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The Parchments frae his pouch then drew,
And down upon the table threw.
The Laird at this up to him ran,
And cried, Whar did you get them, man?
Syne Thrummy tald him a' the tale,
As I've tald you, baith clear and hale.
The Laird at this was fidgin fain,
That he had gat his Rights again:
And fifty guineas down did tell,
Besides a present frae himsel.
Thrummy thanked him, an' syne his gowd
Intil a muckle purse he stow'd.
And cramm'd it in his oxter-pouch,
And syne sought out his aiken crutch,
And fare-ye-weel, I mann awa,
And see gin I get thro' the sna;
Weel fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird:
But how comes it ye hanna shar'd
Or gien your neibor o' the money?
Na, na, my soul I, Sir, quo' Thrummy,
When I the siller, Sir, did win
(To ha'e done this wad be a sin.)
Before that I the Ghaist had laid,
The nasty beast had ——— the bed.
And sae my tale I here do end,
I hope no one it will offend;
My muse will na assist me langer,
The dorty jade sometimes does anger,
I thought her ance a gay smart lass
But now she's come to sic a pass,
That a' my cudgelling and weeping,
Will hardly wake her out o' sleeping;
To plague her I winna try,
But dight my pen and lay it by.