The Book of Scottish Song/Duncan Gray 2

Duncan Gray.

[Written by Burns in December, 1792, for Thomson's collection. Its humour and have made it an universal favourite.]

Duncan Gray cam' here to woo,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
On blythe Yule nicht, when we were fou,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Maggie cuist her head fu' heich,
Look'd asklant, and unco skeigh,
Gart puir Duncan stand abeigh—
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleert and blin',
Spak' o' louping ower a linn—
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Time and chance are but a tide,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Slichtit love is sair to bide,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a hauchty hizzy dee?
She may gae to—France, for me!
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

How it comes, let doctors tell,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Meg grew sick—as he grew well,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O, 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,
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath,
Now they're crouse and cantie baith;
⁠Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

---