A young unmarried woman, clearly pregnant, fires off a string of desperate, tender questions. Who will buy the baby’s clothes? Who will soothe her when she cries? Who will kiss her where she lies? Each time, the answer is the same – “the rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t,” the wild rascal who fathered the child. She names him Rob and makes it plain she still wants him, scandal or no scandal. She asks who will admit the fault, who will supply the ale for her labour, who will tell her what to call the baby. Even when she faces the shame of the church’s repentance stool, all she craves is Rob beside her. There’s no anger here, just a stubborn, aching affection. The poem’s bouncy folk rhythm and repeating refrain create a mood that’s both rueful and playfully defiant – a love song to a no-good rogue, sung by someone who knows exactly what he is but can’t help wanting him anyway.
93. The Rantin Dog, the Daddie o’t — Summary
O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? O wha will tent me when I cry? Wha will kiss me where I lie? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
O wha will own he did the faut? O wha will buy the groanin maut? O wha will tell me how to ca’t? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
When I mount the creepie-chair, Wha will sit beside me there? Gie me Rob, I’ll seek nae mair, The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.
Wha will crack to me my lane? Wha will mak me fidgin’ fain? Wha will kiss me o’er again? The rantin’ dog, the daddie o’t.