yondeth maun be out; but she may thank good fortune an tell her friends ay, an count it a credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like o' him; a good fu-fat farmer's ſon, but ae step laigher nor a laird.
Mar. A wae be to sic a credit, 'tis no worth the cracking o', an whar was a' his noble equals whan he bute to lay a leg on my poor lassie, poor clarty clunny it thou is? an if they warna baith ae man's mak i wad think naething o't; for they warna a needle o' differ between their dadies, an what war they baith but twa sticket taylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame an counted your bow kail stocks, as come here to count kindred wi' me.
Jock. Hout awa daft witless wives, I kenna what ye're flyting about, I wad rather see the wean gin it be ony thing wally an like the warld.
Mar. Indeed sal ye John, you'll see your ain picture for little siller, a muckle mouth't haverel it is just like yoursel.
(The Child is presented.)
Jock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth just like mine an sees we baith ot's een, an but five days auld yet.
Mith. Dear Johnny, thou's no wise man, wad tu hae the wain to be blin, the poor thing saw whan it was new born.
Jock. A what ken I, mither, am no sae weel skill'd as the howdies; an them that's ay hobbling weans: but I thought they had been like the wee bits a Whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.
Mith. Awa, awa ye witless widdyfu', comparing a beast till a woman's ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, an a wean is a chrisen'd creature.
Jock. Na, mither, 'tis no a chrisen'd creature yet, for hit has neither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little ken I how to ca't yet.
Mar. I wat well 'tis a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or yet to meet in the morning, a body wanting a name.
