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To A Spouse !
(Toast to the Lassies)

Alisdair Smith of Dunblane wrote saying;-
I was asked to "Toast the Lassies" at a private Burns Supper this year. When I was researching material on the internet, I eventually came up with my own tribute. I thought you may like to let your site visitors see this poem. It may give others some inspiration when it's their turn next year. (Verses 9 & 10 may need altering depending on the audience!)


To a Spouse !

Wee gorgeuous, flow'rin, shim'rous beastie
O, whit joy's found in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering prattle!
I wad love tae tak ye doon the shops
Fur needless chattells!

On a Saturday morn, the shops are attacked,
Wi' a master plan. They huv' the nack,
Searchin' for hours for the dress they lack
to tick off the list.
Then it's put in the wardrobe, right in back
And never miss't.

My the lassies can be a curious pest
Ay'ways chunterin' on when you need your rest.
If you disagree, they ay'ways ken best
Then the silence is lang.
Then begins the game where we huv' tae guess
What we did wrang

When they're dressing up, wi' perfect hair
After hours deciding what tae wear
Tae avoid a skelp and being sair
We a' ken the line
Tae the immortal question, so unfair,
"Your hurdies look fine."

It's often claimed that our companions
Mak better drivers, in their opinion.
In their hands the car'll no be a ruin,
Or so they say.
Us lads don't want to buy a new yin,
So we get oot yer way!

I'm truly glad that man's dominion
Leaves nae room for stranger's opinion
We have nae need tae ask directions
Or others heed.
Our sense of radar's sheer perfection
In time o' need

When they need to answer nature's ca'
They cannae jist pee agin the wa'
They huv tae go alang twa by twa
Like there's a tether.
Then stand in line for hours, an a'
Jist fur a blether.

When we're stappit fu' wi' cold or flu,
Or a fever that we can't subdue,
We pray some tenderness may ensue,
But where's the fuss?
When lassies get sick one thing is true
They're no as ill as us!

But chief among their faults sae heinous,
Green eyed jealousy o' the penis,
An' the whean o' pleasure it hae gein us,
In teenage abuses.
They're aye glad now the mighty phallus
Has ither uses.

Inspiring bold John Thomas's wan e'e
Is still nature's prime necessity
In the race of life tae pregnancy,
Agin the body's clock.
Where would they be if no fur thee,
Tick-tock, tick-tock!

But a man needs a wife when he comes hame.
Fair scunnered sittin' there on his ain,
A bachelor's life is such a shame,
The puir wee thing,
He needs a lassie tae tak' his name,
Mak his hert sing.

I've never seen a prettier sight,
Than the lassies gathered here tonight.
Rabbie himself would agree I'm right.
This I know.
In better words he'd show his delight,
And tell you so.

So here's tae our lassies, O so fair,
Whether blond or black or brown of hair.
There known as friends 'n' lovers 'n' mair
than fantastic dancers.
Its' a' we can dae no tae stop and stare,
Like glaikit chancers!

Yes, here's tae our lassies. May they aye be near.
Gentlemen, please lift your cup of beer
And with one voice and hearty cheer
Drain your glasses,
For where would we be if they weren't here?
To the lasses!

Written by Alisdair Smith of Dunblane, Scotland. January 2002.

Performed at a private Burns Supper in Elgin, 26th January, 2002.