an wha ſhot her! A deed it was the de’il: Oh hoch, oh hoch, Shenet, we’ll a’ be kill’d whan the de’il has gotten a gun.
Mag.) A ſweet be wi’us woman, is nit an unco thing they dinna a’ flee on the miniſter and worry him, whan he flytes and miſca’s them ſae, do ye think they hear him?
Jan.) A doubtleſs but they hear and ſees too, they’re neither blind nor bleer-eyed, but ay whan ye ſpeak o'them, name the day, cry it’s Wanſday thro’ a’ the warld, and there’s nae fear o’ you.
Mag.) But what do you think o’ our miſter, is he a good man think ye?
Jan.) Indeed I think he’s a gay gabby body, but he has twa facts, and his wife has three, he’s unko greedy o’ filler, an he’s ay preaching down pride and up charity, an yet he’s that ſou o’ pride himſel, that he has gotten a glaſs window on every ſide o’ his noſe, and his een is as clear as twa clocks to luck to, he has twa giglet gilliegawkies o’ dochters, comes into the kirk wi’ their coblete- how mutches frizel’d up as braid’s their hips, an clear things like ſtarns about their necks, and at every lug, a walloping white thing hanging like a ſnotter at a bubly wean’s noſe, ſyne about their necks, a bit thin claith like a mouſe-web, an their twa bits o’ paps playing ay niddity nod, ſhining thro’ it like twa yearning-bags; ſhame fa’ them and their fiig-mageries baith, for I get nae good o’ the preaching looking at them; and ſyne a’ the
