Part 112

It's ower weel hoardet that canna be found.

It's past joking when the head's aff.

It's sair to haud drink frae drouth.

It spreads like muirburn.

"Muirburn," furze on fire. Said of ill news.

It's stinking praise comes out o' ane's ain mouth.

It stinks like a brock.

"Our gentry care sae little For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle; They gang as saucy by poor folk, As I would by a stinking brock."--Burns.

It's the barley pickle breaks the naig's back.

It's the best feather in your wing.

It's the best spoke in your wheel.

It's the laird's commands, an' the loon maun loup.

Orders from those in authority, no matter how ridiculous or unreasonable, must be obeyed. "There's nae bailie-courts among them.... But it's just the laird's command, and the loon maun loup; and the never anither law hae they but the length o' their dirks."--Rob Roy.

It's the life o' an auld hat to be weel cocket.

It's the wanton steed that scaurs at the windlestrae.

"Ghaist! my certie, I shall ghaist them--if they had their heads as muckle on their wark as on their daffing they wad play na sic pliskies--it's the wanton steed that scaurs at the windlestrae. Ghaists! wha e'er heard of ghaists in an honest house!"--St Ronan's Well.

It's the waur o' the wear.

It's time enough to mak my bed when I'm gaun to lie down.

It's time enough to skreigh when ye're strucken.

It's weak i' the wow, like Barr's cat.

It's weel that our fauts are no written in our face.

It's weel won that's aff the wame.

Or well saved that is won from the belly.

It was but their claes that cast out.

"That is, the quarrel was not real, but only with design, in order to accomplish some end."--Kelly.

It was my luck, my leddy, and I canna get by it.

It wasna for naething that the cat licket the stane.

It were a pity to put a foul hand on't.