7
Our travellers now being left alane,
'Cause that the frost was nipping keen,
Coost aff their shoon, an' warm their feet,
And syne gade to their bed to sleep.
But cowardiy John wi' fear was quaking,
He cou'dna sleep, but still lay waking,
Sae troubled wi' his panic fright--
When near the twalt hour o' the night,
That Thrummy waken'd and thus spoke:
Preserves! quoth he, I am like to choak
Wi' thrist, and I maun hae a drink;
I will gang down the stair I think,
And grapple for the water pail,
O for a waught o' cawler ale!
Johnny grips to him, an' says, Na,
I winna let you gang awa:
Wow will ye gang and leave me here
Alane, to die wi' perfect fear?
Rise an' gie wi' me then, quoth Thrummy,
Ye senseless gude-for naething bummy,
I'm only gaun to seek some water,
I will be back just in a clatter.
Na, na, says John, i'll rather ly,
But as I am likewise something dry,
Gif ye can get a jug or cap,
Fesh up to me a little drap.
Ay, ay, quo' Thrummy, that I will,
Altho' ye sudna get a gill.
Sae down he gaes to fetch a drink,
And then he thinks he sees a blink
O' light, that shone upo' the floor,
Out thro' the lock-hole o' the door,
