Jock. Ay but mither, we may deny as we will about it, but I doubt it come to my ain door at last.
Mith. Ye silly sumph and senseless fallow, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the dirty drab, ye might a said sae, but ye tell't me lang syne that ye coudna lo'e her, she was so lazy an lown like; besides her crooked fit and bow'd legs.
Jock. Ay, but mither, do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss at the black hole o' the peet stack; she rave the button frae my breeks, and wad gar me do't: and bade me do't, and cou'd flesh and blood refuse to do't: I'm sure, mither, I cou'd ne'er get her wi' bairn an my breeks on.
Mit. Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean's no yours, ilk ane loups on o' anither as you'll get the wite o' a' the bystarts round about.
Up get's Maggy wi' a roar, and rives her hair, cries her back, belly and baith her sides: the weed an gut gaes thro' my flesh like lang needles, nails or elshin irons. Wae be to the day that e'er I saw his face, I had better married a tinkler, or a followed the fogers, as mony a honest man's dochter has done, and liv'd a better life than I do.
Up gets Jockey an rins o'er the rigs for John Roger's wife, auld Kitty the howdy, but or he wan back she parted wi' Patrick thro' perfect spite an then lay twa fauld o'er a stool in a swoon.
Jock. A well, a well, sirs, since my first born is e'en dead without seeing the light o' the warld, ye's a' get bread an cheese to the blyth-meat, the thing we shou'd a war'd on the banket will fair the burial, an that will ay be some advantage; and Maggy should die, I maun een tak Jenny, the tane is as far a length as the tither; I'se be furnish't wi' a wife between the twa.
But Maggy grew better the next day, and was able to muck the byre: yet there gaed sic a tittle tattling thro' the town, every auld wife tell'd anither o't, and a' the light hippit hissies that rins between
