Friday happy dance

January 25, 2019


Happy birthday, Robbie

January 25, 2019

It’s the birthday of Scotland’s most famous poet, Robert Burns (1759-1796). In his short life, Burns sired twelve offspring, some of them legitimate; and he wrote hundreds of poems and song lyrics, some of them suitable for polite company. When Scottish Television polled its viewers in 2009 on the question of who was the greatest Scot of all time, Robert Burns was the winner (William Wallace was the runner-up).

Scottish folk singer Jean Redpath (1937-2014) and American composer and ethnomusicologist Serge Hovey (1920-1989) teamed up in 1976 to record the complete songs of Robert Burns. Had they completed this rather ambitious project, it would have run to 22 volumes; but Hovey’s death in 1989 meant that only seven volumes were completed. This song appeared in Volume 3.

There’s nought but care on ev’ry hand,
In ev’ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life of man,
An ’twere not for the lasses, O.
Green grow the rushes, O;
Green grow the rushes, O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.

The worldly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them, O;
And tho at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O.
Green grow the rushes, O;
Green grow the rushes, O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.

Gie me a cannie hour at e’en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
And worldly cares, and worldly men,
May all gae tapsalteerie, O.
Green grow the rushes, O;
Green grow the rushes, O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye’re nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest man the world e’er saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.

Green grow the rushes, O;
Green grow the rushes, O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice hand she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rushes, O;
Green grow the rushes, O;
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent among the lasses, O. 


Highland fling

November 30, 2018

A helicopter pilot started having engine trouble while flying over the Scottish highlands, and had to make an emergency landing in the middle of a sheep pasture. He got out and walked over to where the shepherd was sitting and smoking his pipe.

“I say, good fellow,” said the pilot. “Can you tell me where I might find a mechanic?”

The shepherd shook his head.

“Nae, laddie,” he said. “But I kin tell ye where to find a McPherson or a McCormick.”

sheep


Friday happy dance — St. Andrew’s Day edition

November 30, 2018


Sunday funnies

May 27, 2018

A Scotsman named Angus painted houses for a living. Because he was a penny pincher, he often thinned down his paint with water to make it go a wee bit farther. He got away with this until the day he painted the house of Brother McTavish, who was an elder in the Presbyterian church. 

Just when Angus had almost finished the job, suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder and rain began pouring down, washing all the watered-down paint from the house. Then a bolt of lightning struck the ladder where Angus was standing and knocked him to the ground. 

Angus knew this was a judgment from the Almighty, and he fell to his knees and cried out, “Forgive me, Lord! What should I do?” And from the thunder came a mighty voice saying, “Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more!”


Sunday funnies

March 11, 2018

A Scotsman who was planning a trip to the Holy Land was aghast when he learned that it would cost sixty dollars an hour to rent a boat on the Sea of Galilee.

“In Scotland it wouldn’t have been more than twenty,” said the Scotsman.

“Yes,” said the travel agent, “but remember, the Sea of Galilee is water on which Jesus himself walked.”

The Scotsman said, “Well, at sixty dollars an hour for a boat, it’s no wonder he walked.”


Happy birthday, Robbie

January 25, 2018

It’s the birthday of Scotland’s most famous poet, Robert Burns (1759-1796). In his short life, Burns sired twelve offspring, some of them legitimate; and he wrote hundreds of poems and song lyrics, some of them suitable for polite company. When Scottish Television polled its viewers in 2009 on the question of who was the greatest Scot of all time, Robert Burns was the winner (William Wallace was the runner-up).

Scottish folk singer Jean Redpath (1937-2014) and American composer and ethnomusicologist Serge Hovey (1920-1989) teamed up in 1976 to record the complete songs of Robert Burns. Had they completed this rather ambitious project, it would have run to 22 volumes; but Hovey’s death in 1989 meant that only seven volumes were completed. This song appeared in Volume 5.

You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, 
You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, 
There’s ne’er a flower that blooms in May
That’s half sae welcome’s thou art. 

Come, bumpers high, express your joy, 
The bowl we maun renew it;
The tappet hen, gae bring her ben, 
To welcome Willie Stewart.

You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, 
You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, 
There’s ne’er a flower that blooms in May
That’s half sae welcome’s thou art. 

May foes be strang, and friends be slack 
Ilk action, may he rue it;
May woman on him turn her back 
That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart.

O lovely Polly Stewart,
O charming Polly Stewart,
There’s ne’er a flower that blooms in May
That’s half so sweet as thou art.

The flower it blaws, it fades, it falls,
And art can ne’er renew it;
But worth and truth, eternal youth
Will gie to Polly Stewart!

O lovely Polly Stewart,
O charming Polly Stewart,
There’s ne’er a flower that blooms in May
That’s half so sweet as thou art.

May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms
Possess a leal and true heart;
To him be given to ken the heaven
He grasps in Polly Stewart.


%d bloggers like this: