Page:Murdered minstrel.pdf/20

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Ane for ane may weel compair,
But twa for ane is rather sair;
The play's nae equal, says I vow,
Dear brother Thrummy, I'll help you.
Then wi' his fit he kicked the ha',
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 person 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 goodness' 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 year
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.
Say on your tale, quoth Thrummy
To do ye justice sure I'll try.
Then mark me well, the Ghaist replied
And ye shall soon be satisfied;