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By this time up got Jock, the bridegroom that was Jockey before he was married, but couldna get his breeks; and rampling he cries, Settle ye, or I'll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften your heads wi' an auld supple.
Poor Rab Reid, the fiddler, took a sudden blast; some said he was maw turned wi' the fa', for he brocked up a' the barley, and then gar'd the ale gae like a rainbow frae him, as brown as wort brose.
The hurly-burly being ended, and naething but fair words an shaking of hands which was an a sure sign of an agreement, they begun to cow their cutted lugs, and wash their sairs, a' but Jockey's mither, who cried out, A black end to you and your wedding baith, for I hae gotten a hundred holes dung in my back wi' the round heckle teeth.
Jockey answers, A e'en haud you wi' them then mither, ye will e'en be the better sair'd.
Up get uncle Rabby, aud auld Sandy, the souter, of Seggyhole, to put everything in order: they prapet up the bed wi' a rake, and ripsling kame; the stoops being broken, they made a solid foundation of peats, laid on the caff bed and bowsters, and Jockey and Maggy were bedet the second time.
Jockey not being used to lie wi' a woman, except heads and thraws wi' his mither, gets his twa hands about the bride's neck, and his houghs out o'er her
