His mither tells him o’ the black butcher on Ti’ot-side, who had three dochters, and every ane of them had something, there was Kate, Ann, and Girzy, had hunder merks the piece, Kate and Ann had both bastards. Girzy the eldest had a hump back, a high breast, baker legs, a short wry neck, thrawn mouth, and goggle ey’d, a perfect Æsop of the female kind, with as many crooked conditions within as without, a very lump of loun-like ill nature, row’d a’ together, as if she had been nine months in a haggies, a second edition of crooked backed Richard an old English king, that was born wi’ teeth to bite a’ round about him; and yet the wight gaed mad to be married.
John’s mother tell’d him the road where to go, and what to say, and accordingly he sets out wi’ his sunday’s coat on, and a’ his braws, and a pair o’ new pillonian breeks o’ his mither’s making. In he comes and tell’d his errand before he would sit down, says good day to you goodman, what are you 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 till’t goodman, how mony dochters hae ye? are they a’ married yet? I fain wou’d tak a look o’ some o’ them gin ye like.
A wow said the goodwife come in by honest lad and rest you, an ye be a wooer sit down an gi’s a snuff; a deed goodwife I hae nae mill but my mither’s, and it’s at hame. A whar win ye, I’se no ken ye; I wat quoth he, my name’s Jock Sandeman, they ca’ me simple John the sack weaver, I hae nae tocher but my loom, a pirn wheel, a kettle pat, a brass pan, twa piggs, four cogs and a candlestick, a good cock, a cat, two eerocks new begun to lay; my sister Sara is married on sleeky Willie the wylie weaver, and I maun hae a hagwife or my mither die, for truly she’s very frail, and ony harle o’ health she has is about dinner-time; what say ye till’t, goodman? can ye buckle me or no?
Goodman. A dear John ye’re in an unco haste, ye wadna hae you’re wife hame wi’ ye? they’re a’ there before ye, which o’ them will ye tak?
Hout tout says John, ony o’ them ’ill sare me, but my mither says there’s twa o’ them has fauts: and what is their fauts said the goodwife, hout said John, it’s no meikle faut, but I dinna like it, they got men or they were married. And what shall I do wi’ them said the goodman.