277A: The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin

277A.1	 SHE wadna bake, she wadna brew,
	 Hollin, green hollin
	 For spoiling o her comely hue.
	 Bend your bow, Robin
277A.2	 She wadna wash, she wadna wring,
	 For spoiling o her gay goud ring.
277A.3	 Robin he’s gane to the fald
	 And catched a weather by the spauld.
277A.4	 And he has killed his weather black
	 And laid the skin upon her back.
277A.5	 ‘I darena pay you, for your kin,
	 But I can pay my weather’s skin.
277A.6	 ‘I darena pay my lady’s back,
	 But I can pay my weather black.’
277A.7	 ‘O Robin, Robin, lat me be,
	 And I’ll a good wife be to thee.
277A.8	 ‘It’s I will wash, and I will wring,
	 And never mind my gay goud ring.
277A.9	 ‘It’s I will bake, and I will brew,
	 And never mind my comely hue.
277A.10	 ‘And gin ye thinkna that eneugh,
	 I’se tak the goad and I’se ca the pleugh.
277A.11	 ‘Gin ye ca for mair whan that is doon,
	 I’ll sit i the neuk and I’ll dight your shoon.’

277B: The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin

277B.1	 ROBIN he’s gane to the wast,
	 Hollin, green hollin
	 He’s waled a wife amang the warst.
	 Bend your bows, Robin
277B.2	 She could neither bake nor brew,
	 For spoilin o her bonnie hue.
277B.3	 She could nether spin nor caird,
	 But fill the cup, an sair the laird.
277B.4	 She could nether wash nor wring,
	 For spoilin o her gay goud ring.
277B.5	 Robin’s sworn by the rude
	 That he wald mak an ill wife gude.
277B.6	 Robin he’s gaun to the fauld,
	 An taen his blaik [wither] by the spauld.
277B.7	 He’s taen aff his wither’s skin
	 An he has preened his ain wife in.
277B.8	 ‘I daurna beat my wife, for a’ her kin,
	 But I may beat my wither’s skin.’
277B.9	 ‘I can baith bake an brew;
	 What care I for my bonnie hue?
277B.10	 ‘I can baith wash an wring;
	 What care I for my gay gowd ring?
277B.11	 ‘I can baith spin an caird;
	 Lat onybodie sair the laird.’
277B.12	 Robin’s sworn by the rude
	 That he has made an ill wife gude.

277C: The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin

277C.1	 THERE was a wee cooper who lived in Fife,
	 Nickity, nackity, noo, noo, noo
	 And he has gotten a gentle wife.
	 Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall,
	 Alane, quo Rushety, roue, roue, roue
277C.2	 She wadna bake, nor she wadna brew,
	 For the spoiling o her comely hue.
277C.3	 She wadna card, nor she wadna spin,
	 For the shaming o her gentle kin.
277C.4	 She wadna wash, nor she wadna wring,
	 For the spoiling o her gouden ring.
277C.5	 The cooper’s awa to his woo-pack
	 And has laid a sheep-skin on his wife’s back.
277C.6	 ‘It’s I’ll no thrash ye, for your proud kin,
	 But I will thrash my ain sheep-skin.’
277C.7	 ‘Of, I will bake, and I will brew,
	 And never mair think on my comely hue.
277C.8	 ‘Oh, I will card, and I will spin,
	 And never mair think on my gentle kin.
277C.9	 ‘Oh, I will wash, and I will wring,
	 And never mair think on my gouden ring.’
277C.10	 A’ ye wha hae gotten a gentle wife
	 Send ye for the wee cooper o Fife.

277D: The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin

277D.1	 THERE livd a laird down into Fife,
	 Riftly, raftly, now, now, now
	 An he has married a bonny young wife.
	 Hey Jock Simpleton, Jenny[’s] white petticoat,
	 Robin a Rashes, now, now, now
277D.2	 He courted her and he brought her hame,
	 An thought she would prove a thrifty dame.
277D.3	 She could nether spin nor caird,
	 But sit in her chair and dawt the laird.
277D.4	 She wadna bake and she wadna brew,
	 An a’ was for spoiling her delicate hue.
277D.5	 She wadna wash nor wad she wring,
	 For spoiling o her gay goud ring.
277D.6	 But he has taen him to his sheep-fauld,
	 An taen the best weather by the spauld.
277D.7	 Aff o the weather he took the skin,
	 An rowt his bonny lady in.
277D.8	 ‘I dare na thump you, for your proud kin,
	 But well sall I lay to my ain weather’s skin.’
	 * * * * *

277E: The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin

277E.1	 THERE lives a landart laird in Fife,
	 And he has married a dandily wife.
277E.2	 She wadna shape, nor yet wad she sew,
	 But sit wi her cummers and fill hersell fu.
277E.3	 She wadna spin, nor yet wad she card,
	 But she wad sit and crack wit the laird.
277E.4	 He is down to his sheep-fald
	 And cleekit a weather by the back-spald.
277E.5	 He’s whirpled aff the gude weather’s-skin
	 And wrappit the dandily lady therein.
277E.6	 ‘I darena pay you, for your gentle kin,
	 But weel I may skelp my weather’s-skin.’
	 * * * * *