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Farer to gang tho' it were fair, See gin ye hae a bed to spare, Whate'er ye charge, we sanna grudge, But satisfy ye, ere we budge To gang awa--and fan 'tis day, We'll pack our all, and tak the way. The Landlord said, O' beds I've nane, Our ain fowks they will scarce contain ; 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 owre far awa, The roads are sae blawn up wi' snaw, To mak it is nae in our power; For, lock 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 nae 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, ye needna be sae rude, For faith we'll make our quarters good.