Mag. I’se tell you a’ I ken of, whate’er my guidame gies ye’s get 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, a gude ca’f bed, twa bousters and three cods, 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 part. Mag. I wish you well, Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married, and then, lad. Hame gaed Maggy and telled her Mither. Mag. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye maunna tell my father. Mith. Dear Maggy and what is that? Mag. Deed, Mither, I’m gaun to be married an the muck were out. Mith. Dear, Maggy, and wha’st thou gaun to get, ’tis no auld bubly Tammie? Mag. Na, na, he’s a braw young man, and I’ll tell you, ’tis Johnny Bell; and his mither sent him to the market just to court me ance errand. Mith. Deed, Maggy, ye’ll no be ill yoked wi’ him, he’s a gay well gaun fellow, right spruce, maist like an ill-faured gentleman. Hey gudeman, do you hear that our Maggy is gaun to be married an the muck were a’ ance out. Fath. Na, na, I’ll no allow that until the peats be custen and hurled. Mag. O father! ’tis dangerous to delay the like of that, I like him and he likes me; ’tis best to strike the iron when ’tis het. Fath. And wha’s she gaun to get, gudewife? Mith. And wha think ye gudeman? Fath. A what wat I, here and she please hersel, I’m pleased already. Mith. Indeed she’s gaun to get Johnny Bell, as clever a little fellow as in a’ the parony whare he bides. Fath. A-weel, a-weel, herie, she’s yours as well as mine, gie her to wha you please. Mith. A-weel Maggy, I’se hae all things ready, to hae thee married or a month. Mag. Thanks to ye mither, mony a guid turn hae ye done me, and this will be the best. Hame gaed Jocky to his mither crying. Jock. Mither! mither I made it out, her mouth is sweeter than milk; my heart play’d a’ whilkie whaltie whan I kissed her. Mith. Fair fa’ thee, my son, Johnny, thou’s gotten the geat o’t at last. And whan art thou gaun to be married? Jock. Whan I like, mither; but get the masons the morn to big me my house, for I’ll hae a’ things in right good order. Mith. Thou’s want for naething, my bairn, to get thee ready for marriage.