red lips, and your very nose is a purple colour; ye hae nae fauts at a’. Now, whan will we be married?
Girzy. Ha, ha, John lad, we maun think on that yet.
John. What the yeltow, lass, should na ye be ready whan I’m ready, and every body says that the woman’s aye ready.
Goodman. Ye’ll hae to come back and bring somebody wi’ you, and we’ll gree about it, and set the day whan ye’ll be married.
John. A weel, goodman, I’ll tell my mither o’t, and come back on Monday, and we’ll hae a chappin o’ ale, and roasted cheese on the chance o’t, but I maun hae a word o’ the bride out by, to convey me, and a quiet speak to hersel about it.
Goodwife. A wow na, John, the daft loons will laugh at you, and she’ll think shame, gang ye out by, and she’ll speak to you through the gavel window.
Out goes John, and the bride, and her twa sisters goes to the window within to hear the diversion, and what
