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Jock. Come away sirs, for my mither's as dead as a mauk, good be thanket for't, but I'd rather it had a been the black mare, or the muckle rigat cow; for weel I wat I'll e'en miss her, for she was a bra' spinner o' tow; and could a cardet to twa muckle wheels She had nae faut but ane, and that was her tongue; but she'll speak nae mair. Fy gets a dale or a barn door to straught her on, for ay when she was cauld, she was unco kankert and ill to curch, but I se hae her yerded on Wednesday teen.
Come, come, says Maggy, we maun hae her drest.
Jock. What does the fool mean? Wad ye dress a dead woman; she'll never gang to kirk nor market a' her days again.
Mag. I dear John, be at ease, ye ken she mauna be buried the way she is; a sark and winden-sheet is the least she cau get.
Jock. I ha, Maggy, is that what ye mean? She has a guid new winden-sheet, it was never about her shoulder yet; sae, Maggy do't a' yoursel, and I se gar Clinken Bell measure the grave and mak it.
Now when they brought out the corpse, John told the people they were welcome, to had in a cheek oo' his auld mither wast the gate; and being laid right on the spakes, hach had! quoth he, this is a bra' honesty indeed,-it s mair boukie nor my bridal was. But when they came to the grave, it was o'er short and straight 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, and the length o' her carkage, and this hole winna haud her. Thou's get nae mair o' my change if I sude die the morn.
Uncle Rabie. Whisht, whisht, sir! 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? And am I to pay for a hole, and get but half a hole? That's the thing that vexes me. But I'se keep toupence out o' his trencher for't, and sae will I een. But gang ye hame, Uncle to get cog an cap for the deargry, and I'll see her get fair play or I gae.
Hame they came in a croud, and fell to the cheese and cheeks of leaves tooth an nail. The ale was handed up in cogs and caps, lashing it down o'er like bletchers watering their webs; John blutter'd in the coag like a cow in warm water, till the barm and bubbles came belching out at his nose, saying a guid health to you all round about, and soon and shortly may we a gang the gate my mither's gane, an I with them a burying amang dogs that speaks against it.
