Weary Fa' You, Duncan Gray.

Tune - "Duncan Gray."


I.

    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,
    And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
        And a' for the girdin o't!

II.

    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, and baith my shoon;
    Ah! Duncan, ye're an unco loon,
        Wae on the bad girdin o't!

III.

    But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    I'se 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,
    And auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
        And clout the bad girdin o't.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns, also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. Born on January 25, 1759, in Alloway, he is best known for works such as 'Auld Lang Syne,' 'Scots Wha Hae,' and 'A Red, Red Rose.' He passed away on July 21, 1796, in Dumfries.

Robert Burns

A Dedication To Gavin Hamilton, Esq.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Meg O' The Mill.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

John Anderson.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

Thickest Night, O'Erhang My Dwelling.

Robert Burns, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Duncan Gray.

I.

    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.

II.

    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 bleer't and blin',
    Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;
        Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

III.

    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.
...

Robert Burns

There Was A Lass.

Tune - "Duncan Davison."


I.

    There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,
        And she held o'er the moors to spin;
    There was a lad that follow'd her,
        They ca'd him Duncan Davison.
    The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegh,
        Her favour Duncan could na win;
    For wi' the roke she wad him knock.
        And ay she shook the temper-pin.

II.

    As o'er the moor they lightly foor,
        A burn was clear, a glen was green,
    Upon the banks they eas'd-their shanks,
        And ay she set the wheel between:
    But Duncan swore a haly aith,
        That Meg should be a bride the morn,
    Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,
        And flang them a' out o'er the burn.

III.

Robert Burns

The Bairns Gat Out.

Tune - "The deuks dang o'er my daddie."


I.

    The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
        The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O!
    The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife,
        He was but a paidlin body, O!
    He paidles out, an' he paidles in,
        An' he paidles late an' early, O!
    This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
        An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O!

II.

    O, hand your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
        O, haud your tongue, now Nansie, O!
    I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
        Ye wadna been sae donsie, O!
    I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,
        And cuddled me late and early, O!
    But downa do's come o'er me now,
        And, oh! I feel it sairly, O...

Robert Burns

My Heart Was Ance.

Tune - "To the weavers gin ye go."


I.

    My heart was ance as blythe and free
        As simmer days were lang,
    But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
        Has gart me change my sang.
            To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
                To the weavers gin ye go;
            I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
                To the weavers gin ye go.

II.

    My mither sent me to the town,
        To warp a plaiden wab;
    But the weary, weary warpin o't
        Has gart me sigh and sab.

III.

    A bonnie westlin weaver lad,
        Sat working at his loom;
    He took my heart as wi' a net,
        In every knot and thrum.

IV.

    I sat beside my warpin-whee...

Robert Burns

Country Lassie.

Tune - "The Country Lass."


I.

    In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
        And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
    While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
        And roses blaw in ilka bield;
    Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,
        Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
    Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild
        O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

    It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
        And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
    Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
        A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
    There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
        Fu' is his burn, fu' is his byre;
    Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
        It's plenty beets the luver's fire.

III.

    For Johnie ...

Robert Burns

Ca' The Yowes.

I.

    Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
    Ca' them whare the heather growes,
    Ca' them whare the burnie rowes -
        My bonnie dearie!
    Hark the mavis' evening sang
    Sounding Cluden's woods amang!
    Then a faulding let us gang,
        My bonnie dearie.

II.

    We'll gae down by Cluden side,
    Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
    O'er the waves that sweetly glide
        To the moon sae clearly.

III.

    Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
    Where at moonshine midnight hours,
    O'er the dewy bending flowers,
        Fairies dance so cheery.

IV.

    Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
    Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,
    Nocht of ill may come thee near,
        My bo...

Robert Burns