15
But gin ye gang but twa miles forret,
Aside the kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret,
Wha keeps a change house, sells guid drink,
His house you may mak out I think.
Quoth Thrummy, that's our far awa,
The roads are sae blawn up wi' snaw,
To mak it is not in our power;
For look ye, there's a gathering shower.
Is coming on—you'll let us bide,
Tho' we should sit by the fire-side.
The Landlord said to him, na, na,
I canna let you bide ava,
Chap off, for 'tis no worth your while,
To bide, when ye hae scrimp twa mile.
To gang—sae quickly aff ye'll steer,
For faith, I doubt ye'll nae be here.
Twa mile! quo' Thrummy, de'il speed me,
If frae your house this night I jee;
Are we to starve in Christian land?
As lang's my stick bides in my hand,
An' silver plenty in my pouch,
To nane about your house I'll crouch;
Landlord, you needna be sae rude,
For faith we'll make our quarters good.
Come, John, let's in, we'll take a seat,
Fat sorrow gars you look sae blate?
Sae in he gangs and sets him down:
Says he, they're nane about your town,
Sail pull me out, till a new-day,
As lang's I've siller for to pay.
The Landlord said, ye're rather rash,
To turn ye out we sauna fash,
Since ye're sae positive to bide,
But troth yese sit by the fire-side;
I tald ye else of beds I've nane,
Unoccupied, except bare ane,
In it, I fear ye winna lie,
For stoutest hearts have aft been shy,
