The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine o:
“O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship of mine o?”
O up and spake an eldern-knight,
Sat at the king’s right knee:
“Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever saild the sea.”
Our king has written a braid letter,
And seald it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.
The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughed he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.
“O wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king o me,
To send us out, at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?”
“Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a’!
Our gude ship sails the morn.”
“Now ever alake, 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.”
O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heel’d shoon!
But lang or a the play was play’d
They wat their hats aboon,
O lang, lang may the ladyes 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 goud kaims in their hair,
A’ waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they’ll see na mair.
O forty miles off Aberdeen,
‘Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet.
–Anonymous, Sir Patrick Spens
Think about it.