Page:Thrummy cap (2).pdf/5



5                 An' siller plenty in my pouch, To nane about your house I'll crouch: Landlord ye needna be sae rude, For faith we'll mak' our quartors gude. Come John, lat's in--we'll tak a seat, Fat sorrow gars ye look sae hlate?-- Sae in he gangs and sets him down; Says he there's nane about your town Sall put me out till a new day, As lang's I've sillar for to pay.-- The landlord says ye're rather rash; To turn ye out we sanna fash, Since ye're sae positive to bide; But troth ye'se sit by the fire-side: I tald ye ance of beds I've nane Unoccupied, except bare ane; In it I fear ye winna ly, For stontest hearts have aft been shy To venture in within the room, After the night begins to gloom: For in it they can ne'er get rest; 'Tis haunted by a frightful ghaist; Oursels are terrified a night; Sae ye may chance to get a sight, Like that which some o' our folks saw; Far better till ye gang awa, Or else ye'll may be rue the day-- Gude faith. quo' John, I'm thinking sae! Better into the neuk to sit, Than sley'd, gude keep us, o' our wit.