Apparently no one. (The title is a very good song by Creedence Clearwater Revival, but that's not the subject of this journal.) What is with the storms these days? Not that I mind... I have an insane love of storms... but it's unusual to have them be almost continuous for an entire week.

Yes, I'm posting a lot of journals lately... I don't really know why. I'll be posting a work-in-progress scan of the commission later (finally!). It's not far along, but I may as well upload something.

.....

So... "Sir Patrick Spens". It is an amazing song. Somewhat creepy, I admit, but yes, this means I have another ballad for you. "You" being whoever you are who is crazy enough to read my ramblings I found a wonderful recording of it last night, by a singer named Charles Tyler ([link]), and while listening to it another storm started. Mind you, it was pitch-dark outside (except for lightning), I had all of the lights turned off, and the song was at the "To Noroway, to Noroway, to Noroway o'er the faem" verse. It was perfect!
So here is a 700-year-old song....

<sub>The king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blood-red wine
'O where will I find a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?'

Well 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'

Now the king has written a braid letter
Sealed it with his hand
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
Was walking down the strand

'To Noroway, to Noroway
To Noroway o'er the faem
The king's daughter o' Noroway
Tis thou maun bring her hame'

Now the first word that Sir Patrick read
So loud, loud laughed he
The next word that Sir Patrick read
The tear blinded his e'e

'O who is this has done this deed
And told the king o' 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 o' Noroway
Tis we maun bring her hame'

Well they hoist their sails on a Monenday morn
With all the speed they may
And they hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday

.....

'Make ready, make ready, my merry men all
Our good ship sails the morn'
'Now ever alack my master dear
I fear a deadly storm'

'For I saw the new moon late yestreen
With the old moon in her arm
And if we gang to sea, master
I fear we'll come to harm'

Well they had not 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

And the ankers brak and the topmast lap
It was sic a deadly storm
And the waves came o'er that broken ship
Till all her sides were torn

'O go fetch a web o' the silken claith
and another o' the twine
And wap them into the ship's side
Let not the sea come in'

Well they fetched a web o' the silken claith
And another o' the twine
And they wapp'd them round the good ship's side
But still the sea came in

O laith, laith were our good Scots lords
To wet their cork-heeled shoon!
But long or a' that play was played
They wet their hats aboon

And mony was the feather bed
Lay flattered on the fame
And mony was the good lord's son
That never mair came hame

O long long may the maidens sit
With their gold cames in their hair
A'waiting for their ain dear loves
For them they'll see nae mair

And long, long may the maidens sit
With their fans into their hand
A'waiting for Sir Patrick Spens
Come walking down the strand

Half owre, half owre to Aberdour
'Tis fifty fathoms deep
And there lies good Sir Patrick Spens
With the Scots lords at his feet!</sub>