The Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence's Idiot Son
James Hogg
The Tennants chilled his teeth,
As he cheered on Dunfermline Town
At hame tae Cowdenbeath.
While pishin in the hauf-time break
The king turned tae his men:
"I need a skipper for a trip.
Is there anyone ye ken?"
"To sail tae Norway owre the sea
And brave the stormy tide,
To bring me hame a fair princess
That's trysted as my bride."
The lairds saw here a perfect chance
To get shut o' a pest.
"The man ye want's Sir David Spence,
Nae dout but he's the best."
They couldna thole Sir David Spence,
The worst o' Philistines,
A pauchtie cowt sae scunnersome,
That laithsome Laird o' Hines
The king has written in braid Scots
Athout a spelling check.
The letter came tae David Spence,
He opened it direct.
"My Dear Commander, they ca' you
The nautical bee's knees.
And therefore I'm commanding you
To sail across the seas."
"Tae Noroway tae fetch my bride,
A bonny blonde nymphet.
And don't forget the tocher tae,
That's mair important yet."
The first line that Sir David read,
"Hilarious," thocht he.
The next line that Sir David read,
A tear came tae his ee.
"O wha is this has done this deed,
And grassed untae His Nibs?
For I am but a housing laird
That can't tell sprits frae jibs."
Sir David kent he was obleeged
The king's command tae heed,
Tae busk the guid ship Avalon
Or else tae loss his heid.
"Mak haste, mak haste, ye scurvy dogs,
Our ship sails in the morn."
"Aw, gie's a break," the men did plea,
"We fear a deadly storm."
"Late, late yestreen we saw you moon,
Ye showed us a' yer bum,
And we do fear this omen sair,
Tae hairm we're doomed tae come."
"Come wind," says Spence, "Come hail, come sleet,
Our ship must sail the faim;
The fair princess o' Noroway,
Plus dowry, to bring hame."
They mounted sail on Monday morn,
Wi a' the haste they may,
Expecting that they would arrive,
Upon the Wednesday.
A month it passed, then twa, then three,
Still nae land did they sight.
The crew tae the commander said,
"Yon GPS is shite."
Another month, then five, then six,
And Spence then asked a hand
To gae up tae the tap-mast high,
To see gif he saw land.
The skipper's bunkmate sclimmed alaft,
That pretty, sair-ersed boy,
And tae the captain's great relief
He shouted, "Land ahoy!"
They soon approached this foreign land
And when they had cast anchor,
A sailor cried, "This is Japan.
Ye stupid friggin wanker."
And far awa, in Misawa,
They rowed ashore in boats,
But couldna buy nor beer nor hures:
"They won't tak Scottish notes!"
Sir David Spence socht out the laird
O' this important base.
He says, "My king requires a bride.
I like this lassie's face."
"My daughter's comery," says the Jap,
"You cannot faurt her rooks.
Imagine her the Queen of Scots -
A turn-up for the books!"
Sir David was in Misawa
Twa days and barely three,
But tae his oriental hosts
It was eternity.
They put the girl aboard the ship,
Wi Spence and a' his men.
They said, "Sail home to Scotland now,
Don't hurry back again."
They hadna sailed upon the sea
A month but barely ane,
Till cauld and wintry grew the wind,
And stormy grew the main.
They hadna sailed upon the sea
A month and then a week,
Till gale-force winds began to blaw.
The ship did spring a leak.
"Let doun the boat," Sir David cried,
"I fear we all are cursed.
But don't forget the gowden rule:
Women and captains first."
He took the woman in the boat.
And rowed away in haste.
The ither men aboard the ship
Had water tae the waist.
Sir David rowed with a' his maucht
Awa frae the shipwreck.
The ither men aboard the ship
Had water tae the neck.
Sir David rowed tae Oahu
He landed safe and sound.
He didna gie a tupp'ny toss
That a' his men had drouned.
And lang, lang may their mithers wait
To see their sons at last.
And lang, lang may their faithers wear
Their trousers at hauf-mast.
The king gave up his maister plan
Tae marry a Norwegian.
He found a lassie tae his taste,
Tae bad she was Glaswegian.
Meanwhile, hauf-way across the world
On far Hawaii's shore,
The Laird o' Hines is just the same,
A pompous, crashing bore.
Sir David Spence is living still
Sauf wi his Nippon girl,
Twa thousand leagues frae Aberdeen,
Just doun the road frae Pearl.
James Hogg
Mike Lyle
I prostrate masel' in humblit awe,
Tae ketch up wi' ma drappit jaw!
--
Mike.
Joe Fineman
or below the line is a delicate question).
--
--- Joe Fineman jo...@verizon.net
||: Living too long is more to be dreaded than dying too soon. :||
Peter Groves
news:cfegr4du6r8l2omnt...@4ax.com...
Brilliant -- and technically very skilful.
Django Cat
<thunderous applause> Mair!
DC
--
LFS
<standing ovation> Can't snip, that is magnificent, a technical triumph
and very funny.
--
Laura
(emulate St. George for email)
James Hogg
<jo...@verizon.net> wrote:
>What is this doing on a.u.e? It belongs on the Mudcat (whether above
>or below the line is a delicate question).
You're welcome to post it there. More people are likely to know
the original ballad of the idiot son's unfortunate father.
James
Athel Cornish-Bowden
What can I say, except to agree with all the previous comments (apart
from Joe's)? Unfortunately, however, I fear one needs to know (and
care) more about football than I do to appreciate it fully.
--
athel
jerry_f...@yahoo.com
> The king sat in the royal box,
O braw septentrion James Hogg!
Thy ballad's set me weel agog,
Yet I maun carp at "scurvy dog"
In Spence's slangin'.
'Tis "pogue" that's standard as the bog
His posts belang in.
We thank the Muse for a' she brings,
An' lauch whene'er the warble stings
The ox: but I'll carp mair--thou sing'st
O' Spencer, which is
Tae see the egill fauld his wings
An' stoop at midges.
--
Jerry Friedman
jerry_f...@yahoo.com
But few who know Hines, I'll bet.
Speaking of the original, my favorite line in your version was
"'Hilarious,' thocht he."
--
Jerry Friedman
Mike Lyle
By jings! Anither genie!
--
Mike.
James Hogg
jerry_f...@yahoo.com wrote:
>On Mar 11, 4:31 pm, James Hogg <Jas.H...@gOUTmail.com> wrote:
>> The king sat in the royal box,
>...
>
>O braw septentrion James Hogg!
>Thy ballad's set me weel agog,
>Yet I maun carp at "scurvy dog"
>In Spence's slangin'.
>'Tis "pogue" that's standard as the bog
>His posts belang in.
Yes, I admit I missed a golden opportunity to use a key word
there. I have emended my own copy for future use. Thank you.
>We thank the Muse for a' she brings,
>An' lauch whene'er the warble stings
>The ox: but I'll carp mair--thou sing'st
>O' Spencer, which is
>Tae see the egill fauld his wings
>An' stoop at midges.
Are you suggesting he's not a worthy butt for satire and
ridicule? He's the muse who has inspired some of my best work.
You're pretty good yourself, as is Mike's poetic rejoinder.
The Scots word for eagle is "earn", by the way.
James
James Hogg
jerry_f...@yahoo.com wrote:
>On Mar 12, 2:14 am, James Hogg <Jas.H...@gOUTmail.com> wrote:
>> On Wed, 11 Mar 2009 20:27:57 -0400, Joe Fineman
>>
>> <jo...@verizon.net> wrote:
>> >What is this doing on a.u.e? It belongs on the Mudcat (whether above
>> >or below the line is a delicate question).
>>
>> You're welcome to post it there. More people are likely to know
>> the original ballad of the idiot son's unfortunate father.
>
>But few who know Hines, I'll bet.
Actually, I did post it on uk.music.folk, where the man is
totally unknown, and someone said it stood well enough on its
own.
>Speaking of the original, my favorite line in your version was
>"'Hilarious,' thocht he."
That was an easy change to make from the line in the original
ballad, "A little laugh then gave he".
James
Pat Durkin
news:730258ea-5df1-41e7...@z1g2000yqn.googlegroups.com
But this doesn't have a meter quite as close has James' to "Casey at the
Bat",
Pat Durkin
Our crosswords: erne, for sea eagle.
jerry_f...@yahoo.com
> On Thu, 12 Mar 2009 08:54:50 -0700 (PDT),
>
> >On Mar 11, 4:31 pm, James Hogg <Jas.H...@gOUTmail.com> wrote:
> >> The king sat in the royal box,
> >...
>
> >O braw septentrion James Hogg!
> >Thy ballad's set me weel agog,
> >Yet I maun carp at "scurvy dog"
> >In Spence's slangin'.
> >'Tis "pogue" that's standard as the bog
> >His posts belang in.
>
> Yes, I admit I missed a golden opportunity to use a key word
> there. I have emended my own copy for future use. Thank you.
>
> >We thank the Muse for a' she brings,
> >An' lauch whene'er the warble stings
> >The ox: but I'll carp mair--thou sing'st
> >O' Spencer, which is
> >Tae see the egill fauld his wings
> >An' stoop at midges.
>
> Are you suggesting he's not a worthy butt for satire and
> ridicule? He's the muse who has inspired some of my best work.
He's something of a sitting duck--but far be it from me to interfere
with inspiration.
> You're pretty good yourself, as is Mike's poetic rejoinder.
Thanks to you and Mike--praise from Sir Hubert.
> The Scots word for eagle is "earn", by the way.
Thanks. I considered that, but I didn't keep my earn since the meter
worked so well with "egill" (which I got from
http://www.dsl.ac.uk/dsl/ but should have spelled "eagle", as Burns
did). However,
"As if the earn did fauld his wings"
seems to work.
My biggest mistake was "sing'st". I could have had a perfect rhyme
with "sings", and I know (in some sense) that Burns wrote "thou kens".
"O Lord! yestreen thou kens, wi' Meg—
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may't ne'er be a livin' plague
To my dishonour,
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her."
--
Jerry Friedman