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Jock. Aye, but mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt it will come to my door at the last.
Mith Ye silly sumph, and senseless fel-low, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the nasty drab, ye might hae sail sae, but ye tell't me lang syne that ye couldna lo'e her, she was sae lazy and lown like, besides her crooket fit and bowed legs.
Jock. Ay, but mither do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss at the black hole o' the peat-stack; she rave the button trae my breeks, and wad gai me do t ; and could flesh and blood refuse to do ‘t; I'm sure mither, I could ne'er get her wi' bairn wi' my breeks on.
Mith Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean's no yours, ilka ane loups on o‘ anither, and ye'll get the wyte o' a' the bytarts that are round about the country.
Up gets Maggy wi' a roar, and rives her hair, and cries, O her back! her belly! and baith her sides! The weed and gut gaes through my flesh like lang needles, nails, or elshin irons! Wae be to the day that e‘er I saw his face. I had better married a tinkler, or followed the sodgers, as mony an honest man‘s dochter has done, and lived a better life than I do.
Up gets Jockey, and rins over the rigs for John Rodgers wife, auld Kitty and
