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hane me to tak him, but my mither wadna let; there was an odd debate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi' the grape, if my father hadna chanced to founder her wi' the beetle.
Joek. Hech, woman, I think your father was a fool for fashin wi' him, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a cow but the clutes; your guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the taen may sair the tither fu' weel.
Mag. Hech, man! I wad a tane thee or ony body to hane them greed again; my father bled my guidame's nose, and my guidame brak my mither's thumb, the neighbours came rinning in, but I had the luck to haud my father’s hand's, till yence my guidame plotted him wi' the broe that was to mak our brose.
Jock. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you, and ye wadna be angry at it.
Mag. O Johnny, there’s my hand I'se no be angry at it, be what it will.
Jock. Indeed, Maggy, the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town, says we are gaun to be married. What sayest thou?
Mag. I wish we ne'er to waur, man. O Johnny, I dream'd of you langsyne, and I liket you aye after that.
Jock. O Maggy, Maggy, dost thou not mind
