Maggy’s mither with the ladle, swearing she was the mither of a’ the mischief that happened, uncle Rabby ran in between them, he having a great long nose like a trumpet she recklesly came o'er his lobster-neb a drive wi' the ladle until the blood sprang out an ran down his auld grey baird, and hang like snuffy bubbles at it; O! then he gaed wood, and looked as waefu’ like as he had been a tod-lowrie come frae worrying the lambs wi’ his bloody mouth. With that be gets an auld stail, and rives awa’ the supple, then drives them a’ to the back o’ the door, but yet nane wan out; then wi’ chirten and chappen, down comes the clay hallen and the hen bawk wi’ Rab Reid the fidler, who had crept up aside the hens for the preservation of his fiddle.
Ben comes the bride when she got on her coat, clappet Rabby’s shoulder, and bade him spare their lives, for there is blood enough shed in ae night, quoth she; and that my beard can witness, quoth he. So they all came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his souple made their pows baith saft and fair that night; but saft Maggy Simpson sat by the fire and picket banes a’ the time o’ the battle; indeed quoth she, I think you’re a' fools but mysel; for I came here to get a guid supper, and ither fouk has gotten their skin well pait.
By this time up got John the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he was married, but coudna get his breeks, yet wi’a horse-nail he tucket his sark tail between his legs, that nane might see what every body should hide, and rampingly he cries settle ye, or I’ll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften your heads wi’ my auld supple.
Poor Rab Reid the fidler took a sudden blast, some said he was raw-turn'd wi’ the fa’, for he bocked up a’ the barley, and then gar’d the ale go like a rainbow frae him, as brown as wort brole.
The hurly-burly being ended, and naething but fair words an shaking o’ hands which was a sure sign
