The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin (Child 277B)

Robin he’s gane to the wast,
Hollin, green hollin
He’s waled a wife amang the warst.
Bend your bows, Robin

She could neither bake nor brew,
For spoilin o her bonnie hue.

She could neither spin nor caird,
But fill the cup, an sair the laird.

She could neither wash nor wring,
For spoilin o her gay goud ring.

Robin’s sworn by the rude
That he wald mak an ill wife gude.

Robin he’s gaun to the fauld,
An taen his blaik [wither] by the spauld.

He’s taen aff his wither’s skin
An he has preened his ain wife in.

‘I daurna beat my wife, for a’ her kin,
But I may beat my wither’s skin.’

‘I can baith bake an brew;
What care I for my bonnie hue?

‘I can baith wash an wring;
What care I for my gay gowd ring?

‘I can baith spin an caird;
Lat onybodie sair the laird.’

Robin’s sworn by the rude
That he has made an ill wife gude.