The first word that Sir Patrick read So loud, loud laugh’d he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read The tear blinded his e’e. _368._ skeely] skilful. ‘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 hoysed their sails on Monenday morn Wi’ a’ the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. II. _The Return_ ‘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 cam owre the broken ship Till a’ her sides were torn. lift] sky. lap] sprang. ‘Go fetch a web o’ the silken claith, Another o’ the twine, And wap them into our ship’s side, And let nae the sea come in.’ They fetch’d a web o’ the silken claith, Another o’ the twine, And they wapp’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 there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet! flatter’d] tossed afloat. kames] combs. _369._ _The Lass of Lochroyan_ ‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot? And wha will glove my hand? And wha will bind my middle jimp Wi’ a lang, lang linen band? ‘O wha will kame my yellow hair, With a haw bayberry kame? And wha will be my babe’s father Till Gregory come hame?’ ‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot, Thy brother will glove thy hand, Thy mither will bind thy middle jimp Wi’ a lang, lang linen band. ‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair, Wi’ a haw bayberry kame; The Almighty will be thy babe’s father Till Gregory come hame.’