From English Maritime Suite, by Peter Bellamy. This is what I can get. Please, someone to check and correct. Thank you.

The King sits in Dunfermline town
A-drinking at the wine
And he has called for the finest skipper
In Fife or all the land

Then up and spoke an old man
Who sat by the King's right knee:
He said: Patrick Spens is the finest sailor
That ever sailed on the sea

Now the King he wrote a broad letter
And signed it with his hand
He sent it to young Sir Patrick Spens
Who was walking on Leith strand

"To Norrowa, to Norrowa
To Norrowa o'er the foam
The King's daughter in Norrowa
'Tis you must bring her home

Now, they had not been in Norrowa
A week but barely three
When all the lords in Norrowa
They up and they spoke so free

They said: "These outland Scots they drink our King's gold
They swallow our Queen's fee
Oh woe upon the tongue that told
Such a dreadful lie

And how can this be?" cried Sir Patrick Spens,
So I pray now, tell it unto me
When the bows of our ship they are wrought in gold
And we've twelve chests of white money

But take heed, take heed, my good men all
And mind you be forewarned
For cometh wind or cometh hail
Our good ship sails in the morn

But up there spoke the weatherman:
I fear we all be drowned
For I saw the new moon late yest'reen
With the old moon laying in her arms

Now, they had not sailed a league, a league
A league but barely three
When the skies they run black and the seas run high
And the ship she was now a wreck

Then it's where can I find some bonny boy
To take the steer in hand
While I climb up to the high topmast
To see if I can spy land

But he hadn't take a steep, a step
A step but barely one
When bows of that good ship did crack
And the salt sea did rush in

And loth, oh loth were those proud Scots lords
For to wet their cork-heeled shoes
But ere the race was halfway run
They'd wet their hats also

Now long and long may the ladies sit
With their fans all in their hands
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to Leith strand

Half ower, half ower to Aberdour
Where the seas they run so deep
'Tis there does lie young Sir Patrick Spens
With the Scots lords at his feet