Duncan Gray Cam' Here To Woo

It is generally reported, that this lively air was composed by Duncan Gray, a carter or carman in Glasgow, about the beginning of last century, and that the tune was taken down from his whistling it two or three times to a musician in that city. It is inserted both in Macgibbon and Oswald's Collections.

The comic verses to which it is united in the Museum, beginning "Wearie fa you, Duncan Gray - Ha, ha, the girdin o't," are taken from the old song, with considerable alterations, by Burns. Our poet, however, wrote another exceedingly humorous song to the same tune in December 1792, which is here subjoined. Duncan Gray cam here to woo... Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Burns, in a letter to Mr George Thomson, dated 4th December 1792, says, "The foregoing I submit, my dear Sir, to your better judgment. Acquit them or condemn them, as seemeth good in your sight. Duncan Gray is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature."

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.