Duncan Gray.
["Duncan Gray" is said to have been a carter or carman in Glasgow, about the beginning of the last century, and the tune which goes by his name is said to have been taken down from his whistling. The following is the old set of words as altered by Burns for Johnson's Museum.]
Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't;
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't;
When a' the lave gae to their play,
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day,
An' jeeg the cradle wi' my tae,
An' a' for the girdin' o't.
Bonnie was the Lammas moon,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't;
The girdin' brak', the beast cam' down,
I tint my curch an' baith my shoon;
An', Duncan, ye're an unco loon,
Wae on the bad girdin' ot.
But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't,
I'll bless you wi' my hindmost breath,
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't.
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
The beast again can bear us baith,
An' auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
An' clout the bad girdin' o't.
Duncan Gray.
[Written by Burns in December, 1792, for Thomson's collection. Its humour and have made it an universal favourite.]
Duncan Gray cam' here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
On blythe Yule nicht, when we were fou,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Maggie cuist her head fu' heich,
Look'd asklant, and unco skeigh,
Gart puir 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 een baith bleert and blin',
Spak' o' louping ower a linn—
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Time and chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
Slichtit love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a hauchty hizzy dee?
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 well,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O, 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 couldna be her death,
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath,
Now they're crouse and cantie baith;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Auld Rob Morris.
[This is given in Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, as an old song. Ramsay, however, was obliged to curtail the original ballad on account of its coarseness. The tune of "Auld Rob Morris" is in an old MS. collection, dated 1692, belonging at one time to Mr. Blaikie, engraver, Paisley, called "Jock the Laird's Brother."]
MOTHER.
Auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fallows, and wale o' auld men;
He has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too;
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.
