Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father o't, fornicator dog, that he's: he's ruin'd me an my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she came to you; her father died and left me wi' four o' them, there wasna' ane o' them cou'd pit on anither's clease, or tak a louse aff ither.
Mit. I bid you haud your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he'll ne'er tak wi't: hc, poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look to a lass, be's to lay her down. Fy Maggy cry in o' John, and let's ratify't wi' the auld ruddoch: ay, ye're no blate for saying sae.
Mar. Be angry, or be well pleased, I'll say't in a' your faces, an I'll ca' you before your betters about it or lang gae.
John enters.) A what want ye now, is our brose ready yet?
Mit.. Ay brose, black brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi' bairn.
Jock. Me, mither! I ne'er lay in a bed wi' her dochter a' my days; it'll be the young laird's, for I saw him kiss her at the Lamass fair, and let glam at her nonsense.
Mit. Ay, ay, my man Johnny, that's the way she has gotten her belly fu' o' bairns; 'tis no you nor the like o' you, poor innocent lad, that gets bystart weans: a wheen filthy lowns, every ane loups on anither, and gie's you the wyte o' a'.
Mar. You may say what you like about it, 'tis easy to ca' a court whar there's nae body to say again, but I'll tell you a' I ken about it, and that is what she tell't me, and you guidwife tell't me some o't yoursel; an gin ye hadna brought in Maggy wi' her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockie and my Jenny had a been man an wife the day.
Jock. I wat well that's true.
Mar. Ye filthy dog that ye are, are ye gawn to confess wi' a bystart, an it no yours: dinna I ken as well as ye do wha's aught it?
