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An' a man 'at in ane o' his gran'est verses cud haiver aboot the birth o' a yoong airthquack! losh! to think o' 't growin' an auld airthquack! haith, to me it's no up till a deuk-quack! sic a poet micht weel, I grant ye, be he ever sic a guid poet whan he tuik heed to what he said, he micht weel, I say, blether nonsense aboot the sea warrin' again' the rocks, an' sic stuff."
Obleeged to me for haein' a wheen common sense a thing 'at I was born wi'! Toots! Dinna haiver." "Weel, mem, what wad ye hae me du? I canna sen' my auld daddie roon the toon wi' his pipes, to procleem 'at I'm no the man. I 'm thinkin' I 'll hae to lea' the place." "Wad ye sen' yer daddy roun' wi' the pipes to say 'at ye was the man? Ye micht as weel du the tane as the tither.
I saw the whole thing in a blink, but never lut wink, an' Sandy was fient a hair the better or the waur o' Meg's man's mistak'. We got a grand denner something specific. "This is a kind o' a haiver o' buff, Mistress Blair," said Sandy, when we got set doon; but I gae him a kick throo ablo the table that garred him tak' his tongue atween his teeth.
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