4
Farer to gang, though it were fair;
Sae gin ye hae a bed to spare,
What e’er ye charge we sanna grudge,
But satisfy ye e’er we budge
To gang awa—and san 'tis day
We’d pack our alls and tak the way—
The landlord says, O’ beds I've nane.
Our ain fouk they will scarce'contam;
But gin ye gang but twg mile forret,
Aside the kirk dwalls Robin Dorret,
Wha keeps a change-house, sells gude drink
His house ye may makout I think—
Quoth Thrummy, that’s o’er far awa,
The roads are fae blawn up wi’ snaw,
To mak it is nac in our power;
For look ye there's a gath’ring shower,
Is coining on—ye'll let us bide.
Though we sud sit by the fireside,—
The landlord says to him, Na, na,
I canna let ye bide ava;
Chap ass—for ’tis nae worth your while
To bide when ye hae scrimp twa mile,
To gang, sae quickly ass ye'll steer,
For faith I doubt ye'll no be here.
Twa mile, quo Thrummy, deil speed me,
If frae your house this night I’ll see?
Are we to starve in christian land?
As lang’s my stick bides in my hand.
An' filler 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 gude;
