An then he'll say tae tha yins on hïs left han, ‘Awa wi ye, yous that ir curst, awa ïntae tha iverlastin fire that's readie an waitin fer tha Deil an hïs angels!
Hïs winnowin fork ïs ïn hïs han, an he wull redd up hïs thrashin-flure, getherin hïs wheat ïntae hïs barn an burnin tha caff wi a fire ye cannae pit oot.”
An ïf yer fit maks ye dae wrang, cut ït aff, fer ït wud be bettèr tae hae jist tha yin fit an gae tae heiven, than tae hae twa feet an be throwed ïntae hell, whar tha fire niver dees.