Page:New garland of choice songs.pdf/3

 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 hussy die;

She may gae to France for me,

ha, ha the wooing o’t.

How it comes, let doctors tell,

ha, ha, the woo ng o t,

Meg grew sick as he grew well,

ha, ha, the wooing o't,

Something in her bosom rings,

For relief a sigh she brings.

And oh, her een they spak sic things,

ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan was a lad o‘ grace,

ha, ha, the wooing o't

Maggy's was a ticklish 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