Page:Prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer, the ancient Scotch prophet (1).pdf/26

 A mighty shower of snaw and drift. As ever dang down frae the lift! Right wild and boisterous Boreas roar'd, Preserve's quoth John we'll baith be smor'd, Our trystic end we'll ne'er make out, Cheer up, says Thrummy, never doubt; But I'm some fly'd we've tint our way, Howe'er at the neist house we'll stay, Until we see gif it grow fair, Gin no, a' night we'll tarry there. Weel, weel, says Johnny, we shall try, Syne they a mansion house did spy. Upon the road, a piece afore, Sae they gaed up into the door, Where Thrummy chappit wi' his stick, Syne to the door came verra quick, A muckle dog, who barked sair, But Thrummy for him didna care: He handled weel his aiken staff. And spite o's teeth he kept him aff, Until the Landlord came to see, And ken what might the matter be; Then verra soon the dog did cease, The Landlord then did spear the case. Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we hae gane weel, We thought we'd ne'er a house get till; We near were smoor'd amo' the drift; An' sure, gudeman, ye'll make a shift, To gie us quarters a' this night, For now we dinna hae the light, Farer to gang tho' it were fair, See gin you ha'e a bed to spare, Whate'er you 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 folks they will scarce contain;