The Henpecked Husband
Curs’d be the man, the poorest wretch in life, The crouching vassal to a tyrant wife! Who has no will but by her high permission, Who has not sixpence but in her possession; Who must to he, his dear friend’s secrets tell, Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. Were such the 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.
Versicles On Sign-Posts
His face with smile eternal drest, Just like the Landlord’s to his Guest’s, High as they hang with creaking din, To index out the Country Inn. He looked just as your sign-post Lions do, With aspect fierce, and quite as harmless too. A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, The very image of a barber’s Poll; It shews a human face, and wears a wig, And looks, when well preserv’d, amazing big.
1789
Robin Shure In Hairst
Chorus.—Robin shure in hairst, I shure wi’ him. Fient a heuk had I, Yet I stack by him. I gaed up to Dunse, To warp a wab o’ plaiden, At his daddie’s yett, Wha met me but Robin: Robin shure, &c. Was na Robin bauld, Tho’ I was a cotter, Play’d me sic a trick, An’ me the El’er’s dochter! Robin shure, &c. Robin promis’d me A’ my winter vittle; Fient haet he had but three Guse-feathers and a whittle! Robin shure, &c.