RESPONSE TO THE TOAST TO THE LASSIES

given by Mrs Melanie Odell

22nd January 2005

Charity Burns Night Supper, Haslemere Hall

Oh thou who strives wi’ might an’ main

In Scotia’s tongue, but strives in vain

Take comfort, thou art no thy lane

In failed endeavour

I meikle trouble too have ta’en

Succeeding never!

Sae, Victor thou’ thy name belie

The ruin that both you an’ I

Have suffered as we vainly try

To win the battle

The de’il tak Rabbie an’ forbye

His bizz and brattle

Tho’ kimmers scoff an’ gillies glare

My mither tongue I’ll no forswear

Nor to you blinkin’ bard of Ayr

Serve as a lackey!

Nor do I reck the stony stare

of Mister Mackie!

O’ there’s bin spak of this great bard

So many lasssies fund him hard

To tame, to keep his high regard

Except dear Jeannie

These flickering giglets held nae card

Only Jeannie

She rais’d the weannies, hers or not

She cooked, she cleaned, worked as a stot

An’ so we see the thanks she got

A poem cannie

For all her toil she got a lot

Becam a Grannie

But modern man, tak heed, be mindfu’

That lassies nae are maur a handfu’

Your phraising is nae du a lapfu’

Ye’ll have to beg

And whan ye’re really really sinfu’

Expect a fleg!

Nae maur your feckless drunken chatter

Nae maur your flether or your clatter

Nae maur your promises that matter

I see’d your sooth

Nae siller bring wi’ all your patter

Ye’ll slip forsooth

Us dizzie lassies ken our needs

So laddies nou shu’ld tak great heed

Be strappin’ , wordy, trim o’ deed

Nae Hornie in ye

But braw an’ bauld your bairns to feed

So nau ye see

Tis simple wark, e’en fau a man

One – we canna read a plan

Or map – tis just beyond our ken

Dinna ask it

And whan we share a problem men

Dinna solve it

The toilet seat – just put it doon

It wuld not cost ye half a crown

But it wuld sav ye many a frown

Just do it

And dinna pinch the eiderdown

Leave us a bit

Your sports and games are full and fair

But so is shopping we declare

Ye tak us oot, we wanna care

To look the piece

Wi’ notting new, our brats we’ll wear

An full of crease

An’ whan we’re runckled wi’ your ramblin’

And we fall silent, almost tremblin’

What’s wrong ye beg, wi’ little thinkin’

Nothing we sae

Beneath that word, if said wi’ glowering

We’re full o’ wae

An’ if ye fund us quietly sobbing

Forfairn and faughten, rarely stopping

Reck ye afor ye come in happin’

The saul is brack

So be a man an’ stop us grievin’

Tis jus a knack

Be couthie, crousely, cozie too

There’s many a thing ye lads can do

To keep a lass ye must us woo

Till gloaming falls

And then forever we’ll be true

Till forbears call

Ye talk o’ ribs, twas Adam’s loss

An’ prime o’ course t’ mak a boss

You did forsure mak your own cross

On which to siffa

But if ye truly give a toss

Ye’ll have a lover

So chieftain o’ the Waverley clan

In Haslemere so oft ye stan’

Nae party noo will tye your hand

We welcome ye

And hope on cuts ye’ll tak a stand

On arts, on sport on economy!

Sae Victor thou our present Mayor

A toast to ye and Janet fair

An’ highland James, a spirit rare

In our communion

An’ let the torch o’ friendship flare

In Burns reunion.