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Updated: May 28, 2025
It is ill to make a bowing horn of a tods tail. If ever ye make a lucky pudding, I shall eat the prick. It that God will give, the Devil cannot reave. In a good time I speak it, in a better I leave it. It's a silly pack that may not pay the custom. I have seen as light a green. It's a cold coal to blow at. It is a fair feild where all are dung down. It's a fair dung bairn that dare not greit.
For aye whan I see onything by ordinar bonnie, sic like as the mune was last nicht, it aye gars me greit for my brunt fiddle. 'Well, you must come to me every day for half-an-hour at least, and I will give you a lesson on my piano. But you can't learn by that. And my aunt could never bear to hear you practising. So I'll tell you what you must do. I have a small piano in my own room.
"Alick Bowden," says I an' my very hert was greit "Alick Bowden" I aye ca' him Alick when I'm angry "this maun be the end o't. I canna thole nae mair." "For ony sake, Bawbie," he brook in, "dinna say naething the nicht, or I'll pushon or droon mysel'. I wiss I had been smored amo' thae eggs"; an' doon the stair he gaed, wi' his breeks in his oxter.
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