The Golden Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language |
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LXXXVI. |
LXXXVII. |
LXXXVIII. |
LXXXIX. |
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CXXX. |
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CXXXIII. |
CXXXIV. |
CXXXV. |
CXXXVI. |
CXXXVII. |
CXXXVIII. |
CXXXIX. |
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CXLVIII. |
CXLIX. |
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The Golden Treasury | ||
180
CXCIII
DUNCAN GRAY
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
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
The Golden Treasury | ||