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been nine months in a haggis, a second edition of crooked backed Richard, English King, that was born with teeth, to bite a' round about him, and yet the wight gaed mad to be married.
John's mither told him the road where to go, and what to say, and accordingly he sets out wi' his Sunday's coat on, and his braws and a pair of new pillonian breeks o' his mither's making. In he comes and tells his errand before he would sit down says good day to you goodman, what are ye a' doing here? I am wanting a wife, an ye're a flesher, and has a gude sorting aside you, my mither says ye can sair me, or ony body like me, what say ye til't goodman? How many douchters hae ye? Are they married yet? I fain wad tak a look o' some o' them gin ye like.
A vow, said the goodwife, come in by, honest lad, and rest ye, and ye a woper sit down and gie's a snuff. A deed goodwife, I hae nae mills, but my mither's, and it's at hame, whare win ye? I'se no ken ye? I wat, quoth
