Duncan Gray cam here to woo,
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o't !)
On blythe Yule night when we were fu',
  (Ha, ha, the wooing o't !)
Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skiegh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh;
  Ha, ha, the wooing o't !

 ... 

Time and 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 a 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 could na be her death,
Swelling Pity smoor'd his Wrath;
Now they're crouse and canty baith,
  Ha, ha, the wooing o't !