn
With all the speed we may
And we landed in to Norowa
On the morn of Wednesday
Oh we had not been in Norowa
A week but barely twa
When but the Lords in Norowa
Aloud began to say
You Scotsmen spend all our Queens gold
And all our queens fee
You lie! You lie! Your lie is loud
So loud I hear you lie
For I have brought as much money
As gie with my men and me
And I have brought as much red gold
Out for the sea with me
Make ready, make ready my merry men all
Our ship must sail in the morn
You must do as you like my master dear
But I fear a deadly storm
We had not sailed a league, a league
A league but barely three
When the sky grew dark and the wind grew high
And loud, loud roared the sea.
Oh where can I get me a bonny boy
Who can take my helm in hand
While I climb to the topmast head
To see if I can find land
Oh here am I a bonny boy
Who will take your helm in hand
While you climb to the topmast head
But I fear you will never find land
And he had not climbed a rung, a rung
A rung but barely three
When a voice calling up to him
Come down and speak with me
There's a hole, a hole in our ships side
And through it pours the sea
Oh fetch me a web of the silken cloth
And another of the twine
And bind on our good ships side
To let not the water in
So they fetched him a bolt of the silken cloth
And another of the twine
And they bound it around our good ships side
But still the sea poured in
And loathed, loathed were those good Scots lords
To wear their cork-heeled shoen
But long e'er all the ploy was played
They wore their hats aboon
And many were the feather bed
That floated out on the foam,
And many were the good Scots lords
That never more came home.
And long, long may the ladies sit,
Their fans into their hand,
Awaiting for Sir Patrick Spens,
Come sailing o'er to the sand
And long, long may the ladies sit,
Their gold combs in their hand,
Awaiting for husbands dear
But home they will come no more
And three miles or farther dear,
Go fifty fathoms deep
And there you'll find Sir Patrick Spens,
With the Scots lords at his feet
Drinking the blood-red wine,
Where can I get me a good skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?
And up and spoke a noble lord,
Who sat at the king's right hand.
Its you must get Sir Patrick Spens
He's walking out on the strand.
And the king has written a broad letter
And sealed it with his hand,
And sent it along to Patrick Spens
As he walking out on the strand.
The first line that Sir Patrick read
Loud, loud laugh laughed he,
The next line that Sir Patrick read
A tear blinded is he.
Oh, who is this, has done this deed
And the king on me,
To send us out this time of the year
To sail on the Wintery sea?
For I saw the old moon late last night
With the new moon in her arms
Oh Master dear if you set to sea
I fear you'll come to harm
Be it wind, be it wet, be it snow or sleet
A good ship must sail the board
To guide her over to Norowa
To take the King's bride home
We poised to sail on the Monday morn
With all the speed we may
And we landed in to Norowa
On the morn of Wednesday
Oh we had not been in Norowa
A week but barely twa
When but the Lords in Norowa
Aloud began to say
You Scotsmen spend all our Queens gold
And all our queens fee
You lie! You lie! Your lie is loud
So loud I hear you lie
For I have brought as much money
As gie with my men and me
And I have brought as much red gold
Out for the sea with me
Make ready, make ready my merry men all
Our ship must sail in the morn
You must do as you like my master dear
But I fear a deadly storm
We had not sailed a league, a league
A league but barely three
When the sky grew dark and the wind grew high
And loud, loud roared the sea.
Oh where can I get me a bonny boy
Who can take my helm in hand
While I climb to the topmast head
To see if I can find land
Oh here am I a bonny boy
Who will take your helm in hand
While you climb to the topmast head
But I fear you will never find land
And he had not climbed a rung, a rung
A rung but barely three
When a voice calling up to him
Come down and speak with me
There's a hole, a hole in our ships side
And through it pours the sea
Oh fetch me a web of the silken cloth
And another of the twine
And bind on our good ships side
To let not the water in
So they fetched him a bolt of the silken cloth
And another of the twine
And they bound it around our good ships side
But still the sea poured in
And loathed, loathed were those good Scots lords
To wear their cork-heeled shoen
But long e'er all the ploy was played
They wore their hats aboon
And many were the feather bed
That floated out on the foam,
And many were the good Scots lords
That never more came home.
And long, long may the ladies sit,
Their fans into their hand,
Awaiting for Sir Patrick Spens,
Come sailing o'er to the sand
And long, long may the ladies sit,
Their gold combs in their hand,
Awaiting for husbands dear
But home they will come no more
And three miles or farther dear,
Go fifty fathoms deep
And there you'll find Sir Patrick Spens,
With the Scots lords at his feet