He'll shoot higher that shoots at the moon, than he that shoots at the midden, e'en though he may miss his mark.

He'll soon be a beggar that canna say "No."

He'll tell it to nae mair than he meets.

He'll wag as the bush wags.

That is, he will do as circumstances compel him.

He loes me for little that hates me for nought.

His love has never been very strong if it turns for a trifle.

He'll wind you a pirn.

"An my auld acquaintance be hersel, or onything like hersel, she may come to wind us a pirn. It's fearsome baith to see and hear her when she wampishes about her arms, and gets to her English, and speaks as if she were a prent book—let a-be an auld fisher's wife."—The Antiquary.

He lo'ed mutton weel that lick'd where the ewie lay.