"'Nane o' your deil's play-books for me,' said Lucky Dods; 'it's an ill world since sic prick-my-dainty doings came into fashion. It's a poor tongue that canna tell its ain name, and I'll hae nane o' your scarts upon pasteboard.'"—St Ronan's Well.
It's a poor world that winna gie a bit and a brat.
It's a rare thing for siller to lack a maister.
It's a sair dung bairn that mayna greet.
It's a sair field where a's dung down.
It's a sair time when the mouse looks out o' the meal barrel wi' a tear in its ee.
It's a sairy collop that's ta'en aff a chicken.
It's a sairy flock where the ewie bears the bell.
That is, a "sairy," uncomfortable, or poor house where the wife commands, "though," as Kelly slily remarks, "there are some such houses in the world."
It's a sairy mouse that has but ae hole.