On the Sabbath morning I came into the house. The goodman asked me if I could shave hay. Yes, said I, but never did on the Sabbath-day. I fancy, said he, you are some Westland Whig. Sir, said I, you may suppose me to be what you think proper to-day, but yesternight you used me like a Tory, when you sent me into a stye to lie in your sow's oxter which is a fitter companion for a devil than any human creature; the most abominable brute upon the earth, said I, who was forbidden to be eaten under the law, and cursed under the gospel. Be they curs'd or be they bless'd said he, I wish I had anew of them; but an ye will not tak aff my beard, ye's get nae meat here the day. Then, said I, if ye will not give me meat and drink for money, until the Sabbath be past. I'll tak on my wallet, and go along with you to the kirk, and tell your minister how you used me as a hog. No, said the goodwife, you shall not want your crowdie, man. But my heart being full of sorrow and revenge, a few of them sufficed me, whereon I past over that long day, and at night went to sleep with my old companions, which was not sound, being afraid of mistress sow's coming to revenge the quarrel we had the night before.
On the morning I went into the house. The goodman ordered me the pottage-pot to lick; for, says he, it is an old property to chapmen. Well, I had no sooner begun to it, then out came a great big mastiff-dog from below the bed, and grips me by the breast, then turns me over upon my back, and takes the pot himself. Ay, ay, said the goodman, I think your brother pot-licker and you cannot agree about your breakfast! A well, said I, goodman, you said that pot-licking was a chapman's property, but your dog proves the contrary. So away I comes, and I meeting the good wife at the door, bid her farewell for ever. But what, said I, is your husband's name?
