(?)

     Sir Patrick Spens

     The king sits in Dunfermline town
     Drinking the blude-red wine,
     “O whare will I get a skeely skipper
     To sail this new ship o’ mine?”

     O up and spak an eldern knight,
     Sat at the king’s right knee;
     “Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
     That ever sailed the sea.”

     Our king has written a braid letter,
     And seal’d it with his hand,
     And sent it to Sir Patrck Spens,
     Was walking on the strand.

     The first word that Sir Patrick read
     So loud, loud laugh’d he;
     The next word that Sir Patrick read
     The tear blinded his e’e.

     “O wha is this has done this deed
     And tauld the king o’ me,
     To send us out, at this time o’ year,
     To sail upon the sea?

     “Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
     Our ship must sail the faem;
     The king’s daughter o’ Noroway,
     ’Tis we must fetch her hame.”

     They hadna been a week, a week,
     In Noroway but twae,
     When that the lords o’ Noroway
     Began aloud to say:

     “Ye Scottish men spend a’ our king’s gowd,
     And a’ our queenis’ fee.”
     “Ye lee, ye lee, ye leears loud.
     Fu’ loud I hear ye lee!

     “For I brought as much o’ the white monie
     As gane my men and me,
     And a half-fou o’ the gude red gowd,
     Out ower the sea with me.

     “Mak’ ready, mak’ ready, my merry men a’!
     Our gude ship sails the morn.”
     “Now ever alack, my master dear,
     I fear a deadly storm.

     “I saw the new moon late yestreen
     Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;
     And if we gang to sea, master,
     I fear we’ll come to harm.”

     They hadna sail’d a league, a league,
     A league but barely three,
     When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
     And gurly grew the sea.

     The ankers brak, and the topmast lap,
     It was sic a deadly storm:
     And the waves came owre the broken ship
     Till a’ her sides were torn.

     The fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith,
     Another o’ the twine,
     And they wrapp’d them round that gude ship’s side,
     But still the sea came in.

     O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
     To wet their cork-heel’d shoon;
     But lang or a’ the play was play’d
     They wat their hats aboon.

     And mony was the feather bed
     That flatter’d on the faem;
     And mony was the gude lord’s son
     That never mair cam hame.

     O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
     Wi’ their fans into their hand,
     Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
     Come sailing to the strand!

     And lang, lang may the maidens sit
     Wi’ their gowd kames in their hair,
     A-waiting for their ain dear loves!
     For them they’ll see nae mair.

     Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdour,
     ’Tis fifty fathoms deep;
     And their lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
     Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet!

2014. október 24.
A kezdőoldalra