Yer fortune's comin wi the blinnd cairier.
Ye're a guid seeker but a ill finder.
Yer heid canna get up but yer stamack follows.
Ye're a guid seeker but a ill finnder.
Yer mind's aye chasin mice.
Ye're a honest man, an I'm yer uncle-that's twa big lees.
Yer mou's beguiled yer hands.
Ye're a maiden marrowless.
Yer purse wis steekit when that wis peyed for
Yer thrift's as guid as the profit o a yeld hen.
Yer tongue is nae scandal.
Yer tongue rins aye afore yer wit.
Yer tongue wags like a lamb's tail.
Yer will's law, qo the tyler tae the clockin hen, when she picked oot his twa een, an cam for his nose.
Yer wit will never worry ye.
Ye'll never harry yersel wi yer ain hands.
Yelpin curs will raise mastiffs.
Ye'll never mak a mark in yer testament bi that bargain.
Ye'll never rowte in my tether.
Ye'll no dee as lang as he's yer deemster.
Ye'll no herry yoursel with your ain hands.
Ye'll no let it be for want o cravin.
Ye'll no mend a broken nest bi dabbin at it.
Ye'll no sell your hen in a rainy day.
Ye'll play a smaa gemme afore ye stand oot.