- Hie sits oor king in Dumfermline, Sits birlin at the wine; Says, Whare will I get a bonnie boy That will sail the saut seas fine? That will hie owre to Norraway, To bring my dear dochter hame?
- Up it spak a bonnie boy, Sat by the king's ain knie: 'Sir Patrick Spens is as gude a skipper As ever sailed the sea.'
- The king has wrote a broad letter, And signed it wi his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, To read it gif he can.
- The firsten line he luikit on, A licht lauchter gae he; But ere he read it to the end, The tear blindit his ee.
- 'O wha is this, or wha is that, Has tauld oor king o me? I wad hae gien him twice as muckle thank To latten that abee'
- 'But eat an drink, my merrie young men, Eat, an be weel forn; For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet, Oor gude ship sails the morn.'
- Up it spak his youngest son, Sat by Sir Patrick's knie: 'I beg you bide at hame, father, An I pray be ruled by me.
- 'For I saw the new mune late yestreen, Wi the auld mune in her arms; An ever an alake, my father dear, It's a token o diedly storms.'
- 'It's eat an drink, my merrie young men, Eat, an be weel forn; For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet, Oor gude ship sails the morn.'
- They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but only three, When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws Cam drivin to their knie.
- They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but only five, When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws Their gude ship began to rive.
- They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but only nine, When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws Cam drivin to their chin.
- 'O whaur will I get a bonnie boy Will tak the steer in hand, Till I mount up to oor tapmast, To luik oot for dry land?'
- 'O here am I, a bonnie boy, Will tak the steer in hand, Till you mount up to oor tapmast, To luik oot for dry land.'
- He's gaen up to the tapmast, To the tapmast sae hie; He luikit around on every side, But dry land he couldna see.
- He luikit on his youngest son, An the tear blindit he ee; Says, I wish you had been in your mother's bowr, But there you'll never be.
- 'Pray for yoursels, my merrie young men, Pray for yoursels an me, For the first landen that we will land Will be in the boddam o the sea.'
- Then up it raise the mermaiden, Wi the comb an glass in her hand: 'Here's a health to you, my merrie young men, For you never will see dry land.'
- O laith, laith waur oor gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon; But lang, lang ere the play was played, Their yellow locks soomed aboun.
- There was Saturday, an Sabbath day, An Monnonday at morn, That feather-beds an silken sheets Can floatin to Kinghorn.
- It's och, och owre to Aberdour, It's fifty faddoms deep; An there lie a' oor gude Scots lords, Wi Sir Patrick Spens at their feet.
- O lang, lang will his lady sit, Wi the fan into her hand, Until she see her ain dear lord Come sailin to dry land.
- O lang, lang will his lady sit, Wi the tear into her ee, Afore she see her ain dear lord Come hieing to Dundee.
- O lang, lang will his lady sit, Wi the black shoon on her feet, Afore she see Sir Patrick Spens Come drivin up the street.
No: 58; variant: 58J
Source: Miss Harris's MS., fol. 4, from the singing of her mother.