I 'm

“It ’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain— / “I ’m sure my poor head aches again / “I ’ve scratched it so, and all in vain.

“I ’ll busk you as braw as a queen, sweet lass, / I ’ll busk you as braw as a queen; / I ’ve guineas to spare, an’, hark ye, what ’s mair, / I ’m only twa score an’ fifteen, sweet lass, / Only twa score an’ fifteen.”

“I ’m wonderin’ too what he ’ll say, an’ where he ’ll preach her.”

And, first you know, queer shadows steal / From out the corners, so / Right where I hung my clothes I ’m sure / There ’s Something moves, and oh, / I feel a crawly, creepy chill / ’Way from my head to feet, / And little girls feel comf’tabler / To hid beneath the sheet!