Spikin' Scots wi' Dawvid Jack

C'wa ben tae the Scots neuk, whaur Dawvid Jack is aye tae be fund, castin his ee ower Geordie's walth o Scots buiks, an aye daein aa 'ats in's pooer tae mak that same plainer an mair semple tae them in faur aff launds like America an England an sic-like pairts o the warld. Sit ye doon wi a glaiss o whusky, a cuppie o tay, or aiblins a wee bit o shortbreid, an tak tent o the wurds o MacDonald's countryman, wha coonts it a preevilidge tae walcome ilka ane o ye tae the ingle-side, an see whether, by forgetherin in this wey, we canna mak it a pleisure tae read the Scots as muckle, or-wha kens?—even mair sae than tae read the Saxon!

Now don't give up quite so fast, for you are Bravehearts all!
But if you're flummoxed on a word or two, here's the Saxon for you:

Come away through to the Scots corner, where David Jack is always to be found, casting his eye over George's wealth of Scots books, and ever doing all in his power to make that same plainer and simpler to those in far off lands like America and England and such-like parts of the world. Sit down with a glass of whisky, a cup of tea, or perhaps a wee bit of shortbread, and give heed to the words of MacDonald's countryman, who counts it a privilige to welcome every one of you to the fire-side, and see whether, by gathering together in this way, we can't make it as much of a pleasure to read the Scots, or-who knows?—even more so than to read the English!