Ye'll get as muckle for ae wish this year as for twa fernyear.
Ye'll get nae mair o the cat but the skin.
Ye'll get the cat wi' the twa tails.
Ye'll get waur bodes or Beltane.
Ye'll get yer gear again, an they'll get the weedae that stole't.
Ye'll brek yer neck as suin as yer fast in this hoose.
Ye'll get yer heid in yer hands an yer lugs tae play wi.
Ye'll cool an come tae yersel, like Macgibbon's crowdy when he set it oot at the windae-bole.
Ye'll get yer kail throu the reek.
Ye'll dae onything but wirk an rin errands.
Ye'll gether nae gowd aff windlestraes.
Ye'll dee athoot amends o't.
Ye'll hae the hauf o the gate an aa the glaur.
Ye'll dee like a trooper's horse-wi yer shuin on.
Ye'll hang a' but the heid yet.
Ye tak but a foal's share o the harrow.
Ye winna craw trade.
Ye tak mair in yer gab than yer cheeks can haud.
Ye winna pit oot the fire wi tow.
Ye tak the first wird o flytin.
Ye wirk bi Macfarlane's lantern.
Ye wad be a guid Borrowstone sou-ye smell weel.
Ye wis bred aboot the mill, ye hae mooped aa yer mainers.
Ye wad be a guid piper's bitch-ye smell oot the weddins.
Ye wis never born at that time o the year.