Ye may drink of the burn, but not bite of the brae.

Ye cannot make a silk purse of a sows lug.

Ye have a face to God, and another to the Devil.

Ye breed of the Millers dog, ye lick your lips ere the poke be open.

Ye would doe little for God, and the Devil were dead.

Ye have a ready mouth for a ripe cherry.



FINIS.