 The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns, read for LibriVox.org by Aaron S. Most of the songs by Burns, his fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infillicity, and he had them ever at the ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. I married with a scolding wife the 14th of November. She made me wary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many grieves attended. But now to my comfort be it spoke. Now, now her life is ended. We lived full one in twenty years, a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered, and gone I know not wither. What I could guess, I do profess, I speak and do not flatter. Of all the women in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But her soul is not in hell, the devil would never abide her. I rather think she is aloft an imitating thunder, for why me think I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Joyful Widower by Robert Burns, read for LibriVox.org by Chad Horner from LibriPull. Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity, and he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. I married with a scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She'd made me wary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many grieves attended. To my comfort, be it spoke, now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years, a man and wife together. At length from me her course she stared, and gone I know not whether, but I guess I do profess. I speak and do not flatter. Of all the women in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell, the deal would nearer abide her. I rather think she is aloft an imitating thunder, for why me thinks a hero voice tearing a collides asunder. In the film this recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns, read for LibriVox.org by Cornel Nemesh in Reno, Nevada. Most of the song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity. And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. He was first printed in the musical museum. I married with the scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She made me wary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke and many griefs attended. But to my comfort be it spoke now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years a man and a wife together. At length from me her course she steered. And gone I know not with her. What I could guess, I do profess, I speak. And do not flatter of all the woman in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well. A handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell to deal with near abide her. I rather think she is aloft and imitating thunder. For why me thinks I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Littler by Robert Burns. Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence. Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity. And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. I married with a scolding wife the fourteenth of November. Made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke and many griefs attended. But to my comfort, be it spoke, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered. And gone I know not with her. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak, and do not flatter. Of all the woman in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell the deal would never abide her. I rather think she is aloft and imitating thunder. For why me thinks I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns Read for LibriVox.org by Kevin S. I married with a scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke and many griefs attended. But to my comfort be it spoke now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered. And gone I know not with her. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak, and do not flatter. Of all the women in the world I could never come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. And sure her soul is not in hell, the deal would never abide her. I rather think she is aloft and imitating thunder. For why me thinks I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity, and he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. One. I married with a scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke and many griefs attended. But to my comfort be it spoke. Now, now her life is ended. Two. We lived full one and twenty years, a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered. And gone I know not wither. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak and do not flatter. Of all the women in the world I never could come at her. Three. Her body is bestowed well. A handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell. The dell would narrow-bite her. I rather think she is a loft and imitating thunder. For why, me thinks I hear her voice, tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity. And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the Musical Museum. I married with a scolding wife the 14th of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many griefs attended. But to my comfort be it spoke now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years, a man and wife together, at length from me her course she steered, and gone I know not with her. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak and do not flatter, Of all the women in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does height her. But sure her soul is not in hell. The deal with Nara bite her. I rather think she is aloft. An imitating thunder, for why me thinks I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns Read for LibriVox.org by narrator J. Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity. And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. One. I married with a scolding wife the 14th of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many griefs attended, But to my comfort be it spoke, now, now her life is ended. Two. We lived for one and twenty years a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered, and gone I know not with her. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak, and do not flatter. Of all the woman in the world I never could come at her. Three. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell. The deal would ne'er abide her. I rather think she is aloft, and imitating thunder. For why me thinks I hear her voice, tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns Read for LibriVox.org by Phil Shamp. Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity, And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. I married with the scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many griefs attended. But to my comfort to be at spoke, now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years, a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered, and gone I know not wither. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak, and do not flatter. Of all the woman in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell, and the devil would ne'er abide her. I rather think she is aloft, and imitating thunder. For why, me thinks I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. And a poem this recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns Read for LibriVox.org by Thomas Peter Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity, And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the musical museum. 1. I married with a scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many griefs attended. But to my comfort be it spoke, now, now her life is ended. 2. We lived full one and twenty years, A man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered, And gone I know not wither. What I could guess I do profess I speak and do not flatter. Of all the woman in the world I never could come at her. 3. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell, the devil would ne'er abide her. I rather think she is a loft and imitating thunder, For why, he thinks I hear her voice, tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Vidover by Robert Burns Read by LibriVox.org by Oma Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce, with images of matrimonial joy, Or infelicity. And he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was printed in the musical museum. I married with this colding wife, the fourteenth of November. She made me wary of my life, by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many griefs attended. But to my comfort, be it spoke. Now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years, a man and wife together. At length from me, her course, she steered. And gone I know not wither. Would I could guess, I do profess. I speak and do not flatter, of all the women in the world. I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, handsome grave does hide her. But sure, her soul is not in health. The dale would never abide her. I rather think she is aloofed, and imitating thunder. For why, me thinks, I hear her voice, tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Joyful Widower by Robert Burns Read for LibriVox.org by Tavarish Most of this song is by Burns. His fancy was fierce with images of matrimonial joy or infelicity, and he had them ever ready at the call of the muse. It was first printed in the Musical Museum. I married with a scolding wife the fourteenth of November. She made me weary of my life by one unruly member. Long did I bear the heavy yoke, and many griefs attended. But to my comfort be it spoke, now, now her life is ended. We lived full one and twenty years, a man and wife together. At length from me her course she steered, and gone I know not wither. Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak and do not flatter Of all the woman in the world I never could come at her. Her body is bestowed well, a handsome grave does hide her. But sure her soul is not in hell, the dale would never abide her. I rather think she is aloft and imitating thunder, for why me thinks I hear her voice tearing the clouds asunder. End of poem this recording is in the public domain.