15
Thrummy him thank'd, an' syne his gowd
Intil a muckle purse he stowed,
An' scram'd it in his oxter-pouch,
And syne sought out his aiken crutch :
Said, fare.ye-weel, I maun awa,
An' see gin I get through the snaw.
Weel, fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird :
How comes it ye ha' na shared,
Or gi'en your nei'bour of the money?
Na, by my saul, I, Sir, quo' Thrummy,
When I the siller, Sir, did win,
To had done this wad been a sin.
Afore that I the Ghaist had laid,
The nesty 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 such a pass,
That as my cudgelling and wheeping,
Will hardly wake her out of sleeping,
To plague her mair I winna try,
But dight my pen and lay it by.
--------
Y o u n g W h i p - S t i t c h,
A L O N D O N T A I L O R 'S S O N.
A London Taiior, as 'tis said,
By buckram, canvas, tape, an' thread,
