Script:

　　(raining, outside of Murron‘s house)

　　William: Good evening, sir.
　　MacClannough: Ah, young Wallace. Grand soft evening, huh?
　　William: Ay, is that. I was wondering if I might have a word with your daughter.
　　MacClannough: What do you want to have a word with her about?
　　William: Well, ah, Murron, would you like to come and ride with me on this fine evening?
　　Mrs. MacClannough: In this? You‘re out of your mind.
　　William: Oh, it‘s good Scottish weather, madam. The rain is fallin‘straight down, well slightly to the side like.
　　Mrs. MacClannough: She can not go with you.
　　William: No?
　　Mrs. MacClannough: No the no, anyway.
　　William: No the no.
　　MacClannough: No the no. We‘ll see you later.
　　Murron: ‘O the weather‘s just fine. It‘s hardly raining.
　　Mrs. MacClannough: Did you no hear what I said? Now get--Murron. It‘s you she takes after.
　　William: How did you know me after so long?
　　Murron: Why, I didn‘t.
　　William: No?
　　Murron: It‘s just that I saw you staring at me and I didn‘t know who you were.
　　William: ‘O sorry, I suppose I was. Are you in the habit of riding off in the rain with strangers?
　　Murron: It was the best way to make you leave.
　　William: Well, if I can ever work up the courage to ask you again, I‘ll send you a written warning first.
　　Murron: ‘O it wouldn‘t do you much good. I can‘t read.
　　William: Can you not?
　　Murron: no.
　　William: Well that‘s something we shall have to remedy, isn‘t it.
　　Murron: You‘re going to teach me to read, then?
　　William: Ah, if you like.
　　Murron: Ay.
　　William: In what language?
　　Murron: Are you showing off now?
　　William: That‘s right. Are you impressed yet?
　　Murron: No. Why should I be?
　　William: (in French) Yes. Because every single day I thought about you.

　　Murron: Do that standing on your head and I‘ll be impressed.
　　William: My kilt may fly up but I‘ll try.
　　Murron: You certainly didn‘t learn any manners on your travels.
　　William: I‘m afraid the Romans have far worse manners than I.
　　Murron: You‘ve been to Rome?
　　William: Ay, my uncle took me on a pilgrimage.
　　Murron: What was it like?
　　William: (in French) Not nearly as beautiful as you.
　　Murron: What does that mean?
　　William: Beautiful. But I belong here.
　　Mrs. MacClannough: Murron, come in now.