A poxe o'your throat, you bawling, blasphemous incharitable Dog.

This is properly two, if not three towns — there being an Easter Anstruther and a Wester Anstruther, both burghs, besides a large fishing village […]

There was a torrential downpour and we were all soaked.

When their father and mother beheld them weep and lament still, they doubled their sorrowes and griefes, but full of yre and forced with Envy, they tooke their voyage homeward, devising the slaughter and destruction of their sister.