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SIR PATRICK SPENS
' 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.
II. The Return.
' 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
Wi? the auld moon in her arm; And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.,
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.