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Updated: May 16, 2025
"They are not saxpenny sieves, to let music an' meter through, and leave us none the wiser or better. Dinna gang in low voolgar company, or you a lost laddy." Ipsden. "Vulgar, again! everybody has a different sense for that word, I think. What is vulgar?" Christie.
"Richard," said she, thoughtfully, "I wish ye may no hae been getting in voolgar company. Div ye think we hae minds like rinning water?" "And tongues like the mill-clack abune it? Because if ye think sae, captain ye're no far wrang!" Christie. "Na! we hae na muckle gowd maybe; but our minds are gowden vessels." Jean. "Aha! lad." Christie.
"Voolgar folk sit on an chair, ane, twa, whiles three hours, eatin' an' abune drinkin', as still as hoegs, or gruntin' puir every-day clashes, goessip, rubbich; when ye are aside them, ye might as weel be aside a cuddy; they canna gie ye a sang, they canna gie ye a story, they canna think ye a thoucht, to save their useless lives; that's voolgar folk." She sings. "A caaller herrin'!" Jean.
Christie made a dash en Shylock, and the company trembled. Christie. "'Bide a wee, says the judge, 'this boend gies ye na a drap o' bluid; the words expressly are, a pund o' flesh!" "That's into your mutton, Shylock" "Oh, Jean! yon's an awfu' voolgar exprassion to come fra' a woman's mooth." "Could ye no hae said, 'intil his bacon'?" said Lizzie Johnstone, confirming the remonstrance. Christie.
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