THERE came a ghost to Marg’ret’s door, With many a grievous groan; And aye he tirled at the pin, But answer made she none. ‘Is that my father Philip? Or is’t my brother John? Or is’t my true-love Willie, From Scotland new come home?’ ‘’Tis not thy father Philip, Nor yet thy brother John, But ’tis thy true-love Willie From Scotland new come home. ‘O sweet Marg’ret, O dear Marg’ret! I pray thee speak to me; Give me my faith and troth, Marg’ret, As I gave it to thee.’ ‘Thy faith and troth thou’s never get, Nor it will I thee lend, Till that thou come within my bower And kiss me cheek and chin.’ ‘If I should come within thy bower, I am no earthly man; And should I kiss thy ruby lips Thy days would not be lang. ‘O sweet Marg’ret! O dear Marg’ret, I pray thee speak to me; Give me my faith and troth, Marg’ret, As I gave it to thee.’ ‘Thy faith and troth thou’s never get, Nor it will I thee lend, Till thou take me to yon kirk-yard, And wed me with a ring.’ ‘My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard Afar beyond the sea; And it is but my spirit, Marg’ret, That’s now speaking to thee.’ She stretched out her lily-white hand And for to do her best: ‘Hae, there’s your faith and troth, Willie; God send your soul good rest.’ Now she has kilted her robe o’ green A piece below her knee, And a’ the live-lang winter night The dead corp followed she. ‘Is there any room at your head, Willie, Or any room at your feet? Or any room at your side, Willie, Wherein that I may creep?’ ‘There’s nae room at my head, Marg’ret, There’s nae room at my feet; There’s nae room at my side, Marg’ret, My coffin’s made so meet.’ Then up and crew the red red cock, And up and crew the grey; ‘’Tis time, ’tis time, my dear Marg’ret, That you were gane awa.’ SIR PATRICK SPENS THE king sits in Dumfermline toun, Drinking the blude-red wine; ‘O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship o’ mine?’ O up and spake 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 sealed it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens Was walking on the strand. ‘To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway ower the faem; The king’s daughter o’ Noroway ’Tis thou must bring her hame.’ The first word that Sir Patrick read So loud loud laughed he; The neist 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?