Mermaid Song Iv

GREENLAND, Greenland, is a bonny, bonny place, Whare there’s neither grief nor flowr, Whare there’s neither grief nor tier to be seen, But hills and frost and snow. Up starts the kemp o the ship, Wi a psalm-book in his hand: ‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old boys, For you’ll never see dry land.’ Up starts the gaucy cook, And a weil gaucy cook was he; ‘I wad na gie aw my pans and my kettles For aw the lords in the sea.’ Up starts the kemp o the ship, Wi a bottle and a glass intil his hand; ‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old sailors, For you’ll never see dry land.’ O the raging seas they row, row, row, The stormy winds do blow, As sune as he had gane up to the tap, As . . . low.