The Merry Muses of Caledonia/Duncan Gray

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The Merry Muses of Caledonia by Robert Burns
Duncan Gray

DUNCAN GRAY.

An old song. Burns's purified version is well known. Another version, beginning "Weary fa' ye, Duncan Gray," more on the lines of the original, is ascribed erroneously by some editors to Burns. It will be found in Scott Douglas's Kilmarnock Edition (Vol. I., p. 221).

 
Can ye play me Duncan Gray,
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
O'er the hills an' far awa',
 Ha, ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
Duncan came our Meg to woo,
Meg was nice and wadna do,
But like an ether puff'd and blew
 At offer o' the girdin' o't.
 
Duncan, he cam' here again,
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
A' was out an' Meg her lane,
 Ha, ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
He kiss'd her butt, he kiss'd her ben,
He bang'd a thing against her wame;
But, troth, I now forget its name,
 But, I trow, she gat the girdin' o't.
 
She took him to the cellar then,
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
To see gif he could do't again,
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
He kiss'd her ance, he kiss'd her twice,
An' maybe Duncan kiss'd her thrice,
Till deil a mair the thing wad rise,
 To gie her the lang girdin' o't.
 
But Duncan took her to his wife,
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
To be the comfort o' his life,
 Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
An' now she scauls baith night an' day,
Except when Duncan's at the play;
An' that's as seldom as he may,
 He's weary o' the girdin' o't.