Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chace,
Made by the Erle Percye.
God save our king, and bless this land
With plentye, joy, and peace,
And grant henceforth that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease!
XXVI
SIR PATRICK SPENS
The King sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
'O whaur will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?'
O up and spake 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 sealed it wi' 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 to Noroway,
'Tis thou maun bring her hame.'
The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud lauched 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 of 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 to Noroway,
'Tis we must bring her hame.'
They hoysed their sails on Monday morn
Wi' a' the speed they may;
They hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.
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