Finally! Getting around to posting these toasts from Robbie Burns Nite at the sailing club.
Late, but still true! Maybe I can manage to have them memorized for Sailpast.
A Toast to the Lassies
Lift your cup and drain it well,
For these are truths that I do tell.
No man is whole without his bride,
Without companion by his side.
A loving hand, an encouraging smile,
Someone to stay and bide a while,
Someone to keep him on the path,
Someone to curb his rising wrath.
A partner, loving, true, and good.
One he could heed as well he could.
A man needs comfort from all strife.
A man needs a lassie to be his wife.
I give you then, good friends and fair....
To the Lassies! And their constant care.
-Ian M. sent this toast to Ross W. originally, and Ian found it on the Internet from the Robert Burns Club of Milwaukee of all places. It was written by a guy named Shevie Kader in 2000.
The following reply was written by our own Jill Ramsay:
Reply To The Toast To The Lassies 
To those among you sitting here assembled
Who wonder why on earth I have this role:
A Scot I’m not, but married one descended,
And as a fellow Celt, I share their soul.
Most noble gentlemen, it is my honour
To thank you for the toast you have designed;
Apparently, I now return the favour,
And firstly, I must flatter you in kind.
To those who know me, such a job’s not easy -
I’m not renowned for talking up the men!
I’ll do my best, although I might get queasy,
But starting off, this thought I will extend:
Most laddies think that they’re the senior member -
In name alone! We all know who’s the boss;
And something that they really should remember:
Our Commodore’s a lass they’d dare not cross!
Oh lads, I’m only joking, don’t be humbled;
You have your certain uses, let’s be fair!
We wouldn’t be without you at the pump-out,
And cleaning out the bilge - that’s your affair!
We need you to install our boat-show booty,
And get our galleys just as we’d expect;
Mechanical repairs we deem your duty,
(Those solo games of Twister 'neath the deck!)
But seriously, we beg you to believe us:
In truth, you are the captains of our hearts.
On land or lake, you perfectly complete us;
Both soul and ship mates, never wished apart.
So lassies, one and all, be now upstanding,
And raise your glasses to our gallant chaps -
Who (for the most part) prove themselves outstanding -
And quickly now, before we all collapse!
TO THE LADDIES!
To those among you sitting here assembled
Who wonder why on earth I have this role:
A Scot I’m not, but married one descended,
And as a fellow Celt, I share their soul.
Most noble gentlemen, it is my honour
To thank you for the toast you have designed;
Apparently, I now return the favour,
And firstly, I must flatter you in kind.
To those who know me, such a job’s not easy -
I’m not renowned for talking up the men!
I’ll do my best, although I might get queasy,
But starting off, this thought I will extend:
Most laddies think that they’re the senior member -
In name alone! We all know who’s the boss;
And something that they really should remember:
Our Commodore’s a lass they’d dare not cross!
Oh lads, I’m only joking, don’t be humbled;
You have your certain uses, let’s be fair!
We wouldn’t be without you at the pump-out,
And cleaning out the bilge - that’s your affair!
We need you to install our boat-show booty,
And get our galleys just as we’d expect;
Mechanical repairs we deem your duty,
(Those solo games of Twister 'neath the deck!)
But seriously, we beg you to believe us:
In truth, you are the captains of our hearts.
On land or lake, you perfectly complete us;
Both soul and ship mates, never wished apart.
So lassies, one and all, be now upstanding,
And raise your glasses to our gallant chaps -
Who (for the most part) prove themselves outstanding -
And quickly now, before we all collapse!
TO THE LADDIES!
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