Mith. Indeed stir, tak your mind o’t as our cat did o’ the haggies, when she sippit it a’, and crap in o’ the bag.
If ye winna christen the wean, ye canna hinder us to cast a cogfu’ o’ water on the face o’t, and ca’t ony thing we like.
So out she goes shooting Jockey before her, so John went and pisht on the auld minister’s widow’s gavel, and there was nae mair about it that day.
HOW JOCKEY AND HIS MOTHER WENT AWAY TO SEE HIS BASTARD CHILD, &c.
Part IV.
Now Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow cracking like twa hand guns.
Moth. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field condingly, whan I hae conquer’d a’ the canker’d carles about the kirk.
Jock. Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister, and gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures you may preach as well as he.