They’ve lost some gallant gentlemen Amang the Highland clans, man; I fear my lord Panmure is slain, Or fallen in whiggish hands, man: Now wad ye sing this double fight, Some fell for wrang, and some for right; But mony bade the world guid-night; Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, By red claymores, and muskets’ knell, Wi’ dying yell, the tories fell, And whigs to hell did flee, man. DUNCAN GRAY Duncan Gray came 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’ heigh, Look’d asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor 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 bleer’t and blin’, Spak o’ lowpin o’er a linn; 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 haill, 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. MY NANNIE O Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, ’Mang moors an’ mosses many O, The wintry sun the day has clos’d, And I’ll awa’ to Nannie O. The westlin wind blaws loud an’ shill, The night’s baith mirk and rainy O; But I’ll get my plaid, an’ out I’ll steal, An’ owre the hill to Nannie O. My Nannie’s charming, sweet, and young: Nae artfu’ wiles to win ye O: May ill befa’ the flattering tongue That wad beguile my Nannie O. Her face is fair, her heart is true, As spotless as she’s bonnie O: The opening gowan, wat wi’ dew, Nae purer is than Nannie O. A country lad is my degree, An’ few there be that ken me O; But what care I how few they be, I’m welcome aye to Nannie O. My riches a’s my penny-fee, An’ I maun guide it cannie O; But warl’s gear ne’er troubles me, My thoughts are a’ my Nannie O.