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Robert Burns (1759–1796).  Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics.  1909–14.
 
389. Song—Duncan Gray
 
 
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.
 
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.
 
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.
 
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.
 
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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