Duncan Gray（2 / 2）

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.