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uncle Rabby, for his supple made their pows baith saft and sair that night; but daft Maggie Simson sat by the fire and picked bones a' the time o' the battle; indeed quoth she, I think you're a' fools but mysel; for I came here to get a good supper, and ither fouk has gotten their skin well paid.
By this time up got John the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he was married, but could nae get his breeks; yet wi' a horse nail he tacked his sark tail between his legs, that nane might see what every body should hide, and rambling he cries settle ye, or I'll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften your heads wi' my auld supple.
Poor Rob Reid the fiddler took a sudden blast: some said he was maw turn'd wi' the fa': for he bocked up a' the barley, and then gar'd the ale go like a rainbow frae him, as brown as wort brose.
The hurly-burly being ended, and naething but fair words an shaking o' hands which was a sure sign of an agreement, they begun to cou' their cutted lugs, an wash their sairs, a' but Jockey's mither, who cries out, a black end on a' you and your wedding baith; for I hae gotten an hundred holes dung in my arse wi' the heckle teeth.
Jockey answers, a e'en had you wi' them than mither, ye will e'en be the better sair'd.
Up get uncle Rabby, aud auld Sandy the souter o' Siggyhole, to put every thing in order: they prapet up the bed wi' a rake and rippling kame, the bearers being broken they made a solid bottom of peets, laid on the cauf bed and bowsters, where Jockey and Maggy was beddet the second time.
Jockey not being used to lie wi' a naked woman, except heads and thraws wi' his mither, gets his twa hands about the bride's neck, and his houghs out o'er her hurdies, saying, I ne'er kist wife nor lass naked before, and for fainness I'll bite you. I'll bite you, &c. Naething mair remarkable till about half a year and four oucks thereafter, in comes Marion Mushet running barefoot and bareleggit, wi' bleart een and watery cheeks, cursing and banning, greeting and flyting.
Marion enters, crying, and whar's John?
His mother answers. Indeed he's out in the yard powing kill runts.
Marion. A. black end on a him and runts baith, for he's ruin'd me an my bairn.
Mith. Ruin;d you, it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you ill, be night or be day, what gars you say that?
Mar. O woman, our Jenny is a' rowing like a pack of woo, indeed she's wi' quick bairn, and your John is the father o't.
