Y
Reading edition
Ye’re as lang o’ tuning your pipes as ane wad play a spring.
Ye cam a day after the fair.—Ye hae gotten a ravel’d hesp o’t.
Ye cut lang whangs out o’ ither fo’k’s leather.
Ye canna preach out o’ your ain pupit.—Ye hae a crap for a’ corn.
Ye canna get leave to thrive for thrang.
Ye drive the plough before the owsen.
Ye hae gien the wolfe the wedder to keep.
Ye hae sitten your time, as mony a gude hen has done.
Ye hae o’er foul feet to come sae far ben.
Ye hae tint your ain stomach and fund a tike’s.
Ye hae the wrang sow by the lug.—Ye ken wha drinkers dree.
Ye kenna wha may cool your ain kail yet.
Yelping curs may rise mastiffs.—Ye’re mair fley’d than hurt.
Ye may get waur bodes or Beltane.
Ye may dight your neb and flee up.
Ye mete my pease by your ain peck.
Ye ne’er saw green cheese but your een reel’d.
Ye ride sae near the rumple ye’ll let nane loup on behind you.
Ye’re like a miller’s dog, you lick your lips ere the pock be opened.
Ye’re sae keen o’ the clocking you’ll die in the nest.
Ye’re nae chicken for a’ your cheeping.
Ye’re come o’ blude, and sae’s a pudding.
Ye’re like hens, ye rin ay to the heap.
Ye shape shoon by your ain shachel’d feet.
Ye watna what wife’s ladle may cogue your kail.
Your bread’s baken, you may hing by your girdle.