did o’ the haggies when she sippet it a’, an crap in o’ the bag.
If ye winna christen the wean, ye canna hinder us to call a cogfu’ o’ water on the face o’t, and ca’t ony thing we like.
So out she goes, shooting Jockey before her, so John went an pisht on the auld minister's widow’s gavel, and there was nae mair about it that day.
NOW Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow cracking like twa handguns.
Mit.] I trow I have fought a battle this day an win the field condingly, whan I hae conquer’d a’ the canker'd carles about the kirk.
Jock.] Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister, an gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures, you might preach as well as he.
Mit.] I true Jock lad, their black stool o’ sham repentance ne’er got sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.
Jock.] Na, na, mither, a’ the whoromongers that ever set a hip on’t kens na fae muckle about the auld foundation o’t as ye do.
Mit.] But Johnny man, an thou wad start on Monday, ye an I wad go an see the daft jade, Jenny the mither o’t.
Jock.] Wi' a’my heart mither, but we maun gie something an it were an auld servet, or an auld sark to keep the hips o’t warm, young weans is ay wet about the a—e ye ken.
Mit.] A well then Johnny, I’se cry to thee whan the hens begins to keckle, an that’s about the break o’ day, and we's be ready to take the road again Torry-burn day-light; when we’ll ken a t—d by a stane.
Up gets auld Maggy. Jock's mither, in the morning, puts on her kettle, an masks her Yool-brose, the muckle pot hung on the fire a’ night, wi’ the cheek