SHE

Now, sith that ye have shewed to me The secret of your mind, I shall be plain to you again, Like as ye shall me find. Sith it is so, that ye will go, I wolle not leave behind; Shall never be said, the Nut-brown Maid Was to her love unkind: Make you ready, for so am I, Although it were anone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

Yet I you rede to take good heed What men will think and say: Of young and old it shall be told, That ye be gone away, Your wanton will for to fulfil, In green wood you to play; And that ye might from your delight No longer make delay. Rather than ye should thus for me Be called an ill woman, Yet would I to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

Though it be sung of old and young, That I should be to blame, Theirs be the charge, that speak so large In hurting of my name: For I will prove, that, faithful love It is devoid of shame; In your distress, and heaviness, To part with you, the same: And sure all tho, that do not so, True lovers are they none; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

I counsel you, remember how, It is no maiden's law, Nothing to doubt, but to renne out To wood with an outlaw: For ye must there in your hand bear A bow, ready to draw; And, as a thief, thus must you live, Ever in dread and awe; Whereby to you great harm might grow: Yet had I lever than, That I had to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

I think not nay, but as ye say, It is no maiden's lore; But love may make me for your sake, As I have said before, To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot To get us meat in store; For so that I your company May have, I ask no more: From which to part, it maketh my heart As cold as any stone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

For an outlaw this is the law, That men him take and bind; Without pity, hanged to be, And waver with the wind. If I had nede, (as God forbede!) What rescue could ye find? Forsooth, I trow, ye and your bow For fear would draw behind: And no mervayle: for little avail Were in your counsel then: Wherefore I will to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

Right well know ye, that women be But feeble for to fight; No womanhede it is indeed To be bold as a knight: Yet, in such fear if that ye were With enemies day or night, I would withstand, with bow in hand, To greve them as I might, And you to save; as women have From death men many a one: For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

Yet take good hede; for ever I drede That ye could not sustain The thorny ways, the deep valleys, The snow, the frost, the rain, The cold, the heat: for dry, or wet, We must lodge on the plain; And, us above, none other roof But a brake bush, or twain; Which soon should grieve you, I believe, And ye would gladly then That I had to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

Sith I have here been partynere With you of joy and bliss, I must als part of your woe Endure, as reason is: Yet am I sure of one pleasure; And, shortly, it is this: That, where ye be, me seemeth, parde, I could not fare amiss. Without more speech, I you beseech That we were soon agone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

If ye go thyder, ye must consider, When ye have lust to dine, There shall no meat be for you gete, Nor drink, beer, ale, nor wine. No shetes clean, to lie between, Made of thread and twine; None other house, but leaves and boughs, To cover your head and mine; O mine heart sweet, this evil diete Should make you pale and wan; Wherefore I will to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

Among the wild dere, such an archere, As men say that ye be, Ne may not fail of good vitayle, Where is so great plenty: And water clear of the ryvere Shall be full sweet to me; With which in hele I shall right wele Endure, as ye shall see; And, or we go, a bed or two I can provide anone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

Lo! yet, before, ye must do more, If ye will go with me: As cut your hair up by your ear, Your kirtle by the knee; With bow in hand, for to withstand Your enemies, if need be: And this same night before day-light, To wood-ward will I flee. If that ye will all this fulfil, Do it shortly as ye can Else will I to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

I shall as now do more for you Than 'longeth to womanhede; To shorte my hair, a bow to bear, To shoot in time of need. O my sweet mother, before all other For you I have most drede: But now, adieu! I must ensue, Where fortune doth me lead. All this make ye: Now let us flee; The day cometh fast upon; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go, And I shall tell ye why,— Your appetite is to be light Of love, I wele espy: For, like as ye have said to me, In like wise hardely Ye would answere whosoever it were In way of company. It is said of old, Soon hot, soon cold And so is a woman. Wherefore I to the wood will go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

If ye take heed, it is no need Such words to say by me; For oft ye prayed, and long assayed, Or I you loved, parde: And though that I of ancestry A baron's daughter be, Yet have you proved how I you loved A squire of low degree; And ever shall, whatso befall; To die therefore anone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

A baron's child to be beguiled! It were a cursed dede; To be felawe with an outlawe! Almighty God forbede! Yet better were, the poor squyere Alone to forest yede, Than ye should say another day, That, by my cursed dede, Ye were betrayed: Wherefore, good maid, The best rede that I can, Is, that I to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

Whatever befall, I never shall Of this thing you upbraid: But if ye go, and leave me so, Then have ye me betrayed. Remember you wele, how that ye dele; For, if ye, as ye said, Be so unkind, to leave behind, Your love, the Nut-brown Maid, Trust me truly, that I shall die Soon after ye be gone; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

If that ye went, ye should repent; For in the forest now I have purvayed me of a maid, Whom I love more than you; Another fayrere, than ever ye were, I dare it wele avow; And of you both each should be wroth With other, as I trow: It were mine ease, to live in peace; So will I, if I can; Wherefore I to the wood will go, Alone, a banished man.

SHE

Though in the wood I understood Ye had a paramour, All this may nought remove my thought, But that I will be your: And she shall find me soft and kind, And courteys every hour; Glad to fulfil all that she will Command me to my power: For had ye, lo! an hundred mo, Of them I would be one; For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

Mine own dear love, I see the proof That ye be kind and true; Of maid, and wife, in all my life, The best that ever I knew. Be merry and glad, be no more sad, The case is changed new; For it were ruth, that, for your truth, Ye should have cause to rue. Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said To you, when I began; I will not to the green wood go, I am no banished man.

SHE

These tidings be more glad to me, Than to be made a queen, If I were sure they should endure: But it is often seen, When men will break promise, they speak The wordes on the splene. Ye shape some wile me to beguile, And steal from me, I ween: Then, were the case worse than it was, And I more wo-begone: For, in my mind, of all mankind I love but you alone.

HE

Ye shall not nede further to drede; I will not disparage You, (God defend!) sith ye descend Of so great a lineage. Now understand; to Westmoreland, Which is mine heritage, I will you bring; and with a ring, By way of marriage I will you take, and lady make, As shortly as I can: Thus have you won an erly's son, And not a banished man.

AUTHOR

Here may ye see, that women be In love, meek, kind, and stable; Let never man reprove them then, Or call them variable; But, rather, pray God that we may To them be comfortable; Which sometime proveth such, as he loveth, If they be charitable. For sith men would that women should Be meek to them each one; Much more ought they to God obey, And serve but Him alone.



The Fause Lover



A fair maid sat in her bower door, Wringing her lily hands; And by it came a sprightly youth, Fast tripping o'er the strands.

"Where gang ye, young John," she says, "Sae early in the day? It gars me think, by your fast trip, Your journey's far away."

He turn'd about wi' surly look, And said, "What's that to thee? I'm ga'en to see a lovely maid, Mair fairer far than ye."

"Now hae ye play'd me this, fause love, In simmer, 'mid the flowers? I shall repay ye back again, In winter, 'mid the showers."

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love, Will ye not turn again? For as ye look to ither women, I shall do to other men."

"Make your choice o' whom you please, For I my choice will have; I've chosen a maid more fair than thee, I never will deceive."

But she's kilt up her claithing fine, And after him gaed she; But aye he said, "Ye'll turn again, Nae farder gae wi' me."

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love, Will ye never love me again? Alas! for loving you sae well, And you na me again."

The firstan' town that they came till, He bought her brooch and ring; But aye he bade her turn again, And gang nae farder wi' him.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," etc.

The nextan' town that they came till, He bought her muff and gloves; But aye he bade her turn again, And choose some other loves.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," etc.

The nextan' town that they came till, His heart it grew mair fain; And he was deep in love wi' her. As she was ower again.

The nextan' town that they came till, He bought her wedding gown; And made her lady o' ha's and bowers, In sweet Berwick town.



The Mermaid



To yon fause stream that, near the sea, Hides mony an elf and plum, And rives wi' fearful din the stanes, A witless knicht did come.

The day shines clear—far in he's gane Whar shells are silver bright, Fishes war loupin' a' aroun', And sparklin' to the light.

Whan, as he laved, sounds cam sae sweet Frae ilka rock an' tree; The brief was out, 'twas him it doomed The mermaid's face to see.

Frae 'neath a rock, sune, sune she rose, And stately on she swam, Stopped i' the midst, and becked and sang To him to stretch his han'.

Gowden glist the yellow links That round her neck she'd twine; Her een war o' the skyie blue, Her lips did mock the wine;

The smile upon her bonnie cheek Was sweeter than the bee; Her voice excelled the birdie's sang Upon the birchen tree.

Sae couthie, couthie did she look, And meikle had she fleeched; Out shot his hand—alas! alas! Fast in the swirl he screeched.

The mermaid leuch, her brief was gane, And kelpie's blast was blawin', Fu' low she duked, ne'er raise again, For deep, deep was the fawin'.

Aboon the stream his wraith was seen, Warlochs tirled lang at gloamin'; That e'en was coarse, the blast blew hoarse, Ere lang the waves war foamin'.



The Battle of Otterburn



THE FIRST FYTTE

It fell about the Lammas tide, When husbands winn their hay, The doughty Douglas bound him to ride Into England to take a prey.

The Earl of Fife, withouten strife, He bound him over Solway; The great would ever together ride That race they may rue for aye.

Over Ottercap hill they came in, And so down by Rotheley crag, Upon Green Leighton they lighted down, Styrande many a stag;

And boldly brente Northumberland, And harried many a town; They did our Englishmen great wrong To battle that were not bown.

Then spake a berne upon the bent, Of comfort that was not cold, And said, "We have brente Northumberland, We have all wealth in holde.

"Now we have harried all Bamborough shire All the wealth in the world have we; I rede we ride to Newcastle, So still and stalworthlye."

Upon the morrow, when it was day, The standards shone full bright; To the Newcastle they took the way, And thither they came full right.

Sir Henry Percy lay at the Newcastle, I tell you, withouten dread; He has been a March-man all his days, And kept Berwick upon Tweed.

To the Newcastle when they came, The Scots they cried on hyght: "Sir Harry Percy, an thou bist within, Come to the field and fight:

"For we have brente Northumberland, Thy heritage good and right; And syne my lodging I have take, With my brand dubbed many a knight."

Sir Harry Percy came to the walls, The Scottish host for to see: "And thou hast brente Northumberland, Full sore it rueth me.

"If thou hast harried all Bamborough shire, Thou hast done me great envy; For the trespass thou hast me done, The one of us shall die."

"Where shall I bide thee?" said the Douglas; "Or where wilt thou come to me?" "At Otterburn in the high way, There mayst thou well lodged be.

"The roe full reckless there she runs, To make thee game and glee; The falcon and the pheasant both, Among the holtes on hee.

"There mayst thou have thy wealth at will, Well lodged there mayst thou be; It shall not be long ere I come thee till," Said Sir Harry Percye.

"There shall I bide thee," said the Douglas, "By the faith of my body." "Thither shall I come," said Sir Harry Percy, "My troth I plight to thee."

A pipe of wine he gave them over the walls, For sooth, as I you say; There he made the Douglas drink, And all his host that day.

The Douglas turned him homeward again, For sooth withouten nay; He took his lodging at Otterburn Upon a Wednesday;

And there he pyght his standard down. His getting more and less; And syne he warned his men to go And get their geldings gress.

A Scottish knight hoved upon the bent, A watch I dare well say; So was he ware on the noble Percy In the dawning of the day.

He pricked to his pavilion door, As fast as he might ronne; "Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight, "For His love that sits in throne.

"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight, "For thou mayst waken with wynne; Yonder have I spied the proud Percy, And seven standards with him."

"Nay, by my troth," the Douglas said, "It is but a feigned tale; He durst not look on my broad banner, For all England so hayle.

"Was I not yesterday at the Newcastle, That stands so fair on Tyne? For all the men the Percy had, He could not garre me once to dyne."

He stepped out at his pavilion door, To look, and it were less; "Array you, lordyngs, one and all, For here begins no peace.

"The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme, The forward I give to thee; The Earl of Huntley cawte and keen, He shall with thee be.

"The Lord of Buchan, in armour bright, On the other hand he shall be; Lord Johnstone, and Lord Maxwell, They two shall be with me.

"Swynton fair field upon your pride To battle make you bowen; Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward, Sir John of Agerstone."



THE SECOND FYTTE

The Percy came before his host, Which ever was a gentle knight, Upon the Douglas loud did he cry, "I will hold that I have hight;

"For thou hast brente Northumberland, And done me great envy; For this trespass thou hast me done The one of us shall die."

The Douglas answered him again, With great words up on hee, And said, "I have twenty against thy one, Behold, and thou mayst see."

With that the Percy was grieved sore, For sooth as I you say; He lighted down upon his foot, And shot his horse clean away.

Every man saw that he did so, That ryall was ever in rout; Every man shot his horse him fro, And light him round about.

Thus Sir Harry Percy took the field, For sooth as I you say, Jesu Christ in heaven on high, Did help him well that day.

But nine thousand, there was no more, If chronicle will not layne; Forty thousand Scots and four That day fought them again,

But when the battle began to join, In haste there came a knight, Then letters fair forth hath he ta'en, And thus he said full right:

"My lord, your father he greets you well, With many a noble knight; He desires you to bide, That he may see this fight.

"The baron of Grastock is come out of the west, With him a noble company; All they lodge at your father's this night, And the battle fain would they see."

"For Jesu's love," said Sir Harry Percy, "That died for you and me, Wend to my lord, my father, again, And say thou saw me not with ee;

"My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight, It needs me not to layne, That I should bide him upon this bent, And I have his troth again;

"And if that I wend off this ground, For sooth unfoughten away, He would me call but a coward knight, In his land another day.

"Yet had I lever to be rynde and rent, By Mary that mykel may, Than ever my manhood should be reproved With a Scot another day.

"Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake, And let sharp arrows flee; Minstrels, play up for your warison, And well quit it shall be.

"Every man think on his true love, And mark him to the Trinity; For to God I make mine a-vow This day will I not flee."

The bloody heart in the Douglas' arms, His standard stood on high, That every man might full well know; Beside stood starres three.

The white Li n on the English part, For sooth as I you sayne, The luces and the crescents both The Scots fought them again.

Upon Saint Andrew loud did they cry, And thrice they shout on hyght, And syne marked them on our Englishmen, As I have told you right.

Saint George the bright, our Lady's knight, To name they were full fain, Our Englishmen they cried on hyght, And thrice they shout again.

With that sharp arrows began to flee, I tell you in certain; Men of arms began to join; Many a doughty man was there slain.

The Percy and the Douglas met, That either of them was fain; They schapped together, while that they sweat, With swords of fine Collayne;

Till the blood from their basenets ran As the roke doth in the rain. "Yield thee to me," said the Douglas, "Or else thou shalt be slain;

"For I see by thy bright basenet, Thou art some man of might; And so I do by thy burnished brand, Thou art an earl, or else a knight."

"By my good faith," said the noble Percy, "Now hast thou rede full right; Yet will I never yield me to thee, While I may stand and fight."

They swapped together, while that they sweat, With swordes sharp and long; Each on other so fast they beat, Till their helms came in pieces down.

The Percy was a man of strength, I tell you in this stound He smote the Douglas at the sword's length, That he felled him to the ground.

The sword was sharp, and sore did byte, I tell you in certain; To the heart he did him smite, Thus was the Douglas slain.

The standards stood still on each side; With many a grievous groan, There they fought the day, and all the night, And many a doughty man was slone.

There was no freyke that there would fly, But stiffly in stour did stand, Echone hewing on other while they might dry, With many a baleful brand.

There was slain upon the Scottes side, For sooth and certainly, Sir James of Douglas there was slain, That day that he did die.

The Earl of Menteith he was slain. Grysely groaned upon the ground; Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward, Sir John of Agerstone.

Sir Charles Murray in that place, That never a foot would fly; Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was, With the Douglas did he die.

There was slain upon the Scottes side, For sooth as I you say, Of four and forty thousand Scots, Went but eighteen away.

There was slain upon the English side, For sooth and certainly, A gentle knight, Sir John Fitzhugh, It was the more pity.

Sir James Harebotell there was slain, For him their hearts were sore The gentle Lovel there was slain, That the Percy's standard bore.

There was slain upon the English side, For sooth as I you say, Of nine thousand Englishmen, Five hundred came away;

The others were slayne in the field, Christ keep their souls from woe, Seeing there were so few friends Against so many a foe!

Then on the morn they made them biers Of birch and hazel gray; Many a widow with weeping tears Their makes they fetch away.

This fray began at Otterburn, Between the night and the day; There the Douglas lost his life, And the Percy was led away.

Then was there a Scottish prisoner ta'en, Sir Hugh Montgomery was his name, For sooth as I you say, He borrowed the Percy home again.

Now let us all for the Percy pray, To Jesu most of might, To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven, For he was a gentle knight.



The Lament of the Border Widow



My love he built me a bonny bower, And clad it a' wi' a lilye flower, A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day, He spied his sport and went away, And brought the king that very night, Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me so dear; He slew my knight, and poined his gear; My servants all for life did flee, And left me in extremitie.

I sewed his sheet, making my mane; I watched the corpse, myself alane; I watched his body, night and day; No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat, I digged a grave, and laid him in, And happed him with the sod so green.

But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair; Think na ye my heart was wae, When I turned about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again, Since that my lovely knight is slain; W? ae lock of his yellow hair I'll chain my heart for evermair.



The Banks o' Yarrow



Late at e'en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing.

"What though ye be my sister's lord, We'll cross our swords to-morrow." "What though my wife your sister be, I'll meet ye then on Yarrow."

"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord! O stay, my ain dear marrow! My cruel brither will you betray On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

"O fare ye weel, my lady dear! And put aside your sorrow; For if I gae, I'll sune return Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow."

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, As oft she'd done before, O; She belted him wi' his gude brand, And he's awa' to Yarrow.

When he gaed up the Tennies bank, As he gaed mony a morrow, Nine armed men lay in a den, On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.

"O come ye here to hunt or hawk The bonny Forest thorough? Or come ye here to wield your brand Upon the banks o' Yarrow?"

"I come not here to hunt or hawk, As oft I've dune before, O, But I come here to wield my brand Upon the banks o' Yarrow.

"If ye attack me nine to ane, Then may God send ye sorrow!— Yet will I fight while stand I may, On the bonny banks o' Yarrow."

Two has he hurt, and three has slain, On the bloody braes o' Yarrow; But the stubborn knight crept in behind, And pierced his body thorough.

"Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John, And tell your sister sorrow,— To come and lift her leafu' lord On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

Her brither John gaed ower yon hill, As oft he'd dune before, O; There he met his sister dear, Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow.

"I dreamt a dream last night," she says, "I wish it binna sorrow; I dreamt I pu'd the heather green Wi' my true love on Yarrow."

"I'll read your dream, sister," he says, "I'll read it into sorrow; Ye're bidden go take up your love, He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."

She's torn the ribbons frae her head That were baith braid and narrow; She's kilted up her lang claithing, And she's awa' to Yarrow.

She's ta'en him in her arms twa, And gi'en him kisses thorough; She sought to bind his mony wounds, But he lay dead on Yarrow.

"O haud your tongue," her father says, "And let be a' your sorrow; I'll wed you to a better lord Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, father," she says, "Far warse ye mak' my sorrow; A better lord could never be Than him that lies on Yarrow."

She kiss'd his lips, she kaim'd his hair, As aft she had dune before, O; And there wi' grief her heart did break, Upon the banks o' Yarrow.



Hugh of Lincoln



SHOWING THE CRUELTY OF A JEW'S DAUGHTER

Four and twenty bonny boys Were playing at the ba', And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh, The flower among them a'.

He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot, And keppit it wi' his knee, Till even in at the Jew's window He gart the bonny ba' flee.

"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid, Cast out the ba' to me." "Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, Till ye come up to me."

"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, Come up and get the ba'." "I winna come, I mayna come, Without my bonny boys a'."

She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden, Where the grass grew lang and green, She's pu'd an apple red and white, To wyle the bonny boy in.

She's wyled him in through ae chamber, She's wyled him in through twa, She's wyled him into the third chamber, And that was the warst o' a'.

She's tied the little boy, hands and feet, She's pierced him wi' a knife, She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup, And twinn'd him o' his life.

She row'd him in a cake o' lead, Bade him lie still and sleep, She cast him in a deep draw-well Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And every bairn went hame, Then ilka lady had her young son, But Lady Helen had nane.

She row'd her mantle her about, And sair, sair 'gan she weep; And she ran unto the Jew's house, When they were all asleep.

"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh, I pray thee to me speak!" "Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well 'Gin ye your son wad seek."

Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well, And knelt upon her knee: "My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here, I pray thee speak to me!"

"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, The well is wondrous deep; A keen penknife sticks in my heart, It is hard for me to speak.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear, Fetch me my winding-sheet; And at the back o' merry Lincoln, It's there we twa sall meet."

Now Lady Helen she's gane hame, Made him a winding-sheet; And at the back o' merry Lincoln, The dead corpse did her meet.

And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln Without men's hands were rung; And a' the books o' merry Lincoln Were read without men's tongue: Never was such a burial Sin' Adam's days begun.



Sir Patrick Spens



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

O up and spak' an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee, "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, That ever sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter, And seated 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 of Noroway 'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

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?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails an Moneday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wednesday.

They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say:

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, And a' our queen's fee." "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu' loud I hear ye lie;

"For I brought as much white monie, As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou of gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me.

"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 old moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed 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 ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.

"O where will I get a gude sail'r, To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall top-mast, To see if I can spy land?"

"O here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall top-mast; But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bout flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it cam in.

"Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side, And let nae the sea come in."

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapped them round that gude ship's side, But still 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 aboon.

And mony was the feather bed, That flattered on the faem; And mony was the gude lord's son, That never mair cam hame.

The ladies wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang, lang, may the ladies 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, With their goud kaims in their hair A' waiting for their ain dear loves, For them they'll see nae mair!

O forty miles off Aberdeen, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

THE END