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When I gat hoalf-way up th' Braa th' clock struck five, and I pushed one fooit in my booit, fastened up my gallasses, and ran on agean panting up th' hill, and just as I came t' th' gate I saw th' chapel door shut in my face, so I wor locked aat; but I wor noan baan to looise my meeting. While they insoid wor getting ready, I finished dressing mysen.
Gooid-for-naught madling! ye desarve pining fro' this to Churstmas, flinging t' precious gifts o'God under fooit i' yer flaysome rages! But I'm mista'en if ye shew yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? I nobbut wish he may catch ye i' that plisky. I nobbut wish he may.
'Tread t' owd devil under fooit, says we; 'think on t' blooid o' t' Lamb that weshes us thro' all sin. An' t' penitents would holla out: 'I can't, I can't: he's ower strang for me; I'm baan to smoor i' hell fires. But t' local were stranger nor t' devil for all that, an' first one an' then another on 'em would shout out: 'I'm saved; I've fun' Him, I've fun' the Lord! Then they'd git up an' walk out o' t' room that weak you could hae knocked 'em down wi' a feather.
Gooid-for-naught madling! ye desarve pining fro' this to Churstmas, flinging t' precious gifts o' God under fooit i' yer flaysome rages! But I'm mista'en if ye shew yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? I nobbut wish he may catch ye i' that plisky. I nobbut wish he may."
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