The king sits in Dumferling toune, <br /> Drinking the blude-reid wine: <br /> "O whar will I get guid sailor, <br /> To sail this schip of mine?" <br /> <br /> Up and spak an eldern knicht, <br /> Sat at the kings richt kne: <br /> "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor <br /> That sails upon the se." <br /> <br /> The king has written a braid letter, <br /> And signd it wi his hand, <br /> And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, <br /> Was walking on the sand. <br /> <br /> The first line that Sir Patrick red, <br /> A loud lauch lauched he; <br /> The next line that Sir Patrick red, <br /> The teir blinded his ee. <br /> <br /> "O wha is this has don this deid, <br /> This ill deid don to me, <br /> To send me out this time o' the yeir, <br /> To sail upon the se! <br /> <br /> "Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, <br /> Our guid schip sails the morne:" <br /> "O say na sae, my master deir, <br /> For I feir a deadlie storme. <br /> <br /> "Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, <br /> Wi the auld moone in hir arme, <br /> And I feir, I feir, my deir master, <br /> That we will cum to harme." <br /> <br /> O our Scots nobles wer richt laith <br /> To weet their cork-heild schoone; <br /> Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, <br /> Thair hats they swam aboone. <br /> <br /> O lang, lang may their ladies sit, <br /> Wi thair fans into their hand, <br /> Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence <br /> Cum sailing to the land. <br /> <br /> O lang, lang may the ladies stand, <br /> Wi thair gold kems in their hair, <br /> Waiting for thair ain deir lords, <br /> For they'll se thame na mair. <br /> <br /> Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, <br /> It's fiftie fadom deip, <br /> And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, <br /> Wi the Scots lords at his feit.<br /><br />Anonymous Americas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sir-patrick-spence-2/
