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what gars you say that?
Mith. 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.
Mith. Our John the father o't! haud there is enongh said, lieing lown? ⟨I⟩ trow our John was ne'er guilty of sic ⟨a⟩ sinfu' action. Daft woman I trow ⟨it'll⟩ be but the wind; she'll hae drucken some sour drink, raw sowens, or rotten milk that makes her so ill.
Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father o't, fornicator dog that he is, he's ruined me and my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly till she came to you; her father died, and left me wi' four o' them; there wasna ane o' them could pit on anither's claes, or tak a louse of ither.
Mith. I bid ye haud your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he ne'er will take wit; he poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look to a lass be's to lay her down. Fy, Maggy, cry in John, and ane let's ratifyt wi' the auld ruddoch; aye, ye're no blate to say sae.
