Sawny. Ha, ha, mither the poor foukes like the lice; ay when they meet they marry and maks mae o’ them: And I think the ministers might chrisen their bits a weans for nae thing, the water is no sae scant; they’re well paid for their preaching, they may very well both marry and chrisen a’ the poor foukes into the bargain, by the way of a maggs.[46]
Mither. Ay, ay, my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young fouke an’ the bed undefil’d.
Sawny. What the vengeance mither, do ye think that a body is to file the bed every night, an’ they do’t ance.
Mither. Na, na, that’s no what I mean, its happiness that fouk has that’s married, besides the wearied lonesome life it I hae, lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane; O sirs! but a man in a bed be a usefu’ body, an’ it were but to claw ane’s back, as for a body’s foreside they can claw it themsel.
Sawny. A’ mither, mither, ye hae fun a string again, I think ye might a wanted a’ your days when ye fasted sae lang; ye hae plenty o’ baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco, but ye smell at the crack o’ the whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet; for I seen her fit wagging this lang time.
Mither. A dear Sawny man, an thou were ance fairly aff the fodder, I’ll be casten into a hole of a house by mysel, where I’ll just ly and break my heart, and weary mysel to dead, but an I cou’d get a bit honest weaver, a cobler, or some auld taylor by the tail, I wad tickle to him yet, let the country clash as they please about it.
Sawny. A well, a well, then mither, take then your ain flight; there’s nae fool to an auld fool; for the morn I’se be aff or on wi’ the hissy I hae on hand.
So on the morning Sawny got a’ his clase clean, his hair cam’d and greas’d wi’ butter, and his face as clean as the cat had licket it; and away he goes singing.
I will buy a pound of woo’,
I will wash’d and make a plaidy: