  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' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; Ha, ha, the wooing o't! Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig; Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin ower a linn! Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide; Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie dee? She may gae to—France for me! How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick—as he grew well; Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace; Maggie's was a piteous case; Duncan couldna be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and canty baith: Ha, ha, the wooing o't! R. Burns |
|
