Hïs follaers went up tae hïm an waakent hïm. “Dominie, dominie!” the' caad oot, “we'll be droont!” An Jesus ris, an he chackt tha blowstèrin wun an waves. Aa at yinst tha wun drapt, an tha stoarm wus ower.
An sae the' sent thair ain follaers tae hïm alang wi some men o Herod's pairtie. “Maistèr,” the' saed, “we ken ye spake tha truith, an that ye taich fowk tha wye o God accoardin tae tha truith, wioot onie thocht o whut ither fowk thïnks o ye. Ye dïnnae mak o yin mair ner tha ither.