Kate. Indeed, then, Saunders, since you’re in such haste, ye maun e’en tak them that’s readiest, for I’m no ready yet.
Sawny. Dear woman, when your mither and my mither’s pleased, and I am willing to venture on ye, what a sorrow ails you?
Kate. Na, na, I’ll think on’t twa or three days; its o’er lang a term to see without a thought.
Sawny. Wode I think ye’re a camstrerie piece of stuff; it’s true enough what your mither said of ye, that ye’re no for a poor man.
Kate. And what mair said she of me?
Sawny. Wode, she said ye could do naething but wash mugs, and scour gentleman’s bonny things, but hissies that is bred amang gentle houses, minds me of my mither’s cat; but ye’re far costlier to keep, for the cat wastes neither sape nor water, but spits in her loof, and washes her ain face, and wheens of you can do nae ither thing; and up he gets.
Kate. O Saunders, but ye be short, can ye no stay till my mither come hame?
Sawny. I’ve staid lang enough for ony thing I’m to be the better; and I’m nae sae short as your totum of a tailor, that I could stap in my shoe, sae could I e’en.
Hame he goes in a passion, and to his bed he ran, crying, O death! death! I thought the jade wad a jumped at me: no comfort nor happiness mair for me. O mither, gae bake my burial bread, for I’ll die this night, or soon the morn. But early next morning in comes auld Be-go his guid mither, wha had left her daughter in tears for slighting of Sawny, and hauls him and his mither awa’ to get a dinner of dead fish; where a’ was agreed upon, and the wedding to be upon Wednesday, no bridal fouks but the twa mithers, and themselves twa.