Poetry Archives

The king sits in Dunfermline town
  Drinking the blude-red wine;
‘O whare will I get a skeely skipper
  To sail this new ship o’ mine?’

O up and spak an eldern knight,
  Sat at the king’s right knee;
‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
  That ever sail’d the sea.’

Our king has written a braid letter,
  And seal’d it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
  Was walking on the strand.

‘To Noroway, to Noroway,
  To Noroway o’er the faem;
The king’s daughter o’ Noroway,
  ’Tis thou must bring her hame.’

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.

‘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.