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Poem by Robert Burns


Duncan Gray


DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot,
On blythe Yule night when we were fou,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.
Maggie coost her head fu heigh,
Lookd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.

Duncan fleechd, and Duncan prayd;
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot,
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.
Duncan sighd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleert and blin,
Spak o lowpin oer a linn;
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.

Time and chance are but a tide,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot,
Slighted love is sair to bide,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die?
She may gae to-France for me!
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.

How it comes let doctors tell,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot,
Meg grew sick as he grew haill, 
    Ha, ha, thw wooing ot,
SOmething in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O, her een they spak sic things!
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.

Duncan was a lad o grace,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot,
Maggies was a piteous case,
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.
Duncan couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoord his wrath;
Now theyre crouse and cantie baith!
    Ha, ha, the wooing ot.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Scroggam
  2. The First Psalm
  3. Lines Written on a Bank-note
  4. Lines Written at Loudon Manse
  5. To Alex Cunningham, Writer


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