together, we sall see thy bystart an’ its mither or we gae hame.
Jock.] Wi' a’ my heart mither, but yonder the house an the hens on't, the lum’s reeking rairly, but little ken they wha’s coming.
At length they came to Jenny's mither’s door:
In goes his mither, and in goes his mare,
Himself follows after, cries. How's a’ here?
Mit.] Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?
Her mither answers.] Well I wat she’s in her bed, and cauld and comfortless is her lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever well paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she’s done, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he wad a seen her long or now.
Mit.] A dear Marion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John, wha has a wife o’ his ain, cou’d come an wait on her as she were a dame o’ honour, or yet an honest man’s wife, poor silly lown it he is, an he had thought o’ what he was com’d o’, he wad ne’er a offer’d benevolence to the like o’ her.
Mag.] An ye had been as great an instrogator against his making her double ribbet, as ye are now against doing her justice, for the filthy jumcrack he’s gien her, ye wadna need to ca’ her silly lown the day, and him an honest man; but the ne’er an honest man wad a hoddl’d sae lang on ae poor hidie an then gane awa’ an a married anither for the love o’ a pickle auld clouts, an twa three pockfu’s o’ tow; an she is but a silly lown indeed that lute him or ony rattlescull else, shake their tail sae lang upon her, without his faith, an his troth, an his fist before the minister.
Mit.] A cauld be your cast kimmer, do ye think it your dadeling dochter’s a match fit for my son John; I think less may fair, her father was but a poor cotter carle, an our John's father was a farmer, an altho' they hae faun foul o'ither, I think nae fairly o't; 'tis but a trick o' youth, an the course o'
C
