Jenny Macraw
Jenny Macraw was a bird o' the game, An' mony a shot had been lows'd at her wame; Be't a lang bearing arrow, or the sharp-rattlin' hail, Still, whirr! She flew off wi' the shot in her tail. Jenny Macraw to the mountains she's gaen, Their leagues and their covenants a' she has taen; My head now, and heart now, quo' she, are at rest, An' for my poor cunt, let the deil do his best. Jenny Macraw on a midsummer morn, She cut off her cunt and she hang't on a thorn; There she loot it hing for a year and a day, But, oh! how look'd her arse when her cunt was away.
Jenny Macraw - meaning Summary
Ribald Defiance Turned Grotesque
This short, coarse Scots ballad presents Jenny Macraw as a hardy, elusive woman who survives male attacks and ultimately flees to the hills. The poem uses grotesque, comic shock to show her drastic response: self-mutilation as a final means of escape and repose. Read plainly, it stages bodily violence and dark humor to confront sexual vulnerability, social pressure, and the limits of agency in a rough, vernacular voice. Its shock tactics force readers to reckon with survival, shame, and defiant autonomy rather than offering straightforward sympathy or moralizing.
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