Page:Prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer, the ancient Scotch prophet (1).pdf/35

 Until the ninth hour it id chap; Thrummy syne raise; put on his claes. And to the cham'er quick he gaes, Taks out the stane into the wa', And soon he found the leather ba; Took out the Rights, replaced the stane, Ere John did ken whar he had been: Then baith came stappin' down the stair, The morning now was calm and fair. Weel, says the laird, my trusty frien', Hae ye ought in your cham'er seen? Quoth Thrummy, Sir, I naething saw, That did me ony ill ava. Weel, quoth the laird ye now may gang, Ye ken the day's nae verra lang: In the meantime it's calm and clear, Ye lose your time in biding here. Quoth Thrummy, Sir, mind what I tell, I've mair right here than you yoursel': Sae till I like I here shall bide. The Laird at this began to chide; Says he my friend you're turning rude. For here I, just before you a', The Rights o' this estate can shaw, And this is mair than you can do. What! quo' the Laird, can that be true! 'Tis true, quoth Thrummy, look and see, D'ye think that I would tell a lie. The parchment from his pouch then drew, And down upon the table threw, The Laird at this up to him ran, And cryed where did get them man? Syne Thrummy tauld him all the tale, As I've tauld you, baith clear and hale. The Laird at this was fidging fain, That he had got his rights again; And fifty guineas down did tell, Besides a present frae himsel'.