9
Just in the dress that he coost aff,
A thrummy and an aiken staff,
Gammashes and the jockey-coat;
And in its hand the Ghaist had got
A big four-legged timber bicker,
Fillä to the brim wi' nappy liquor,
Our hero at the spectre stared,
But neither daunted was nor car'd,
But to the Ghaist stright up did step,
An' says, dear brother, Thrummy Cap,
The warst ye surely dinna drink,
So I wi' you will taste I think;
Syne took a jug, pou'd out the pail,
And fill'd it up wi' the same ale,
Frae under where the spectre sat,
And up the stair wi' it he gat;
Took a gude drink, gae John anither,
But never tald him o' his brither,
That he into the cellar saw,
Mair than he'd naething seen awa,
Light brown and nappy was the beer:
Whar did you get it? John did speir,
Says Thrummy, sure ye needna care,
gae and try to get some mair,
Sae down the stair again he goes,
To get o' drink anither dose,
Being positive to hae some mair;
But still he fand the Ghaist was there,
Now on a butt bebind the door:
Says he, ye didna ill before,
Dear brother Thrummy, sae I'll try
You ance again, because I'm dry.
He fills his jug stright out below,
An' up the stair again does go.
