Page:Murdered minstrel.pdf/14

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Whate’er ye charge we canna grudge.
But satisfy ye, ere we budge
To gang awa'—and fan ’tis day,
We’ll pack out all, and tak the way.
The Landlord said, O beds I’ve nane,
Our ain fowks they will scarce contain,
But gin ye’ll gang but twa miles foret
Aside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret,
Wba keeps a Change-house, sells guide drink,
His house ye may mak out I think.
Quoth Thrummy, that’s owre far awa',
The roads are sae blawn up wi’ snaw,
To mak it is na in our power;
For, look ye, there’s a gathering shower
Just coming on—you’ll let us bide,
Tho’ we should sit by the fire side.
The Landlord said to him Na, na,
I canna let you hide ava,
Chap aff, for ’tis na worth your while
To bide, when ye hae scrimp twa mile
To gang—sae quickly aff you’ll steer,
For faith, I doubt ye’ll na be here.
Twa mile! quo’ Thrummy, deil speed me,
If frae your house this night I jee,
Are we to starve in Christian land?
As lang’s my stick bides in my hand,
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 quarters good.
Come, John, let’s in, we’ll tak a sate,
Fat sorrow gars you look so blate?
Sae in he gangs and sets him down,
Says he, there’s nae about your town.