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Mither. Wa Sawny, man, what'a come o’e thee now? thou hast gotten skaith, some auld wife has witcht thee, or the deil has dung thee o’er in some dirty midden; where hast thou been, or what hast thou seen; thae een reel like a wild cat’s, and the sweat is hailing o’er thy nose; thou’s witeht, thou’s witch’t, O man, what will I do.
Bock, boek, gaed Sawney; but it eould na win up for bubbles and herrin banes. Oh, quo’ he, keep me in my bed for my days will soon be done; a eurse on your courting wark, for it has killed me, and wives are but wicked things, I ken by the same.
Mither. O dole, dole, my bairn has gotten poison, for the smell of it is like to poison me.
Sawny. Gin herring and het ale be poison, there’ll no be mony left alive. Bock, boek, Oh, quo, Sawncy the bed’s filed!
Mither. O my bairn, thou was ay a eleanly bairn till now; thou’s surely lost thy senses when thou files whcre thou lies, like the brutc bcasts: thou ncvcr did the like of this before sinee thou left rocking of the cradle.
PART III
Poor a Sawny had a terrible night o’t, wi a
