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    Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

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    Duncan Gray
      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,
      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 e'en baith blear't an' 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, h 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 hale,
      ha, ha, the wooing o't.
      something in her bosom wrings,
      for relief a sigh she brings:
      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,
      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.