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He handled weel his aiken staff, And spite o's teeth he kept him-aff, Until the landlord came to see, And ken fat might the matter be ; Then verra soon the dog did cease. The Landlord then did speir the case. Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha’e gane rill; We thought we'd ne'er a house get till ; We near were smor'd amo' the drift; And sae, gudeman, ye'll mak' a shift To gi'e us quarters a' this night, For now we dinna ha’e, the light, Farer to gang, tho it were fair ; See gin ye hae a bed to spare, Whate'e ye charge we canna grudge, But satisfy ye, ere we budged 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 forret, Aside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret, Wha keeps a Change-house, sells guid drink His house ye may mak but 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
