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Mar. Ye may say what you like about it it its easy to ca' a court whar there's nae body to say again; but I'll let you ken about it, and that is what she tell't me, and you gudewife tell't me some o't yoursel'; and gin ye hadna brought in Maggy wi' her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockey and my Jenny wad hae been man an wife that day.
Jock. I wat weel that's true.
Mith. Ye filthy dog that ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi' a bystard, and it no yours? Dinna I ken as weel as ye do wha's aught it, and wha got the wean.
Jock. Aye, mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt it will come to my door at the last.
Mith. Ye silly sumph and senseless fellow, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the nasty drab, ye might hae said sae, but ye tell't me langsyne that ye could na lo'e her, she was sae lazy and lown like, besides her crooket fit and bowed legs.
Jock. Ay, but mither, do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss at the black hole o' the peak-stack.
Mith. Na, na, poor simple lad; the wean's no your's, ilka ane loups on o' anither, and ye'll get the
