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fouk are like the lice; ay when they meet they marry and maks mae o' them. And I think the ministers might christen their bits o' weans for naething, the water is no sae scant; they're weel paid for their preaching, they might very weel baith marry and christen a' the poor fouks to the bargain by the way of a mags.
Mither. Ay ay my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young folk, and the bed undefiled.
Sawny. What the vengeance mither, do ye think that a body is to file the bed every night an they do it ance.
Mither. Na, na, that's no what I mean; it's happiness that fouk hae that's married, besides the weary lonesome life it I hae, lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane; O sirs, but a man in a bed be a useful body an it were but to claw ane's back, as for a body's foreside they can claw't 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 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 seed
