Sawny. Ha ha mither, the poor fouk, like the lice, ay when they meet they marry, and maks mae of them: and I think the ministers might christen their bits of weans for naething, the water’s no sae scant; they are weel paid for their preaching, they may very weel baith marry and christen a’ the poor fouks into the bargain, by the way of a maggs.
Mither. Ay, ay, my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young fouk, and the bed undefiled.
Sawny. What the vengeance, mither, do ye think a body’s to file the bed every night because they did it ance.
Mither. Na, na that’s no what I mean; it is the happiness that fouk hae that’s married, beside the lonesome life that I hae, lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane: O sirs, but a man in bed be a useful body, an it were but to claw anes back, as for a body’s foreside they can claw it themselves.
Sawny. Ah mither, mither, ye hae fun a string again; I think ye might a wanted all your days, when ye hae wanted sae lang: ye hae plenty of baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco; but ye smell at the crack of a whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet, for I’ve seen her fit waggan this lang time.
Mither. A dear Sawny man, an thou were ance fairly aff the fodder, I’ll be cast into a hole of a house by mysel, where I’ll just lye and break my heart, and weary myself to death; but an I could get a bit honest weaver, a cobbler, or some auld tailor by the tail, I would tackle to him yet, let the country clash as they please about it.
Sawny. A well, a well mither, tak your ain flight, there’s nae fool like an auld fool; for the morn I’ll be aff or on wi’ the hissie I hae in hand.
So on the morrow Sawny got all his claes cleaned, his hair camed and greased with butter, and his face as clean as if the cat had licked it, and away he goes singing.
I will buy a pound of woo’,
I will wash’t and mak a plaidy,