8
Mag. Truly, Johnnie; I'se no sae meikle to the contrair, but an ye hae a mind to tak' me wi' what I hae, tell me either now or never, for I'se be married or lang be.
Jock. I wat weel I'm courting in earnest tell me what you hae, an we’ll say na mair but marry ither.
Mag. I'se tell you a' I ken of, whate'er my guidame gies ye's yet it.
Jock. That's right, I want nae mair, 'tis an unco thing to marry a naked woman, and get naething but twa bare legs.
Mag. O Johnny, ye're in the right o't, for mony a ane is beguiled and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pound Scots that night I am married, a lade of meal, a furlot of groats: auld Crummie is mine since she was a calf, and now she has a stirk will tak the bill ere Belten yet; I hae twa stane of gude lint, and three pockfu's of tow, agude ca'f bed, twa bousters and three eods, with twa pair of blankets, and a covering, forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me creesh to them, and ye ken the butter is dear now.
Jock. Then fareweel the night, Maggy; the best of friends maun
Mag. I wish you well, Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married, and then, lad.
