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e'er guilty of sic a sinfu' action. Daft woman, ⟨I⟩ trow it'll be but wind, that hoves up the lasses wame; she'll hae drucken some sour drink, raw ⟨sowens⟩, or rotten milk, makes her so ill.
Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father o't, fornieator dog that he is, he's ruined me and my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she eame 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 aff ither.
Mith. I bid you haud your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he'll ne'er tak wi't:{{be, poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look to a lass, be's, to lay her down. Fy, Maggy, cry in John and let's ratify't wi' the auld ruddoch; aye, ye're no blate to say sae.
Mar. Be angry or be well pleased, I'll say't in of your faces, and I'll call you before your betters ere lang gae.
John enters. A what want ye now! our brose ready yet?
Mith. Ay, brose! blaek brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here's Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi' bairn.
Jock. Me, mither! I never lay in a bed wi' her dochter a' my days; it'll be the young Laird's
