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for a saw him kiss her at the Lammas-fair and let glaum at her nonsense.
Mith. Ay, ay, my man, Johnny, that's the way she has gotten her belly full of bairns; 'tis no you, nor the like of you, poor innocent lad, that gcts bastard weans; 'tis a wheen rambling o'erfull lowns, ilka ane of them loups on anither, and gies the like of you the wyte o't.
Mar. Ye may say what you like about it 'tis easy to ca' a court whar there's nae body to say again; but I'll let you ken about it; and that is what she tell't me, and you gudewife tell't me some o't yoursel'; and gin you hadna brought in Maggy wi her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jocky and my Jenny wad hae been man and wife that day,
Jock, I wat weel that's true.
Mith. Ye filthy dog that ye are, arc ye gaun to confess wi a bystards, and it no yours? Dinna I ken as well as ye do wha's aught it, and wha got the wean.
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 fellow, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the nasty drab, ye might hae said sae, but ye tell't me langsyne that ye couldna lo'e her, she was sae lazy and
