Page:Thrummy Cap and the ghaist (1).pdf/15

[ 15 ] Thrummy him thank'd, an' syne his gowd Intill a maukle purse he stow d, An' cramm'd it in his oxter-pouch, An' syne sought out his aiken crutch: Said, Fare ye weel,. I man awa, A' see gin I get thro' the sna Weel, fare ye well, reply'd the Laird: But how com s it ye hanne' ſhar'd Or gi'en your neiber of the money? Na by my saul, I, Sir, quo' Thrummy. When I the filler, Sir did win, (To had in this wad be a ſin) Afore that I the Ghaist had laid, The nasty beast had-the bed. And sae my t le I here do end, I hope no one it will offend:. My muſe will nae aſſi t me langer, The dorty jade sometimes does anger. I thought her ance a gay smart lass, But now ſhe's come to ſic a pass. That a' my cudgeting and wh eping, Will hardly wake her out o' ſl ping: To plague her mair I winna try. But dight my pen, and lay it by.

Young Whip-Stitch,

A LONDON TAILOR'S SON.

A London Tailor, as 'tis said, By buckram, canvass, a an' thread,