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Jock. But dear, Maggy, they tell me we’re gawn to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth, the laird’s gardener.
Mag. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the like o’ me, but auld Tamrny Tailtree was seeking me; my father had a hane me to tak him, but my mither hadna let; there was an odd debate about it, ⟨my⟩ guidame wad a sticket my mither wi' ⟨the⟩ grape, if my father had na chanc’d to {illegible}}under her wi’ the beetle.
Jock. Hegh, woman, I think your father as a fool for fashing wi’ him, auld slavery (illegible text)fe, he wants naething of a cow but the (illegible text)utes; your guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the tane may (illegible text)ir the tither fu’ well.
Mag. Hech, man! I wad a tane thee or ⟨ony⟩ b dy to hane them greed again; my ⟨mither⟩ bled my guidame’s nose, and my guidame brak my mither’s thumb, the neighour’s came rinning in, but I had the luck haud my father’s hands, till yence my guidame plotted him wi’ the broe that was mak our brose.
Jock. Dear, Maggy, I hae something to ⟨tell⟩ you, an ye wadna be angry at it?
Mag. O Johnny, there’s my hand I'se no ⟨be⟩ angry at it, be what it will.
Jock. Indeed, Maggy, the louk of your ⟨own⟩ an the fouk of our town says we are ⟨gown⟩ to be married? What sayest thou?
