7 'But busk, O busk, my merrie men all, Our gude ship sails the morn, For blow the wind whereer it will, Our gude ship sails the morn.' 8 They had na sailed a day, a day, A day but scarsely five, Till Skipper Patrick's bonny ship Began to crack and rive. 9 It's bonny was the feather beds That swimmed alang the main, But bonnier was our braw Scots lords, They neer returned again. 10 Our Scots lords they are all laith To weet their coal black shoon; But I trow or a' the play was played, They wat their hair abune. 11 Our ladies may stand upon the sand, Kembing down their yellow hair, But they will neer see Skipper Patrick's ship Come sailing in nae mair. 12 Our ladies may stand upon the sand Wi gloves upon their hand, But they will never see Skipper Patrick's ship Come sailing into the land. 13 O vour and o vour to bonnie Aberdour It's fifty fadoms deep; There you will find young Patrick lye, Wi his Scots lords at his head. 14 Row owre, row owre to Aberdour, It's fifty fadom deep; And there lies Earl Patrick Spens, His men all at his feet. G Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 157, communicated by Scott. 1 The king sits in Dunfermlin town, Sae merrily drinkin the wine: 'Whare will I get a mariner, Will sail this ship o mine?' 2 Then up bespak a bonny boy, Sat just at the king's knee: 'Sir Patrick Spence is the best seaman, That eer set foot on sea.' 3 The king has written a braid letter, Seald it wi his ain hand; He has sent word to Sir Patrick, To come at his command. 4 'O wha is this, or wha is that, Has tald the king o me? For I was never a good seaman, Nor ever intend to be.' 5 They mounted sail on Munenday morn, Wi a' the haste they may, And they hae landed in Norraway, Upon the Wednesday. 6 They hadna been a month, a month In Norraway but three, Till lads o Norraway began to say, Ye spend a' our white monie. 7 'Ye spend a' our good kingis goud, But and our queenis fee:' 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, Sae weel's I hear you lie. 8 'For I brought as much white money As will gain my men and me; I brought half a fou o good red goud Out oer the sea with me. 9 'Be't wind or weet, be't snaw or sleet, Our ships maun sail the morn:' 'O ever alack! my master dear, I fear a deadly storm. 10 '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 suffer harm.' 11 They hadna sailed a league on sea, A league but barely ane, Till anchors brak, and tap-masts lap; There came a deadly storm.