Poem by Robert Burns

Duncan Gray

DUNCAN GRAY came 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,
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,
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
    Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
Duncan sigh’d baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer’t and blin’,
Spak o’ lowpin o’er a linn;
    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.
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,
    Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Meg grew sick as he grew haill, 
    Ha, ha, thw 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.

1. I Gaed a Waefu' Gate Yestreen
2. Gala Water
3. Blythe Was She
4. Stay My Charmer
5. The Flowery Banks of Cree

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