Lowsed her tongue reet freely at him,
While t’ oald yoad went stammerin’ heàm.
Whietly Kit bore her clatter,
Nea back-wūrd he’d gi’en her, when
T’ mèar pu’t up aside some watter;—
“Drink, gūd lass!” says Cūrsty Benn.
Lang she dronk, an’ lood she grūntit,
Till a gay gud drain she’d hed;
Than as t’ rwoad yance mair she frūntit,
Cūrsty’ wife tūll Cūrsty said—