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So home they came to the dinner, which his mither preſented to them a piping hot haggies, made o' the creiſh o' the black boul horn'd ewe, boild the meikle bag, mixt with bear meal and ingans, ſpice an mint; this haggies being ſpout warm, the foaming ſwats an ſpice in the liquor, ſet John's belly a' bizzing like a working fat an he playing het fit to the fiddler, was ſuddenly ſeized with a backing an rebounding, gave his dinner ſuch a backward ca' that he loſt a', but the grit bits he ſcythed thro' his teeth. His mither cry'd to ſpence him, an bed him wi' the bride; his breeks being filled, they waſhed baith his lips, laid him in his bed, pale and ghoſtly was his face, an cloſed were baith his een; Ah! cries his mither, a diſmal day indeed; his brithal an his burial may be baith on ae day. Some cuiſt water in his face, an jagged him wi' a needle, till he began to rouſe himſelf up, an rap out broken words, mither, mither, mither, whar am I now? Whar are ye? my bairn, ſays his mither, ye'er beddet, an I'll bring the bride to you. Beddet an is my bridal dune elſe? Ay, ſaid ſhe, here's the bride to ly down wi' you. Na, na, ſaid he, I'll no ly down wi' that unco woman indeed, if it binna heads an thraws, the way I lay wi' my mither. O fy dinna affront yourſel.
The bride fa's a crying, O mither, mither, was this the way my father guided you the firſt night? Na, na, thy father was a man o' mettle; poor thing, Meg, thou's ca'dd thy hogs to a bonny market.
