Robert Burns - Duncan Gray lyrics

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, 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 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 d**h, Swelling Pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and canty baith, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.