8
Which was na fast, but stood a jee,
Whatever's there he thinks he'll see :
So bauldly o'er the threshold ventures,
And in within the door he enters,
But, Reader, judge of the surprise,
When there he saw with wondering eyes,
A spacious vault, weel stored wi' casks
O' reaming ale, and some big flasks,
And stride legs o'er a cask of ale,
He saw the likeness o' himsel,
Just in the dress that he coost aff,
A thrummy cap and aiken staff,
Gammashes and the jockey-coat:
And in its hand the Ghaist had got
A big four-legged timber bicker,
Filled to the brim wi' nappy liquor;
Our hero at the spectre star'd,
But neither daunted was, nor ear'd,
But to the Ghaist straight up did step,
An' says, Dear brother, Thrummy Can,
The warst ye surely dinna drink.
Syne took a jug, pou'd out the pail,
And filled it up in the same ale,
Frae under where the spectre sat,
And up the stair wi' it he gat;
Took a gude drink, gaed John anither,
But never tald him o' his brither,
That he into the cellar saw,
Mair than he'd naething seen ava;
Right brown and nappy was the beer;
What did you get it? John did speer.
Says Thrummy, Sure ye needna care,
