WEEK THREE

This week we have a song which should be a must at any Burns Supper – ‘Rantin’ Rovin’ Robin’ – an autobiographical song by the National Bard and a short poem  - ‘The Henpecked Husband’ -which may prove of some use to the unfortunate male who has been brow-beaten into proposing the ‘Toast to the Lassies’!

RANTIN' ROVIN' ROBIN 

There was a lad was born in Kyle,

But whatna day o' whatna style,

I doubt it's hardly worth the while'

To be sae nice wi' Robin

 

Chorus

Robin was a rovin' boy -

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin' -

Robin was a rovin' boy -

Rantin' rovin' Robin !

 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane

Was five-and-twenty days begun,

'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'

Blew hansel in on Robin.

Robin was, & c.

 

The gossip keekit in his loof,

Quo' she, 'Wha lives will see the proof,

This waly boy will be nae coof,

I think we'll ca' him Robin.

Robin was, & c.

 

'He'll hae misfortunes great and sma',

But ay a heart aboon them a' ;

He'll be a credit till us a',

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

Robin was, & c.

 

'But sure as three times three mak' nine,

I see by ilka score and line,

This chap will dearly like our kin',

So leeze me on thee, Robin.

Robin was, & c.

 

'Guid faith,' quo' she, 'I doubt you gar

The bonie lasses lie aspar ;

But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,

So blessin's on thee, Robin !

Robin was, & c.

THE HENPECKED HUSBAND

Curs’d be the man, the poorest wretch in life,
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife!
Who has no will but by her high permission;
Who has not sixpence but in her possession;
Who must to her his dear friend’s secret tell,
Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse than hell!
Were such a wife had fallen to my part,
I’d break her spirit, or I’d break her heart;
I’d charm her with the magic of a switch,
I’d kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch.