His mither, auld Mary, plagued him ay in the morning; she got up when the hens keckled, riping the ribs, blew her snotterbox, primed her nose, kindled her tobacco-pipe, and at every puff breathed out frettings against her hard fortune and lanely single life. O but a widow be a poor name; but I live in a wilderness in this lang-lonen, mony a man gaes by my door, but few folks looks in to poor Mary. Hoch hey, will I never win out of this wearied life. Wa Sawny, man, wilt thou not rise the day; the sun’s up, and a’ the nibours round about; Willie and Charlie is on the hill an hour syne, and half gate hame again. Wilt thou rise an gie the beasts a bite, thou minds na them, I wat man. Grump grump, quo Sawny, they got their supper an hour after I got mine. Shut to dead come on them every ane an they get a bit frae me till they work for’t.
Sawny. But mither I’ve been dreaming that I was married, an’ in the bed aboon the bride: I wonder gin it be true? Od, I ne’er got sic fun: what will’t be, think ye? how auld am I mither? do you think I could man a hissy yet? fegs I have a mind to try; but the saucy hissies will na hae me, I ken weel enough.
Mither. Say you lad, ay mony a hungry heart wad be blythe o’ you, but there was never a sca’d Jockey but there was a scabbed Jenny till him yet: dinna be scar’d lad.
Sawny. A hech, mither, I’se no be lordly an’ I sud tak a beggar wife aff the hi’ gate; but I’ll tell ye something that I’m ay thinking on, but ye maun na tell the neighbours, for the chiels wad aye jaw me wi’t.
Mither. Wad I tell o’ thee lad? I wad tell o’ mysel as soon.
Sawny. Do ye mind mither, that day I gade to the Pans I came in by auld Mattie’s your countrywoman, the Fife wife, it cam’ out o’ the town ye cam frae, the wife that says Be-go laddies, I gade there, an she was unco kind, and made me fat brose out of the lee side o’ her kail-pot: there was baith beef and paunches in’t; od they smell’d like ony haggis, and shined a’ like a gould fac’d waiscoat: fegs I suppit till I was like to rive o’ hem and had a rift o’ them the morn a’ day; when I came out I had a kite like a cow wi’ calf; she spiered for you, mither, and I said ye was gaily; and she looked to me, and leuch, and gripped my shakle-bane, and said I would be a sturdy fallow yet—I looked to her, and thought I liked her, and thinks on’t aye since syne: she leugh, and bade me seek out a coal driver for her, for she didna like to carry a fish creel.
Mither. Forsooth, Sawny, I’ll gie my twa lugs for a lav’rock’s egg if she binna in love wi’ thee, and that will be a bargain.
Sawny. An upon my word mither, she’s a sturdy gimmer, well worth the smoaking after; she has a dimple on every cheek, an haunches like a sodjer’s lady’s hoop, they hobble when she shakes, and her paps play nidlety nod when she gangs; I ken by her keckling she has a conceit of me.
Mither. But Sawney man, an thou see her mither Matty in the town, auld be-go laddie as you ca’ her, gie her a dram, she likes it weel; spout ye a mutchkin of molash in her cheek, ye’ll get her mind, and speed the better.
Sawny. But mither, how sud I do when I gang to court her? will I kiss her, an kittle her and fling her o’er as the chiels do the hisses amang the hay. I’ve seen them gang owre ither, and owre ither, and when they grip them by the wame, they’d cry like a maukin.