Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 389. Song—Duncan Gray |
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| DUNCAN GRAY cam’ here to woo, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t, | |
| On blythe Yule-night when we were fou, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t, | |
| Maggie coost her head fu’ heigh, | 5 |
| Look’d asklent and unco skeigh, | |
| Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t. | |
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| Duncan fleech’d and Duncan pray’d; | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t, | 10 |
| Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t: | |
| Duncan sigh’d baith out and in, | |
| Grat his e’en baith blear’t an’ blin’, | |
| Spak o’ lowpin o’er a linn; | 15 |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t. | |
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| Time and Chance are but a tide, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t, | |
| Slighted love is sair to bide, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t: | 20 |
| Shall I like a fool, quoth he, | |
| For a haughty hizzie die? | |
| She may gae to—France for me! | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t. | |
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| How it comes let doctors tell, | 25 |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t; | |
| Meg grew sick, as he grew hale, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t. | |
| Something in her bosom wrings, | |
| For relief a sigh she brings: | 30 |
| And oh! her een they spak sic things! | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t. | |
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| Duncan was a lad o’ grace, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t: | |
| Maggie’s was a piteous case, | 35 |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t: | |
| Duncan could na be her death, | |
| Swelling Pity smoor’d his wrath; | |
| Now they’re crouse and canty baith, | |
| Ha, ha, the wooing o’t. | 40 |
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