a dead woman! she'll never gang to kirk nor market a' her days again.
Mag. A dear John, be easie, ye ken she mauna be buried as she is, a sark an winding sheet is the least she can get.
Jock. Ah ha, Maggy, is that what you mean, she has a guid new winding sheet, it was never about her shoulders yet, sae Maggy do't a' yoursel, an I'se gar Clinkem Bell misure the grave an mak' it.
Now when they brought out the corps, John told the people they were welcome, to haud in a cheek o' his auld mither wast the gate; an being laid right on the spakes, ha, ha, quo' he, this is a bra' honesty indeed, 'tis mair boukie nor my bridal was, but when they came to the grave, 'twas o'er short, an strait about the mouth, which set John in a great passion, saying, a foul fa' your naughty fashions master Bellman, did not I packshion wi' you for the bried o' my mither's back an the length o' her carkage? an this hole winna hand her, thou's get nae mair o' my change if I sude die the morn.
Uncle Rabby. Whisht, whisht, stir, this sude be a day o' mourning for your mither, dinna flyte here.
Jock. What the vengeance, Uncle, sudna fouks die when they're auld? an am I to pay for a hole an get but ha'f a hole; that's the thing that vexes me, but I'se keep twopence out o' his trencher for't, an sae will I een; but gang ye hame Uncle to get cog an cap for the dradgey, an I'll see her get fair play or I gae.
Hame they came in a croud an fell to the cheese an cheeks o' leaves tuth an nail, the ale was handed about in cogs an caps, lashing it down o'er like bleetchers watering their webs; John bluttered i' the cog like a cow in warm water, till the barm an bubbles came belling out at his nose, saying a guid health to you a' round about, an shoon an shortly may we gang the gate my mither's gane, an I wish them a' burying amang dogs that speaks against it.
