Jock. Let’s a be now wi’ your auld taunts about bystarts getting, or I’se gie you the wind o’ the mare’s tail, an’ gar you wammel hame an’ a’ your wate coats about you.
Moth. Na, na, my man Johny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, we came together, and wi’s gang together, wi sall see thy bystart and its mither or wi gae hame.
Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but yonder the house an’ the hens on’t, the lums reeking rairly, but little ken they wha’s coming.
At length they came to Jenny’s mother’s door.
In goes his mother and in goes his mare,
Himself follows after, cries how’s a’ here?
Moth. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?
Her mother answers,
Well a wat she’s in her bed, an’ cauld cauld, and comfourtless is her lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever weel paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she’s done, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he wad a seen her lang or now.