Mith. Dear Maggy, and whafe thou gan to get, 'tis no auld bubly Tammy?
Mag. Na, na, he’s a braw young man, and has mair gear nor ilka body kens o', guess an I'll tell you, 'tis Johnny Bell, and his mither sent him to the market just to court me.
Mit. Deed Maggy, ye'll no be ill yoket wi' him, he's a gay well gaun fellow, right spruce, amaist like an ill-far'd gentleman. Hey guidman, do ye hear that our Maggy is gaun to be married an the muck were out.
Father. Na, na, I'll no allow that until the peats be cuffen and hurl'd.
Mag. O Father! 'tis dangerous to delay the like o' that, I like him, and he likes me; 'tis best to strike the iron when 'tis hot.
Fat. An wha is she gaun to get, guidwife?
Mit. An wha think ye, guidman?
Fat. An what wat I, herie, an she please herself, am pleas'd already.
Mit. Indeed she's gawn to get Johnny Bell, as cliver a little fellow, as in a' the barony whar he bides.
Fat. A well, a well, herie, she's your's as well as mine, gie her to wha ye like.
Mith. A well Maggy, I'se hae a' things ready, an I'll hae thee married or this month be done.
Mag. Thanks to ye, Mither, mony a good turn ye done me, and this will be the best, I think.
(Home gaed Jockey to his mither, crying.)
Jockey. Mither! mither! I made it out, her mouth is sweeter na milk, my heart plays a' whiltie whaltie, whan I kist her.
Mit. Fair fa' thee my son Johnny, thou's gotten the gate o't at last, and whan is thou gaun to be married?
Jock. When I like mither, but get masons the morn to big me my house, for I'll hae a' my things in right good order.
Mith. Thou's want for naething my bairn, but pusht forward as fast as you can.
The wooing being o'er and the day being set, Joc-
