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Grow verra thick upon the wind,
Whilk to their wae they soon did find;
A mighty show'r o‘ snaw and drift,
As ever dang down frae the lift!
Right wild and boist‘rous Boreas roar'd,
Preserves! quoth John, we'll baith be smor‘d.
Our trystic end we'll ne'er make out;
Cheer up, says Thrummy, never dout.
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,
Upo’ the road a peice afore,
Sae up they gade unto the door,
Where Thrummy chappit wi' his stick,
Syne to the door came verra quick,
A meikle dog, wha barked fair,
But Thrummy for him didna care;
He handled weel his aiken staff,
An’ spite o’s teeth he kept him aff
Until the Landlord came to see,
And ken fat might the matter be;
Then verra soon the dog did cease
The Landlord then did speir the case,
Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha’e gane rill;
We thought we'd ne’er a house got till,
We near were smor’d an o' the drift,
And sae, gudeman, ye’ll mak' a shift
To gi’e us quarters a' this night,
For now we dinna ha’e the light
Farer to gang, tho‘ it were fair,
See gin ye hae a bad to spare,
Whilk to their wae they soon did find;
A mighty show'r o‘ snaw and drift,
As ever dang down frae the lift!
Right wild and boist‘rous Boreas roar'd,
Preserves! quoth John, we'll baith be smor‘d.
Our trystic end we'll ne'er make out;
Cheer up, says Thrummy, never dout.
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,
Upo’ the road a peice afore,
Sae up they gade unto the door,
Where Thrummy chappit wi' his stick,
Syne to the door came verra quick,
A meikle dog, wha barked fair,
But Thrummy for him didna care;
He handled weel his aiken staff,
An’ spite o’s teeth he kept him aff
Until the Landlord came to see,
And ken fat might the matter be;
Then verra soon the dog did cease
The Landlord then did speir the case,
Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha’e gane rill;
We thought we'd ne’er a house got till,
We near were smor’d an o' the drift,
And sae, gudeman, ye’ll mak' a shift
To gi’e us quarters a' this night,
For now we dinna ha’e the light
Farer to gang, tho‘ it were fair,
See gin ye hae a bad to spare,
