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Coalman. No ſir, no, a'll not gang my tae lenth wi' ony of ye ſir.
Second Sol. Come come, an mak nae mair words about it for that's our orders fir till tak you awa' to the City-guard
Coalman. Bring your orders here fir; wha deil's obligt to gang to your juſtice? Bring him here ſir, an a'll vindicat the thing wi' him aſore you: What deil nruir can I do ſir? are ye gaun to priſon folk fauſly, am I a thief or a rabber?
Corperal. Del eat you ye prutes that ye are, and ſpue you behint the amery I wat, come tak him awa, fat needs ye had fae meikle tongue wi' him? put him into the weſter hole.
Coalman. Let me alane ſir, an a'll gaurg peaceably wi' ye: Ogin I ead you our o'er at the Whinmill, I ſud let you ken whether my whip-ſhaft or ye're ribs wod be hardeſt.
Soldiers. Cule your cuits tere.
Andrew with his Sour-milk Horſe and Barrels, coming to the Tron.
Coalman. HY. Andrew, will ye nae ſpeak till poor folk man ? Andrew. Wow Rab! Is that you man? What te deil's brought you there? I think ye re cadg'd. Coalman. Cadg'd. ye dryten bitch that ye're; am no cadg'u, bet ain itanic d. (illegible text) Andrew. Can ye come out man, can yo conie out? Coalman. Deil's of the dryton bitch, bow can I conic out, when they've plac'd double centerics on me wi' Lochaber guns an cleeks on them; they'll ſoon catch ye, before ye'd wiu far frae them? O man! do ye fee my horſe there, what's he doing man, wat ye? sindrem. He's tyd till a cannon. Coalman. What to doil, are they gaun till fot him? O man, do ye kca if our Migg be at the
