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Updated: May 31, 2025
O gin my love were yon red rose, That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel' a drap o' dew Into her bonnie breast to fa'! Oh, there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Seal'd on her silk saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa by Phoebus light. This thought is inexpressibly beautiful; and quite, so far as I know, original.
Come, man, forget and forgie. I'm e'en as vexed as ye can be But I am a bridegroom, ye see, and that puts a' things out o' my head, I think. There's the marriage-dinner, or gude part o't, that my twa brithers are bringing on a sled round by the Riders' Slack, three goodly bucks as ever ran on Dallomlea, as the sang says; they couldna come the straight road for the saft grund.
I shouldn't myself wish to see the fellow's throat cut, but I ain't slow to say that I shall go for his tasting a few hickories, after that a dip in the horsepond, and then a permit to leave the country by the shortest cut, and without looking behind him, under penalty of having the saft places on his back covered with the petticoats of Lot's wife, that we hear of in the Scriptures."
And for Alec I hae great houpes. He comes o' a guid stock. His father, honest man, was ane o' the Lord's ain, although he didna mak' sic a stan' as, maybe, he ought to hae dune; and gin his mither has been jist raither saft wi' him, and gi'en him ower lang a tether, he'll come a' richt afore lang, for he's worth luikin efter." "I dinna richtly unnerstan' ye, Thamas."
The old man stopped his sawing and looked at her. "I wouldna exactly say it's dreadfully wet," he replied. "It's maybe just a wee bittie saft, but no for to say wet." "O Peter!" remonstrated Blanche. "Not wet, and it's been simply pouring cats and dogs for four whole days, and mother wouldn't let me come out. I hope it isn't often like this." "Na, na, missie, only whiles."
I took a lesson frae Jeck the giant-killer, wi' the Welsh giant was 't Blunderbore they ca'd him? an' poored the maist o' my glaiss doon my breist. It wasna like ink; it wadna du my sark ony ill. 'But what garred ye gang wi' 'im at a'? He wasna fit company for a gentleman. 'A gentleman 's some saft gin he be ony the waur o' the company he gangs in till. There may be rizzons, ye ken.
Yet, even with these advantages, the road was so broken, and they were so often thrown out of the direct course by various impediments, that they did not gain much on their pursuers. "Nevermind," said the undaunted Scotchman to his companion, "if we were ance by Withershin's Latch, the road's no near sae saft, and we'll show them fair play for't."
"Ye're a fule, Quoin," he said, again, "And I'm thinking the Second's juist as saft." He began to descend. "Then there's no one?" I asked. "Na'," he said, briefly. As we reached the deck, the Second Mate ran down off the poop. He came towards us, with an expectant air. "You've got him?" he asked, confidently. "There wasn't anyone," I said. "What!" he nearly shouted.
"The noblest o' them to look at," said Tibbie Birse, "was that ane frae Aberdeen, him that had sic a saft side to Jacob." "Ay," said Snecky, "and I speired at Dr. McQueen if I should vote for him. 'Looks like a genius, does he? says the Doctor. 'Weel, then, says he, 'dinna vote for him, for my experience is that there's no folk sic idiots as them that looks like geniuses."
Jeames was generous; indeed he had come home with the intention of scattering largess. A beggar met him one day on the brae, and got a shilling from him. She was waving her arms triumphantly as she passed Hendry's house, and Leeby got the story from her. "Eh, he's a fine man that, an' a saft ane," the woman said. "I juist speired at 'im hoo his bonny wife was, an' he oot wi' a shillin'!"
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