It's sair to haud drink frae drouth.
It spreads like muirburn.
"Muirburn," furze on fire. Said of ill news.
It's stinking praise comes out o' ane's ain mouth.
It stinks like a brock.
"Our gentry care sae little
For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle;
They gang as saucy by poor folk,
As I would by a stinking brock."
—Burns.
It's the barley pickle breaks the naig's back.
It's the best feather in your wing.
It's the best spoke in your wheel.