Page:Dramas 3.pdf/109

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but we'll gie her something forbye words for an answer. Wha has gotten a jocteleg to score the wrinkled brow o' her?

Here! here! Stand back, I say, every mither's son o' ye, an' every faither's daughter to boot. If the woman be a witch winna she be burnt for 't, as ithers o' that calling hae been afore her? Isna that enough to content ye?

Ay, we'll soon see that ugly face, glowering through the smoke o' her benfire, like a howlet in the stour of an auld cowping barn.

An that piece o' young warlockry by her side, see how he glow'rs at us! Can tu squeek, imp? (Trying to pinch, who calls out.)

O dull, o' dear! the're meddling wi' me.

Shame upon ye, shame upon ye a'! Ha' ye nae better way o' warring wi' the deel than tormenting a poor idiot?