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Patrick Spencer

by Gordon Bok

on In Concert (2006)

Oh, don't the moon look pretty, she sails like a ship in the sky
Darling, you don't know nothing about sailing, she's got a cast in her eye
When the moon weeps silvery tears, you can look for a terrible storm
I pity the sailor that's out tomorrow, I'm glad I can bide here at home

If you be Patrick Spencer, and that man you'd better be
I have a letter here from the King, he commands you to go to sea
It's little he thinks of your danger, as he sits with his wine and his song
His little daughter in far Norway, she's sick and she wants to come home

Well, he could have sent me greetings, he could have cast me blame
He could have asked me a hundred favours, god knows, I'd never complain
But this running up in the rigging with a hurricane on the wing
It's come to a matter of life and death to have to pleasure the King

Standing out to sea that day, oh lord, it commenced to rain
The waves like the tops of mountains and the wind like a thing in pain
Patrick Spencer calls for his glass and he put it in Johnny's hand
Saying, "Run up, Johnny, as high as you can, and see if you see any land"

"No land, Patrick Spencer, not ever a sight of shore"
"Well than, give it over, lads", he cried, "you'll never see home anymore
Never mind your buckle shoes, you'll wet more than your feet
And as for this letter from the King, it's a damn small winding-sheet"

Christinie be a long, long time a-waiting for me to come home
And the cold, cold sea be a long, long time a-washing over my bones
That man that told the King about me, well, I wish I had him here
The very last favour I'd ever have granted, is to carry him under with me