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anee fairly aff the fodder, I’ll be cast into a hole of a house by mysel, where I’ll just lye and break my heart, and weary myself to death; but an I eould get a bit honest weaver, a eobbler, or some auld tailor by the tail, I would taekle to him yet, let the country elash as they please about it.
Sawny. A well, a well mither, tak your ain flight, there’s nae fool like an auld fool; for the morn I’ll be aff or on wi’ the hissie I hae in hand.
So on the morrow Sawny got all his claes cleaned, his hair camed and greased with butter, and his facc as clean as if the cat had lieked it, and away he goes singing.
I will buy a pound of woo’,
I will wash’t and mak a plaidy,
I’m gaun ower the muir to woo’,
Carlin, is your daughter ready.
Now poor Sawny, although he sang, he was as pale as a ghost from the grave; his faee was whitely white, like a weel bleached dishclout, and he looked as if he had been eaten and spued again; but at length he came to the bride’s door, and in he goes with a brattle, crying, how’s all here the day? and what’s comed of thy mither lassie? O Saunders, quo the bride she’s awa to the town: what came of ye yesterday, she waited
