"She answered: 'Nay; into the Cleves envoy's weam.'"
""Noo," he shouted, "haud off an 'let the young maister go, or I'll slit the bag's weam.""
""But what do you mean?" inquired I. "I mean," said he, drawing the edge and feeling the point of his weapon, "to put it into the weam of that man with the gold podge on his shoulder, who has dared to place me here.""