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Duncan Gray.

51

Duncan fleech'd, an' 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 an'in, Grat his een baith bleart an' blin', Spak' o' lowpin' owre a linn;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Time an' 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 heal,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings ;
An' oh, her een, they spak' sic things!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

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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.

OH, WILLIE BREW’D.

TUNE—“Willie brewd a peck o' maut.” [“This air is Masterton's; the song mine. The occasion of it was this:-Mr. William Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, during the autumn vacation of 1789, being at Moffat, honest Allan (Masterton), who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton, and I, went to pay Nicol a visit.

We had such a joyous meeting that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business.”—Burns. “This meeting,” says Currie, "took place at Laggan, a farm purchased by Mr. Nicol, in Nithsdale, on the recommendation of Burns.”]

Oh, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,

An' Rob an’ Allan cam' to pree:
Three blither hearts that lee-lang night,
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are na fou, we're nae that fou,

But just a drappie in our e'e ;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

Here are we met, three merry boys,

Three merry boys, I trow, are we;

Thou hast left me ever.

53

An' mony a night we've merry been,

An' mony mae we hope to be!

It is the moon, I ken her horn,

That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wile us hame,

But, by my sooth, she 'll wait a wee!

Wha first shall rise to gang awa',

A cuckold, coward loon is he!
Wha last beside his chair shall fa',

He is the king amang us three !

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TUNE—“Fee him, father, fee him." [“I composed these verses by the lee side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in the company, except the hautbois and the muse."-Burns to Thomson.] Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me

ever; Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me

ever; Aften hast thou vow'd that death only should us

sever, Now thou 'st left thy lass for aye—I maun see thee

never, Jamie, I'll see thee never.

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me for

saken; Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me for

saken; Thou canst love anither jo, while my heart is

breaking; Soon my weary een I'll close-never mair to waken,

Jamie,
Ne'er mair to waken.

0

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE.

TUNE—“What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?

WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan’! Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie

To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'!

He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',

He hoasts an’ he hirples the weary day lang; He's doylit an' he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man! He's doyl't an' he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,

Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!

Meikle thinks my Luve.

55

He hums an’ he hankers, he frets an' he cankers,

I never can please him, do a' that I can; He's peevish an' jealous of a' the young fellows: Oh, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man! He's peevish an' jealous of a' the young fellows:

Oh, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man!

My auld auntie Katie upon me tak's pity,

I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan; I'll cross him, an' wrack him, until I heart-break

him, An' then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. I'll cross him, an’ wrack him, until I heart

break him, An' then his auld brass will buy me a new

pan.

MEIKLE THINKS MY LUVE.

Tune—“My tocher's the jewel.”
Oh meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty,
An' meikle thinks

my

luve o' my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawly

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree;

It 's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee; My laddie 's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller,

He canna ha'e luve to spare for me.

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