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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 firlot of groats, auld Crummie is mine since she was a calf, and now she has a stirk that'll tak the bill ere Beltane yet; I hae twa stane o' guid lint, and three pockfu' of tow, a guid calf bed, twa bousters and three cods, with twa pair o' blankets and a covering, forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie creesh to them, and ye ken the butter's ower dear.
Jock. Then fareweel the nicht, Maggy; the best o' friends maun part.
Mag. I wish you weel, Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married, and then, lad.
Hame gaed Maggy and telled her mlther.
Mag. O mither! I hae something to tye, but ye mauna 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
