Duncan Gray by Robert Burns

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
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 ower 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 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 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!