Roberto, this is the best I can make of the parts in question.

He had not sailed a week, a week
A week but barely three
When far unto the coast of Spain
The wind did blow them free


I thank you for your wine, lady
I thank you for your bread
But seven score o hungry men
Are ettlin' to be fed   (ettlin' = anxious, fretful)

He had not sailed a week, a week
A week but barely three
When far unto the Scottish coast
The wind it blowed them free


He's taen the mask frae off his face
Turned him to her view
And straight she's taen the gay gold ring
And pit his finger through