LEWD
The Bawdy Best of Robert Burns
LEWD, The Bawdy Best of Robert Burns
from BD BOOKS is a ‘Donny Book Classic’
English translation by Brooke Donny
©2009 All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 1434896307
ISBN-13: 9781434896308
Parental Guidance Advised:
This product contains poems and lyrics not
intended for distribution to young audiences.
Cover art from Hieronymous Bosch:
“The Garden of Delights” (circa 1500)
LEWD
The Bawdy Best of Robert Burns
2009
A Donny Book Classic
from BD BOOKS
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld aquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne...”
Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns
CONTENTS
BIOGRAPHY.……..……………….….….
FOREWORD ………..……………………
POET’S INTRO.…..………..…….………
POEMS & LYRICS :
“Nine Inch Will Please a Lady”
“How Can I Keep My Maidenhead?”
“John Anderson, My Jo, John”
“Duncan Davison”
“As I Came O’er The Cairney Mount”
“The Fornicator”
“The Patriarch”
“There Was Two Wives”
“The Case of Conscience”
“The Trogger”
“Epitaph for Hugh Logan Esq., of Laight”
“Epitaph for John Brown”
“Eppie McNab”
“Dainty Davie”
“A Masonic Song”
“Am I to Blame She Bade Me?”
“Supper is Not Ready”
“She Rose and Let Me In”
“My Own Kind Deary”
“Our John’s Broke Last Evening”
“The Devil Damn This Cunt O’ Mine”
“Madgie Came To My Bed-Stock”
“Know Ye What My Mother Did?”
“Here’s His Health in Water”
“The Cooper of Dundee”
“Ellibanks”
“Tweedmouth Town”
“Our Goodwife’s So Modest”
“The Jolly Gauger”
“Put Butter In My Donald’s Oats”
“She’s Thrown Me Out of Lauderdale”
“The Ploughman”
“No Hair On It”
“Poor Bodies Do Nothing But Mow”
“Give the Lass Her Fairin’”
“Would Ye Do That?”
“Prose-Work and Rhymes”
WINE, WOMEN AND SONG
Robert Burns: A Brief Biography
Nicknamed the “Ploughman’s Poet” or the “Bard of Aryshire” or, most commonly today, simply the “Bard,” Robert Burns was born in rural poverty on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, South Aryshire, Scotland. The eldest of seven children, he spent his formative years there attempting, without success, to manage his father’s farm, an activity that ultimately broke his constitution, but, fortunately, not his spirits.
A self-educated man, Burns published his first collection of poems, Poems Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, in 1786, a few years after his father’s death. The release of the Kilmarnock Volume, as it came to be known, made him an instant celebrity in Scotland and thereafter, heralded as a leading pioneer of the Romantic Movement in literature, his popularity quickly spread worldwide.
A renowned philanderer in his time and as famous for his numerous love affairs and illegitimate offspring as he was for his prose, Burns did, at least once, actually marry, taking young Jean Armour for his bride and fathering a total of nine children with her, only three of which were to survive infancy. He is also rumored to have wed his paramour, Mary Campbell, when his first marriage began to sour. If that is so, it was a very brief union, as Mary Campbell died suddenly of fever, shortly after the two ran off together.
His physique greatly compromised from those early years of hard manual labor, it is believed that Burns suffered from a rheumatic heart condition, a grave diagnosis which the poet, undoubtedly, only aggravated, with his penchant for alcohol and an otherwise sordidly self-indulgent lifestyle. Still only in his prime, Burns inevitably succumbed to this disease and, by his middle thirties, his overall health had begun to rapidly deteriorate. In the spring of 1796, he was an old man already, on his deathbed…
Robert Burns, died on July 21, 1796, at the age of thirty-seven. Both this date and his birthday have been celebrated annually in every corner of the world, since then. And his most famous song, Auld Lang Syne, is sung every New Year.
F O R E W O R D
Burns experts and connoisseurs have never quite agreed on whether he single-handedly penned the following Scottish poems and barroom ditties himself, or merely took them home to his study and enhanced them. One thing we do know for certain, though, is that the bard had a great deal of fun with his secret collection, both privately and in sharing it with his closest friends, be they country gentlemen and lords, or his ordinary drinking companions at the local tavern.
Most likely, then, it was one of those literate lords or gentlemen, or perhaps even their opportunistic progeny, who ultimately betrayed Burns’ confidence in publishing, only a few short years after the poet’s untimely death, certain choice excerpts from his private collection, and doing so in his name, of course, originally under the title, “The Merry Muses of Caledonia.”
Because this publication was uncommonly obscene, and in a stalwart effort to defend Burns’ character when he could not, his devotees were swift to deny his authorship of the Merry Muses, and those denials were to stand, with very little challenge, as the consensus of authority for well over a hundred years.
At the same time that Burns fans and experts were, on his behalf, vigorously issuing their denials (and in some cases apologies), the pirated edition of the “obscenities” in question was also quickly banned around the globe. Indeed, despite the ever expanding popularity of the poet over the ensuing decades and centuries, it would not be until the year 1964 that both Great Britain and the United States, would finally agree to lift their bans and allow the Merry Muses to be distributed once again.
Although the actual publisher’s true identity is still shrouded in some mystery, we are, undoubtedly, in debt to the “scoundrel” because his volume, whether unauthorized or not, has proved invaluable in helping to shed insight on the entire body of Burns’ work and the underlying cultural influences that originate in it. Naturally, the lascivious content of the Merry Muses didn’t hurt Burns’ reputation, either—his personal life was already considered pretty controversial—and, indeed, if anything, Burns’ exposure in this manner only served to increase his cult-like popularity posthumously.
Purists today may observe that the “choice” selections we have made for our publication, Lewd, The Bawdy Best of Robert Burns, have certain subtle modifications from their older translations which make them, we feel, a great deal more readable and comprehensible to newer and less familiar audiences. These modifications have been kept to a minimum, however, in an effort not to disturb the meter and/or the meaning of those particular verses. For instance, in some cases, where a word or phrase is now utterly obsolete and its meaning cannot reasonably be gleaned or inferred by a lay-person, a more sensible word or wording has been substituted in the rhyme.
So, for those readers who may know the older versions of these pieces by heart, and who may find our more modern adaptation of them rather jarring, we apologize for this in advance. The higher aim was to pay homage to Burns and to commemorate this, his 250th birthday, while, at the same time, introducing him to a newer readership that may otherwise, and quite wrongly, dismiss the bard as being too obscure and outdated.
And, for the uninitiated, ye Burns neophytes out there about to get your feet wet, no apologies whatsoever: We welcome you to the bawdy best of Robert Burns. But brace yourself if you think that, simply because the bard is almost three centuries old, his work might be too tame for your ears. This stuff’s not just naughty, folks. It’s rude, crude, and lewd.
So pour yourself a good, stiff one. And enjoy!
Robert Burns, in a letter written in 1793 to his friend and neighbor, John McMurdo, Esq., Chamberlain to the Duke of Queensbury:
“I think I once mentioned something of a collection of Scots songs I have for some years been making. I send you a perusal of what I have got together. I could not conveniently spare them above five or six days, and five or six glances of them will probably suffice you…when you are tired of them please leave them with Mr. Clint, of the King’s Arms. There is not another collection of them in the world, and I should be sorry that any unfortunate negligence should deprive me of what has cost me a good deal of pains.”
R.B.
Nine Inch Will Please A Lady
Come tell me dame, come tell me dame,
My dame, come tell me truly,
What length o’ tool, well-driven in,
Will serve a woman duly?
The woman rubbed her wanton tail*,
Her wanton tail so ready;
‘I learnt a song in Annandale—
Nine inch will please a lady.
‘But for a country cunt like mine,
In sooth we’re not so gentle;
We’ll take two inches with the nine,
And that’s a healthy pintle*.
‘O, please me on, my Charlie-lad!
I’ll ne’er forget my Charlie!
Two roarin’ handfuls—an’ more than that,
He nidg’d it in full hearty!’
_______
(*tail = vagina, *pintle = penis)
How Can I Keep My Maidenhead?
How can I keep my maidenhead*,
My maidenhead, my maidenhead,
How can I keep my maidenhead,
Among so many men, O.
The captain bid a guinea for it,
A guinea for it, a guinea for it;
The captain bid a guinea for it,
The Colonel he bid ten, O.
But I’ll do as my mother did,
My mother did, my mother did;
But I’ll do as my mother did,
For money I’ll have none, O.
I’ll give it to a bonie lad,
A bonie lad, a bonie lad;
I’ll give it to a bonie lad,
For just as good again, O.
An old and moldy maidenhead,
A maidenhead, a maidenhead;
An old and moldy maidenhead,
Is weary work I know, O.
The stretching out, the striving out,
The boring out, the splitting so,
And ay the double driving out,
The farther you go in, O.
_______
(*maidenhead = hymen, virginity)
John Anderson, My Jo, John
John Anderson, my jo*, John,
I wonder what ye mean,
To lie around so long every morning,
And sit so late at evening?
You’ll bleary up your eyes, John,
And why would ye do so?
Come sooner to your bed at evening,
John Anderson, my jo.
John Anderson, my jo, John,
When first that ye began,
Ye had as good a tail-tree,
As any other man,
But now it’s waxen wan, John,
And wrinkles to and fro;
I’ve two thrusts up for each thrust down,
John Anderson, my jo.
I’m backed just like a salmon,
I’m breasted like a swan,
My womb’s a feather pillow,
My middle ye may span:
From my head down to my toe, John,
I’m like the new-fallen snow;
And it’s all for your convenience,
John Anderson, my jo.
O, it is quite a fine thing
To keep watch o’er the dyke;
It’s a much better thing, tho’,
To see your buttocks up high, John,
And hit the rising blow;
It’s then I like your chanter-pipe,
John Anderson, my jo.
When ye come on again, John,
See that ye do your best;
When you begin to hold me,
See that ye grip me fast;
See that you grip me fast, John,
Until I cry out, “Oh!”
But your back will crack before I do that,
John Anderson, my jo!
John Anderson, my jo, John,
You’re welcome when ye please;
It’s either in the warm bed,
Or with skirts above my knees,
Or ye shall have the horns, John,
Upon your head to grow,
And that’s the cuckold’s curse,
John Anderson, my jo.
_______
(*jo = sweetheart, lover)
Duncan Davison
There was a lass, they called her Meg,
An’ she gazed o’er the moor to spin;
She hired a lad to lift her leg,
They called him Duncan Davison.
Meg had a muff and it was rough,
Twas black without and red within,
An’ Duncan, case he got the cold,
He stole his highland pecker in.
Meg had a muff and it was rough,
And Duncan stuck two handfuls in;
She clasped her heels about his waist,
‘I thank you, Duncan! Jerk it in!”
Duncan made her buttocks drip,
In highland wrath, then Meg did say;
O, go he east, or go he west,
His balls will no be dry today;
In highland wrath, then Meg did say;
(O, go he east, or go he west,
My cunt will no be dry the day!)
_______
As I Came O’er The Cairney Mount
As I came o’er the Cairney mount,
And down among the blooming heather,
The highland laddie drew his dagger,
And sheathed it in my wanton leather.
Chorus: O, my bonnie, bonnie Highland lad,
My handsome, charming Highland laddie;
When I am sick and like to die,
He’ll roll me in his highland plaiddie.
With me he played his warlike pranks,
And on me boldly did adventure,
He did attack me on both flanks,
And pushed me fiercely in the center.
A furious battle then began,
With equal courage and desire,
Although he struck me three to one,
I stood my ground and received his fire.
But, our ammunition being spent,
And we quite out of breath and sweating,
We did agree with one consent,
To fight it out next meeting.
_______
The Fornicator
Ye jovial boys who loves the joys,
The blissful joys of lovers,
Yet dare avow, with dauntless brow,
When the bonny lass discovers,
I pray draw near, and lend an ear,
And welcome in a frater,
For I’ve lately been on quarantine,
A proven fornicator.
Before the congregation wide
I passed the muster fairly,
My handsome Betty by my side,
We got our ditty rarely,
But my downcast eye did chance to spy
What made my lips to water,
Those limbs so clean where I between,
Became a fornicator.
With rueful face and signs of grace,
I paid the fines right there,
But the night was dark and thro’ the park
I could not but convoy her;
A parting kiss, I could not less,
My vows began to scatter,
My Betsy fell—lal de dal lal—
I am a fornicator.
But for her sake this vow I make,
And solemnly I swear it,
That while I own a single crown
She’s welcome for to share it;
And my roguish boy, his mother’s joy,
And the darling of his pater,
For him I boast my pains and cost,
Although a fornicator.
Your warlike kings and heroes bold,
Great captains and commanders;
Your mighty Caesars famed of old,
And conquering Alexanders;
In fields they fought and laurels bought,
And bulwarks strong did batter,
But still they graced our noble list,
Ranked first-rate fornicators!
_______
The Patriarch
(A Biblical Tale)
An honest Jacob on a night,
With his beloved beauty,
Was duly laid on wedlock’s bed,
And nodding at his duty…
‘How long,” she says, ‘ye fumblin’ wretch,
Will ye be fucking at it?
My eldest child might die of age,
Before that ye could get it.
‘Ye puff and grunt and groan there,
An’ make an awful splutter,
And I must lie and hold you here,
Tho’ not one bit the better.’
Then he, in wrath, put up his tool,
‘The devil’s in ye, hussie!
I fuck ye as I fuck the others,
And night and day I’m busy.
‘I’ve sired with servant gypsies both,
As well as your sister Leah,
Ye barren hag, ye get me mad,
What more can I do wi’ you?
‘There’s ne’er a fuck I’ve given the others,
That ye hasn’t gotten a dozen;
An’ damned a one ye’s get again,
Although your cunt should gizzen!*’
Then Rachel calm as any lamb,
She claps him on his waulies;
Said she, ‘Ne’er mind a woman’s tongue,
‘In truth ye fucks me braulies.
‘My dear, ‘tis true for many a screw,
I am your ungrateful debtor,
But once in awhile, I don’t know,
‘Perhaps it could be better.’
Then the honest man, with little work,
He soon forgot his ire;
That patriarch, he popped his cork,
And up and fucked like fire!
_______
(gizzen = dry up)
There Was Two Wives
There was two wives, two witty wives,
As e’er played houghmagandie,*
And they fell out, upon a time,
Out o’er a drink of brandy;
Up Maggie rose, and forth she goes,
And she leaves old Mary bitchin’,
And she farted loudly by the barn,
For she was gone a shitting.
She farted by the cow barn,
She farted by the stable;
And thick and nimble were her steps
As fast as she was able:
Till at the wall the hurly broke,
And reachin’ for some blotting,
The beans and peas came down her thighs,
And soiled all her stockings.
_______
(*houghmagandie = fornication)
The Case of Conscience
I’ll tell you a tale of a wife,
And she was a Whig and a saunt,
O, she lived a most sanctified life,
But sometimes she was troubled by her cunt.
Poor woman, she went to the priest,
And to him she made her complaint;
‘There’s nothing that troubles my breast,
So much as the sins o’ my cunt.
‘Ever since I was herding at hame
Till now I’m thirty an’ beyon’it,
I own it with sin and with shame,
I’ve led a sad life with my cunt.’
He bade her to clear up her brow
And not be discouraged upon’t,
‘For plenty of good, holy women,
Were so troubled by their cunts.
‘It’s naught but the devil’s art,
But that’s a sure sign of a saunt,
He knows that you’re pure at thy heart,
So he levels his darts at your cunt.
‘What signifies morals and works?
Our words are no wordy a runt!
It’s Faith that is sound, orthodox,
That covers the faults of your cunt.
‘Were ye of the reprobate race,
Created to sin and be burnt,
O, then it would alter the case
If ye should go wrong with your cunt.
‘But you who is called and is free,
Elected and chosen a saunt,
Will it break the eternal decree
Whatever you do with your cunt?
‘And now with a sanctified kiss,
Let’s kneel and renew the covenant,
It’s this—and it’s this—and it’s this—
That settles the pride of your cunt.’
Devotion blew up to a flame;
No words can do justice upon’t;
The honest old woman went hame
Rejoicing and rubbing her cunt.
Then, hey, for a merry good fellow!
And, hey, for a glass of good strunt!
May never we sons of Apollo
Ever want for a friend or a cunt!
_______
The Trogger
(The Salesman)
As I came down by Annan side,
Intending for the border,
Among the Scroggie banks and hills,
Who met me, but a trogger.
He laid me down upon my back,
I thought he was but joking,
Till he was in me to the hilts,
O, the devil take such troggin’!
What could I say, what could I do,
I begged and tried to stay him,
But whiltie-whaltie went his ass,
The more that I forbade him:
He steadied his foot against a stone,
And doubled all his strokes in,
Till I went daft right in his hands,
O, the devil take such troggin’!
Then up we rose and took the road,
And in by Ecclefechan,
Where the brandy-jug we made it clink,
and the strong beer tipped a cup in.
Down the bend o’ Bonshaw Brook,
We took our parting fuckin’;
But I’m nursing a sore cunt since then,
O, the devil take such troggin!
Epitaph for
Hugh Logan, Esq.,
of Laight
Here lies Squire Hugh—ye harlot crew,
Come make your water on him,
I’m sure that he well pleased would be
To think ye pissed upon him.
_______
Epitaph for John Brown
Lament him, Mauchline’s husbands all,
He often did assist ye!
Tho’ ye may be these years away,
Your wives would ne’er have missed ye.
Ye Mauchline kids, as by ye pass
To school in bands together,
O, tread but lightly on the grass,
Perhaps he was your father!
_______
Eppie McNab
O, saw ye my Eppie McNab, McNab?
O, saw ye my Eppie McNab, McNab?
She’s down in the yard, she’s kissing the lord,
As once was the honest Jock Rob, Jock Rob:
‘My blessing upon thee, Jock, Rob, Jock Rob,
My blessings upon thee, Jock Rob, Jock Rob,
For in my pussy you drive such a dool,
It makes my bottom go bob, bob, bob.
When first I met thee, Jock Rob, Jock Rob,
When first I met thee, Jock Rob, Jock Rob,
Thy britches were holed and thy pecker hung out,
And thy balls they jogged did-dod, did-dod.’
‘When first I met ye, Eppie McNab, McNab,
I met with ye, Eppie McNab, McNab,
Thy wee ragged blouse it played dod on thy dab,
and thy ass was as black as a crab, a crab!’
_______
Dainty Davie
(The Minister)
Being pursued by the dragoons,*
Within my bed he was laid down
And well I know he was worth his room,
My own dear dainty Davie.
O, please me so his curly head,
Bonnie Davie, Dainty Davie,
Please me so his curly head,
He was my dainty Davie.
My mother laid him at my back,
I swear he lay not long at that,
But turned and then in just a snap,
Produced a dainty Davie.
Then in a field among the peas,
Behind the house of cherry trees,
Again he got between my knees,
And, splash! went out his gravy.
He laid my back against a stone,
And many a thump he gave my womb,
And well I know he drove it home,
For he was my dainty Davie.
But had I gold, or had I land,
It would be all at his command,
I’ll ne’er forget what he put in my hand,
For it was a dainty Davie.
_______
(*dragoons = soldiers)
A Masonic Song
It happened on a winter night
And early in the season,
Somebody said my bonny lad
Was gone to be a Mason.
I cried and wailed, but nought availed:
He put a forward face on
And did avow that he was now
A free accepted Mason.
Still doubting if the fact was true,
He gave me demonstration:
For out he drew before my view
The jewels of a free Mason.
The Jewels all, both great and small,