O when shall English men Michael Drayton A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves O for a soft and gentle wind! I hear a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high; The world of waters is our home, There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, And lightning in yon cloud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, Our heritage the sea. - Allan Cunningham SIR PATRICK SPENS The King sits in Dunfermline toun, Then up an' spake an eldern knight, The King has written a braid letter, "To Noroway, to Noroway, The first line that Sir Patrick read, The neist line that Sir Patrick read, "O wha is this hae dune this deed, And tauld the King o' me, To send us out this time o' year "Be 't wind, be 't weet, be 't hail, be 't sleet, Our ship maun sail the faem, The King's daughter to Noroway, 'Tis we maun tak' her hame." They hoised their sails o' a Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; And they hae landed in Noroway Upon the Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say, "Ye Scottismen spend a' our King's gowd, And a' our Queenis fee.' "Ye lee, ye lee, ye leears loud, Fu' loud I hear ye lee. "For I brought as mickle o' white monie, As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou o' gude red gowd "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, 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 ropes they brak, the top-masts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship, "O whaur sall I get a sailor gude "O it's here am I, a sailor gude, He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bout flew out o' the gude ship's side, "Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And wap them into the gude ship's side, They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And they wapp'd them into that gude ship's side, But aye the sea cam' in. O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon, But lang or a' the play was played They wat their hats abune. And laith, laith were our gude Scots lords O lang, lang may the ladies sit, And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Half owre, half owre from Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathom deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. |