The King sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blood-red wine.
"O! where shall I get a captain bold
To sail this new ship of mine?"

Then up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the King's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea!"

The King has written a broad letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Who was walking on the strand.

"To Noraway, to Noraway, 
To Noraway, o'er the foam,
The Princess fair of Noraway,
'Tis thou must bring her home."

"O! who is it has done this deed,
And told the King of me?
To send us out at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea!"

They had not sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When the sky grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.

The anchors brake, the topmasts lap,
'Twas such a deadly storm.
And the waves came o'er the broken ship,
Till all her sides were torn.

The ladies wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair,
All for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see no more.

O! forty miles from Aberdeen
'Tis fifty fathom deep.
And there lies brave Sir Patrick Spens,
With his comrades at his feet.