11
Ane for ane may weel compare,
But twa for ane is rather sair;
The play's nae equal, say I vow,
Dear brother Thrummy, I'll help you.
Then wi' his fit he kicked the ba',
Gard it play stot against the wa';
Quick then, as lightning frae the sky,
The spectres with a horrid cry,
A' vanished in a clap o' thun'er,
While Thrummy at the same did won'er.
The room was quiet now and dark,
An' Thrummy striping in his sark;
Glauming the gate back to his bed,
He thinks he hears a parson tread,
An' ere he gat without the door,
The Ghaist again stood him before,
And in his face did staring stand,
Wi' a big candle in its hand.
Quoth Thrummy, Friend, I want to know
What brings you frae the shades below,
I in my Maker's name command
You tell your story just aff hand?
Fat wad ye hae? --I'll do my best
For you, to let you be at rest
Then says the Ghaist, 'Tis thirty years,
Since I've been doom'd to wander here;
In all that time there has been none
Behav'd sae bold as ye have done:
Sae if you'll do a job for me,
Disturbance mair I'll never gie.
Sae on your tale, quoth Thrummy
To do you justice sure will try.
Thon mark me weel, the Ghaist replied
And ye shall soon be satisfied:
