“Leave your beastly gibberish. You can speak what at least resembles English when you like.”
“Weel, my lord, I hae her unner lock an’ keye.”
“Who, in the name of Satan?”
“Mistress Catanach, my lord!”
“Damn her eyes! What’s she to me that I should be waked out of a good sleep for her?”
“That’s what I wad fain yer lordship kent: I dinna.”
“None of your riddles! Explain yourself;—and make haste; I want to go to bed again.”
“’Deed, yer lordship maun jist pit on yer claes, an’ come wi’.”
“Where to?”
“To the warlock’s chaumer, my lord—whaur that ill wuman remains ‘in durance vile,’ as Spenser wad say—but no sae vile ’s hersel’, I doobt.”