All men have their blood from Adam, Muhme.

Give me my skene-dhu, and let me go on my road.

I should have been half way to Stirling brig by this time.

Give me my dirk, and let me go." "Never will I give it to you," said the old woman--"Never will I quit my hold on your plaid--unless you promise me not to wear that unhappy weapon." The women around him urged him also, saying few of his aunt's words fell to the ground; and as the Lowland farmers continued to look moodily on the scene, Robin Oig determined to close it at any sacrifice.
"Well, then," said the young drover, giving the scabbard of the weapon to Hugh Morrison, "you Lowlanders care nothing for these freats.

Keep my dirk for me.