The Collected Writings of Dougal Graham, "Skellat" Bellman of Glasgow (Vol. 2)

JOCKEY AND MAGGY’S COURTSHIP.

Part I.

Jockey. Hey Maggy, wilt thou stay and tak kent fouks hame wi’ ye the night?

Maggy. Wiltu come awa than Johny. I fain wad be hame or the ky come in, our meikle Riggy is sic a rumbling royte, she rins ay thro’ the byre, and sticks a’ the bits a couties; my mither is nae able to had her up to her ain stake.

Jockey. Hute, we’ll be hame in bra’ time woman: and how’s a’ your fouks at hame?

Maggy. Indeed I canna well tell you man, our guidame is a’ gane wi’ the gut; my mither is very frail, my father he’s ay wandering about, and widdling amang the beasts.

Jockey. But dear Maggy they tell me we’re gawn to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth the laird’s gardener.

Maggy. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the like o’ me, but auld Tammy Tailtrees was seeking me, my father wad a haen me to tak him, but my mither wadna let, there was an odd debate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi’ the grape, if my father hadna chanc’d to founder her wi’ the beetle.

Jockey. Hech woman, I think your father was a fool for fashing wi’ him, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a cow but the clutes, your guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the tane may sair the tither fu’ well.

Maggy. Ach man! I wad a tane thee or ony body to hane them greed again, my father bled my guidame’s nose, and my guidame brake my mithers thumb; the neighbours came a’ rinning in, but I had the luck to haud my father’s hands till yence my guidame plotted him wi’ the broe that was to mak our brose.

Jockey. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you an ye wadna be angry at it?

Maggy. O Johnny, there’s my hand I’se no be angry at it, be what it will.

[Shakes hands for fear of an outcast.][1]

Jockey. Indeed Maggy the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town, says, we are gawn to be married: What say’st thou?

Maggy. I wish we ne’er do war, O Johny, I dream’d o’ you lang syne, an I liket you ay after that.

Jockey. O Maggy! Maggy! dost thou mind since I came to your mither’s bill, wi’ my mither’s cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye helped me to haud her; ay after that they scorned me that I wad be married on a you.

Maggy. It’s very true man, it’ll be an odd thing an it be; but it’s no fa’ back at my door, I assure ye.

Jockey. Nor at mine, but my mither bad me kiss ye.

Maggy. Indeed sall ye Johny, thou’s no want twa kisses man, ane on every side o’ the mouth, man.

Jockey. Ha! ha! Maggy, I’ll hae a merry night o’ kissing you shortly.

Maggy. Ay but Johny, you maun stay till that night come: it’s best to keep the feast until the feast day.

Jockey. Dinna be angry Maggy, my wife to be, but I have heard my mither saying in her daffing that fouk sud ay try gin their house will haud their plenishin.

Maggy. Ay but Johny, a wife is ae thing, an a house anither, a man that’s a mind to marry a woman he’ll no mak her a whore.

Jockey. It’s a’ true Maggy, but fouks may do it yence or they be married and no hae nae ill in their minds.

Maggy. Aha Johny, mony a are has been beguil’d wi’ yence, and do it yence ye may do it ay, what an we get a bystart, and hae to suffer for the foul act of fornication.

Jockey. Ay but my mither says, if I dinna get thee wi’ bairn, I’ll no get thee; so it’s the surest way of wooing.

Maggy. Indeed Johny I like you better nor ony lad I see, and I sall marry you an yence my father’s muck were out, my mither downa wirk at the midden.

Jockey. A Maggy, Maggy, I’m fear’d ye beguile me, an then my mither will murder me for being so silly.

Maggy. My jo Jockey, tell your mither to provide a’ things for the bridal, and I sal marry you in three uks after this, but we maun gie in siller to the Precentor, a groat an a drink to the bellman, and then the Kirk wa’s maun hear o’t, three sunday’s or it come.[2]

Jockey. But Maggy am no to make a blin bargain wi’ you nor nae body, I maun ken o’ your things an ye sall ken o’ mine.

Maggy. I ken well what I was to get, an gin my mither like the bargain well, she’ll make it better; but an my father be angry at the match, I darna meet you to be married.

Jockey. I see na how he can be angry. I wat well I’m a gay sturdy fallow, when I laid on a bow and five pecks o’ bear on the laird’s Bawsey, an he’s as bilchy a beast as in a’ the barronry.

Maggy. Ay but my mither is aye angry at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it binna them she likes, indeed she bad me tak ony body if it were na auld tottering Tammie, for his beard is ay brown wi’ sucking tobacco, and slavers a’ the breast o’ his fecket.

Jockey. O! Maggy tak me an I’ll tell you what I hae; first my father left me when he died, fifty merks, twa sacks, twa pair of sunks, the hens, an the gawn gear was to be divided between me and my mither, and if she died first, a’ her gear was to come amang mine, and if I died before her, a’ my gear was to come back to her again, an her to marry anither man if she cou’d get him. But since it’s happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky an the black mare, the haf o’ the cogs, three spoons, four pair o’ blankets an a can’as, she’s to big a twa bey to her ain gavel to be a dwelling house to me an my wife, am to get the wee byre at the end o’ the raw to haud my cow and twa couties; the haf o’ the barn an a bed o’ the kailyard as lang as she lives, an when she dies am to pay the earding o’ her honestly, and a’ the o’ercome is to be my ain: an by that time I’ll be as rich as e’er my father was before me.

Maggy. Truly Johny, I’se no say meikle to the contrair, but an ye hae a mind to tak me wi’ what I hae, tell me either now or never, for I’se be married or lang gae.

Jockey. I wat weel I am courting in earnest, tell me what you hae, an we’ll say nae mair but marry ither.

Maggy. I’se tell you a’ I ken o’, whate’er my guidame gies ye’s get it.

Jockey. That’s right, I want nae mair, it’s an unko thing to marry a naket woman and get naething but twa bair legs.

Maggy. O Johny ye’re ay in the right o’t, for mony ane is beguil’d and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pund Scots, that night I am married, a lade of meal, a furlet of groats, auld Crummie is mine since she was a cauf, and now she has a stirk will tak the bill e’er beltan yet, I hae twa stane o’ good lint, and three pockfu’s o’ tow a good cauf bed, twa bowsters and three cods, with three pair o’ blankets, an’ a covering; forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me crish to them, an ye ken the butter is dear now.[3]

Jockey. Then farewel the night Maggy; the best o’ friends maun part, and so maun thy twa legs yet.

Maggy. I wish you well, Johny, but sae nae mair till we be married, and then lad.

Hame gaed Maggy and tell’d her Mither.

Mag. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye mauna tell my father.

Mither. Dear Maggy an what is that!

Mag. Deed Mither, am gawn to be married an’ the muck were out.

Mith. Dear Maggy an wha’s thou gawn to get, it’s no auld bubly Tammy.

Mag. Na, na, he’s a bra young man, and has mair gear nor ilka body kens o’, guess an I’ll tell you, it’s Johny Bell, and his mither sent him to the market just to court me.

Mith. Deed Maggy ye’ll no be ill youket wi’ him, he’s a gay we’ll gawn fallow, right spruch, amaist like an ill-far’d gentleman. Hey guidman, do ye hear that our Maggy is gawn to be married an the muck were out.

Father. Na, na, I’ll no allow that until the peats be cussen and hurl’d.

Mag. O father it’s dangerous to delay the like o’ that, I like him, an he likes me, it’s best to strike the iron whan it’s het.

Fath. An wha is she gawn to get guidwife?

Mith. An wha think ye guidman?

Fath. A what wat I herie, an she please hersel, am pleas’d already.

Mith. Indeed she’s gawn to get Johny Bell, as cliver a little fallow, as in a the barronry where he bides.

Fath. A well, a well herie, she’s yours as well as mine, gie her to wha ye please.

Mith. A well Maggy, I’se hae a’ things ready, an I’ll hae thee married or this month be done.

Mag. Thanks to ye Mither, mony a good turn ye done me, an this will be the best, I think.

Hame gaed Jockey to his mither, crying.

Jock. Mither! Mither! I made it out, her mouth is sweeter na milk, my heart plays a whiltie whaltie whan I kiss her.

Mith. Fair fa’ thee my son Johny, thou’s gotten the geat o’t at last, and whan is thou gawn to be married?

Jock. Whan I like mither, but get the masons the morn, to big me my house, for I’ll hae a’ my things in right good order.

Mith. Thou’s want for naething, my bairn, but pusht forward as fast as ye can.

The wooing being o’er and the day being set, Jockey’s mither killed the black boul horn’d yeal Ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule fitted cock, to prevent the ripples, five pecks o’ maut masket in the meikle kirn, a pint o’ trykle to mak it thicker an sweeter an maumier for the mouth; five pints o’ whisky wherein was garlic and spice, for raising o’ the wind, an the clearing o’ their water; the friends and good neighbours went a’ wi’ John to the kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him and was married by the minister; the twa companies joined togither and came hame in a croud, at every change house they chanced to pass by, providence stopt their proceeding, with full stoups, bottles and glasses drinking their healths, wishing them much joy, ten girls and a boy: Jockey seeing so many wishing well to his health, coupt up what he got, for to augment his health and gar him live long, which afterwards coupt up him and proved detrimental to the same.

So home they came to the dinner, where his mother presented to them a piping het haggies, made of the creish of the black boul horn’d Ewe, boil’d in the meikle bag, mixt with bear meal, onions, spice and mint: this haggis being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor set John’s belly a bizin like a working fat, and he playing het fit to the fidler, was suddenly seized with a bocking and rebounding, gave his dinner such a backward ca that he lost a’ but the grit bits scythed through his teeth; his mother cried to spence him, and bed him wi’ the bride, his breeks being fill’d, they washed both his hips, laid him in his bed, pale and ghostly was his face, and closed were baith his een, ah, cries his mither, a dismal day indeed, his brithal and his burial may baith be on ae day: some cuist water in his face, and jagg’d him wi’ a needle; till he began to rouze himself up, and rap out broken words, mither, mither, whar am I now? Whar are ye my bairn says his mither, ye’re beddet, and I’ll bring the bride to you. Beddet, and is my brithel done ells? Ay, said she, here’s the bride come to ly down wi’ you: na, na, said he, I’ll no ly wi that unco woman indeed, if it binna heeds and thraws, the way that I lay wi’ my mither; O fy dinna affront yoursel. The bride faus a crying. O mither, mither, was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man o’ manners and better mettle, poor thing Meg, thou’s caud thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market, says his mither, a shame fa you and her baith, he’s worthy o’ her tho’ she were better nor what she is, or e’er will be. His friends an her friends being a mixt multitude, some took his part some took her’s, there a battle began in the clap of a hand, being a very fierce tumult which ended in blood, they struck so hard with stones, sticks, beetles, and barrow trams, pigs, pots, stoups, trunchers, were flying like bombs and granades.

The crook, bouls and tongs were all employed as weapons of war: till down came the bed with a great mou of peats. So this disturbed the treading.[4]

Part II.

Now though all the ceremonies of Jockey and Maggy’s wedding were ended, when they were fairly bedded before a wheen rattling unruly witnesses, who dang down the bed aboon them; the battle still encreased, and John’s works turned out to be very wonderful; for he made Janet, that was his mither’s lass the last year, grow like an Elshin shaft, and got his Maggy wi’ bairn forby.

The hamsheughs were very great until auld uncle Rabby came into redd them, and a sturdy auld fallow he was, stood stively wi’ a stiff rumple, and by strength of his arms rave them sindry, flingin the tane east and the tither west, until they stood a round about like as many breathless forfoughen cocks, and no ane durst steer anither for him, Jockey’s mither was driven o’re a kist, and brogget a her hips on a round heckle, up she gat and rinning to fell Maggy’s mither wi’ the ladle, swearing she was the mither of a’ the mischief that happened, uncle Rabby ran in between them, he having a great lang nose like a trumpet, she recklessly came o’er his lobster neb a drive wi’ the ladle until the blood sprang out and ran down his auld grey beard and hang like snuffy bubbles at it; O! then he gaed wood, and looked as waefu like, as he had been a tod lowrie, com’d frae worrying lambs, wi’ his bloody mouth. Wi’ that he gets an auld flail, and rives away the supple, then drives them a to the back o’ the door, but yet nane wan out; than wi’ chirten and chappen, down comes the clay hallen and the hen bauk with Rab Reid the fidler, who had crept up aside the hens for the preservation of his fiddle.

Ben comes the bride when she got on her coat, clappet Rabby’s shoulder and bad him spare their lives: for their is blood enough shed in ae night, quoth she, and that my beard can witness, quoth he. So they a’ came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his supple made their pows baith saft and sair that night; but daft Maggy Simson sat by the fire and picket banes a’ the time o’ the battle: indeed quoth she, I think ye’re a’ fools but mysel; for I came here to get a guid supper, and other fouk has gotten their skin we’ll pait.

By this time up got John the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he was married, but could na get his breeks; yet wi’ a horse nail he tacket his sark tail between his legs, that nane might see what every body should hide, and rambling he cries settle ye, or I’ll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften ye’re heads wi’ my auld supple.

Poor Rab Reid the fidler took a sudden blast; some said he was maw-turn’d wi’ the fa’; for he bocked up a the barley and then gar’d the ale go like a rain bow frae him as brown as wort brose.

The hurly burly being ended, and naething but fair words and shaking o’ hands, which was a sure sign o’ an agreement, they began to cow their cuttet lugs, and wash their sairs, a but Jockey’s mither, who cries out a black end on a you and your wedding baith: for I hae gotten a hunder holes dung in my arse wi’ the heckle teeth.

Jockey answers, A e’en had you wi’ them than mither, ye will een be better sair’d.

Up gets uncle Rabby, and auld Sandy the sutor o’ Seggyhole, and put every thing in order; they prappet up the bed wi’ a rake and rippling kame, the bearers being broken, they made a solid foundation of peats, laid on the cauf bed and bowsters, where Jockey and Maggy was beddet the second time.

Jockey no being used to lie wi’ a naked woman, except heads and thraws wi’ his mither, gets his twa hands about the brides neck and his houghs out o’er her hurdies, saying, I ne’er kist wife nor lass naked before, and for fainness I’ll bite you, I’ll bite you, &c. Naithing mair remarkable till about haf a year and four ukes thereafter, in comes Marion Mushet rinning barefoot and bare legget, wi’ bleart cheeks and a watery nose, cursing and banning, greeting and flyting.

Marion enters. Crying, and whar’s John.

His mither answers. Indeed he’s out in the yard powing Kail runts.

Marion. A black end on a him and his runts baith, for he’s ruin’d me and my bairn.

Mith. Ruin’d you! it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you ill, be night or be day, what gars you say that?

Mar. O woman! our Jenny is a’ rowing like a pack o’ woo; indeed she’s wi’ quick bairn, and your John is the father o’t.

Mith. Our John the father o’t! had, there enough said, lying lown, I trow our John was ne’er guilty of sic a sinfu action: Daft woman, I true it ill be but wind that hoves up the lasses wame; she’ll hae drunken some sour drink like sour sowens, or rotten milk that mak’s her sae.

Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he’s the father o’t furnicator dog that he’s, he’s ruin’d me and my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she came, to you; her father died and left me wi’ four o’ them, there wasna ane o’ them cou’d pit on anither’s claes, or tak a louse aff ither.

Mith. I bid you had your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he’ll ne’er tak wi’t: he, poor silly lad, he wad ne’er look to a lass, be’s to lay her down. Fy Maggy cry in o’ John, and let’s ratify’t wi’ the auld ruddoch: ay, ye’ere no blate for saying sae.

Mar. Be angry, or be well pleased, I’ll say’t in a your faces, an I’ll ca you before your betters about it or lang gae.

John enters. An what want ye now, is our brose ready yet?

Mith. Ay brose, black brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi’ bairn.

Jock. Me mither? I ne’er lay in a bed wi’ her dochter a my days, it’ll be the young lairds, for a saw him kiss her at the Lammas fair, an let glam at her nonsense.

Mith. Ay, ay, my man Johny, that’s the way she has gotten her belly fu’ o’ bairns; it’s no you nor the like o’ you, poor innocent lad, that gets bystart weans: a wheen filthy lowns, every ane loups on anither, and gies you the wyte o’ a’.

Mar. You may say what you like about it, it’s easy to ca’ a court whar there’s nae body to say again, but I’ll tell you a I ken about it, and that is what she tell’t me, and you guidwife telt me some o’t yoursel; an gin you hadna brought in Maggy wi’ her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockey and my Jenny had a been man and wife the day.

Jock. I wat weel that’s true.

Mith. Ye filthy dog at ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi’ a bystart; and it no yours: dinna I ken as well as she do wha’s aught it?

Jock. Ay but mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt it come to my door at last.

Mith. Ye silly sumff and senseless fallow, had ye been knuckle deep wi’ the dirty drab, ye might a said sae, but ye telt me lang syne that ye cou’d na lo’e her, she was so lazy and lown like; besides her crooket fit and bow’d legs.

Jock. Ay but mither, do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss, at the black hole o’ the peet stack; she rave the button frae my breeks, and wad gar me do’t; and bad me do’t, and cou’d flesh and blood refuse to do’t; I’m sure mither, I cou’d ne’er get her wi’ bairn an my breeks on.

Mith. Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean’s no yours, ilk ane loups on of anither, and you’ll get the wyte o’ a bytarts round about.

Up gets Maggy wi’ a rore, and rives her hair, cries her back, belly, and baith her sides; the weed and gut gaes thro’ my flesh like lang needles, nails or elshin irons. Wae be ti’ the day that e’er I saw his face, I had better married a tinkler, or a followed the sogers, as mony an honest man’s dochter has done, and liv’d a better life than I do.

Up gets Jockey and rins o’er the rigs, for John Roger’s wife, auld Katty the howdy, but or he wan back she parted wi’ patrick thro’ perfect spite, and then lay twa fauld o’er a stool in a swoon.

Jock. A well, a well, sirs, since my first born is dead without seeing the light o’ the warld; ye’s a get bread an cheese to the blyth meat, the thing we shou’d a war’d on the banket will sair the burial, and that will ay be some advantage: an Maggy should die, I maun een tak Jenny, the tane is as far a length as the tither: I’se be furnisht wi’ a wife between the twa.

But Maggy turn’d better the next day, and was able to muck the byre; yet there gead sic a tittle tattling thro’ the town every auld wife tell’t anither o’t, and a’ the light hippet hussies that rins between towns at een, tugging at their tow rocks, spread it round the kintry; and every body’s mouth was filled wi’ Jockey and Jenny, and how Maggy had parted wi’ bairn.

At last Mess John Hill hears of the horrid action, and sends the elder of that quarter and Clinkem Bell[5] the grave maker, to summon Jockey and Jenny to the session, and to see how the stool of repentance wad set them,[6] no sooner had they entered the door but Maggy fa’s a greeting, and wringing her hands; Jockey’s mither fell a fliting, and he himself a rubbing his lugs, and riving his hair, saying, O gin I were but a half ell higher, I sud be a soger or it be lang, and gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sud kill Frenchman enew, before I gaed to face yon flyting ministers, an be set up like a warlds wonder, on their cock-stool or black stool[7] an wha can bide the shame, whan every body looks to them, wi’ their sacken sarks or gowns on them,[8] like a piece of an auld canvass prickt about a body, for naething, but what every body does amaist, or they be married as well as me.

Mith. My man Johny, ye’re no the first that has done it, an ye’ll no be the last; een mony o’ the ministers has done it themselves, hout ay, your father and I did it mony a time.

Mag. Ay, ay, and that gars your son be so good o’t as he is: the thing that is bred in the flesh is ill to pit out o’ the bane.

Mith. Daft woman what way could the warld stand, if fouks wadna make use o’ ither, it’s the thing that’s natural, bairns getting, therefore it’s no to be scunnert at.

Mag. Ay, ay, but an they be for the like o’ that, they should marry.

Mith. But I think there’s little ill tho’ they try it yence or twice or they be married; it’s an unco thing till a body to be bound to a business, if they dinna ken whether they be able for it or no.

Mag. Ay, ay, that’s your way o’ doing and his, but its no the way o’ ither honest fouk; see what the minister will say to it.

Mith. The minister is but a mortal man, and there’s defections in his members as well as mine.

Mag. Ay, but fouk should ay strive to mortify their members.

Mith. An is that your Whigry? Will you or any body else, wi’ your mortifying o’ your members, prevent what’s to come to pass? I wish I saw the minister an his elders, but I’se gie him scripture for a he’s done yet: tell na me about the mortifying o’ members, gin he hae gotten a bystart let her and him feed it between them an they sud gie’t soup about: but she maun keep it the first quarter, an be that time muckle black lady ’ill be cauft, we sall sell the cauf an foster the wean on the cow’s milk: That’s better mense for a fault, than a’ your mortifying o’ your members, and a’ your repenting-stools; a wheen papist rites an rotten ceremonies, fashing fouks wi’ sack gowns and buttock-males,[9] an I dinna ken what, but bide you yet till I see the minister.[10]

Part III.

Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre, and held a private meeting, nane present but auld bruckie, and the two brutes the bits a couties.

Mith. Ye silly dog, an he be drown’d to you, how cou’d ye confess sae muckle to maeslie shanket Marion, altho’ she be her mither.

Jock. O mither, mither, say nae mair about it, my ain wand has dung me dourly; sadly have I suffered for that, and ye ken a’ the misery’s com’d o’er our Maggy, my mouth’s the mither o’t, sae ha’d your tongue I tell you now.

Mith. An tell ye me to ha’d my tongue, an ye had a hauden your tongue and your tail, an a done as I bade you, ye hadna hane sae muckle ado the day daft silly dog it thou is.

Jock. Mither, mither, gies nane o’ your mocks nor malice, for tho’ I got the wean, ye hae as muckle the wyte o’t as I Gae seek me out my three new sarks, an Sunday’s shune, an I’se gae whar ne’er man saw my face before, neither wood, water nor wilderness, sall haud me again.

Mith. My braw man Johny, ye mauna do that, stay at hame wi’ me, and set a stout heart till a stay brae, I’se gae to the session wi’ you, gang whan ye like.

Jock. A well mither, I sall do your bidden for ance yet, but whan the minister flytes on me, answer ye him, for I canna speak well again.

Mith. Say nae mair, I hae a pokfu’ o’ perfect petitions to louse an put to him an his elders, and if thou maun gae to their black-stool, it’s no be thy lane sall sit upon’t.

Jock. But mither, whether will I deny the doing o’t or confess the game was at the getting o’t?

Mith. Ay, ay, confess ye did it, but say but ance, and that it was on the terms of marriage, the way that a’ our kintry bystarts is gotten.[11]

Now Jockey being three times summon’d to the session and did not appear, the session insisted for a warrant from the justice of the peace,[12] which was readily granted, more for diversion than justice’ sake, the warrant being given to John King the constable, who went away with Clinkem Bell on Saturday’s morning, and catch’d John just at his breakfast, hauls him awa, ane at ilka oxter like twa butcher dogs hinging at a bull’s beard, his mother followed, driving him up with good counsels, my bra’ man Johny, haud up your head, dinna think shame, for a’ your fauts is but perfect honey, you’re neither a thief, whore nor horse stealer.

Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby, an uncle Rabby sent to Sandy the Souter of Seggyhole, the Souter saddled his mare, and uncle Rabby got aff at the gallop on his gray powney west the hags, an o’er by Whitehill shough, the nearest, and was at Sir James the justices lang or John was brought into judgment.

John enters, before the justice, with a red, red face, Goode’en Mr. Justice, Sir James, an’t please your honour ye manna put me in prison, for am no malefactor, but a poor honest kintry-man, that was born in an ill planet, my mither says’t I had the ill luck of a misfortune to fa’ foul wi’ furnication, and got my mither’s lass wi’ bairn the last year, and they’re gawn to father’t on me the year again.

The justice smiling, answer’d, indeed John I think it is but very just and reasonable that ye be accountable this year for your last years labours.

Jock. Ay, ay, sir, I have laboured very sair since my father died, but our plough canna get gaun for frost this four days.

Just. Ay but John, that’s no what I mean, it’s the child ye got last year, ye must be answerable for this.

Jock. A deed stir, there was twa o’ them, but there is ane o’ them dead.

Just. A well then John you’ll have the more to give the one that’s alive.

Jock. Oh! but stir, it’s my ain wean that’s dead, the ane I got wi’ my wife; I dinna ken whither the tither be mine or no.

Just. Yours or no sir, when ye told me ye got it; if ye should get it wi’ a beggar wife at the back of a dike what is that to the purpose, when it is of your getting you must maintain it.

Jock. O! yes stir, am no refusing to gie meat and meal to maintain’t; but my mither winna let me to the black-stool.

Just. Why not go to the black-stool, when guilty of such an action as deserves it, if you have any reasons why you should not go, argument it in session and clear yourself if you can.

John’s mother enters, and addresses herself to the servant lass, thinking she was the justice’s lady.

Indeed mistress madam, if ye were a kintry good-wife, like mysel, I could tell you a’ about it, but you that’s gentiles, I canna use freedom wi you, cause I hae na Latin. But waes me we that’s poor fouk is born to mony fealins and backwart faus, this lad is my son, an am his mither, he has had the foul fortune to get a bystart bairn, nae doubt but we hae been a’ guilty o’ as muckle and ne’er a word about it, a what say ye madam?

Off goes the lass, saying, Foul fa’ the wife, for I was never guilty o’t.

Just. Well goodwife, what is the reason but ye let your son give satisfaction to the kirk?

Mith. Deed stir, he’s no denying the bairn, but he’ll no hae the black-stool.

Just. Ay, but I tell you, them that gets a bystart, gets the black-stool to the bargain, and as he is in my hands now, he must find caution that he will answer the session and be subject to the law.

Mith. Ony thing ye like, stir, but that shamfu’ stance, the black stool, here’s uncle Rabby, and auld Sandy the Sutor, will be caution that we’s face the session on Sunday, the lad’s wae enough he did it, but he canna help it now, the weans born and by hand; Sae goodnight wi’ your honour’s ladyship it’s the first time e’er I was before you.

On Sabbath after sermon the session met, John and his mother is call’d upon, he enters courageously, saying, Good-een to you Master Minister, bellman and elders a’, my mither and me is both here.

Mess John. Then let her in, come awa goodwife, What’s the reason you keep your son so long back from answering the session? you see it is the thing you are obliged to do at last.

Mith. Deed stir, I think there needs na be nae mair wark about it, I think when he’s gien the lazy hulke, the mither o’t, baith meal and groats[13] to maintan’t, ye need na fash him, he’s a dutifu’ father indeed, weel a wat, whan he feeds his bystart sae weel.

Mess John. Woman are you a hearer of the gospel? that ye reject the dictates of it, how come you to despise the discipline of the church? Is not offenders to be rebuked and chastised?

Mith. Yes stir, a’ that is very true, but I hae been three or four times through the Bible, and the New Testament, and I never saw a repenting stool in’t a’; then whar cou’d the first o’ them come frae, the Apostles had nane o’ them. But a daft history book tells me, that the first o’ them was used about Rome amang the Papists, and ay whan ony o’ them turn’d Whigs, they were put on a four neuked thing, like a yarn winnle blades, and rave a’ their gouls sindry till they turn’d Papists again: and then for anger they put them on a black stane or stool, in the mids o’ the kirk, and the seck goun about them, wi’ the picture o’ the de’il and Satan on’t, a sweet be wi’ us, we sudna speak o’ the ill thief in the kirk, but it is a mercy the minister’s here an’ he come, but that was the original of your repenting stools, and whan the whigs chas’d awa the Papist fouk out o’ this kintry, they left a wheen o’ their religious pictures, and the stool o’ repentance was amangst the spoil, but yese no get my bairn to set upon a thing as hich as a hen bawk, and ilka body to be glowring at him.[14]

Mess John. Woman I told you formerly that any who refuses submission to the government of the church, is liable to excommunication: and that we are to put the law in execution against adultery and fornication, or the sin thereof, lies partly on our head.

Mith. As for your sin of adultery, I have naething ado wi’t; I ken my son is a fornicator, and ye can neither mak him better nor war nor he is, there’s nae man can keep a standing in their ain hand, fortune I mean, if it be a sin let him confess’t, and forsake it, and wi’s pay the buttock-mail and mak nae mair about it.

Mess John. Goodwife you need not think your son will pass so, more than others that has been before him, he must actually come before the congregation three sabbaths before he be absolved from the scandal, and get the benefit of any church privileges like any other honest man.

Mith. Indeed Mess John, my son will never set his hips upon’t; if he maun come before you, I’se gar him stand a bit a back frae’t and hear what ye hae to say about fornication, twa harmless free bodies, passing their trials to see what they can do, ye that’s whigs may mak enough o’t, but I think na muckle about it.

Mess John. Woman you may go home and see what ye have to do; ye have a very bad tongue: it’s no you we are to take account of.

Mith. Ay, ay, ye that’s ministers and modest fouk may say sae, but if my son had tane as good tent o’ his tail, as I can do o’ my tongue, there had na been sae muckle about it, a wheen silly loons kens na what they were made for, or how to guide a thing whan they get it.

Mess John. Put her out, she’s going to speak baudy.

Mith. O ay, stir, I’se gang out, but I’ll hae my bairn out wi’ me.

Mess John. We must first ask some few questions at him, there is no harm can come on him here.

Mith. For as good company as you think yourselves, I wad rather hae him in anither place.

John’s kept in and his mother put out.

Mess John. Well John, you must tell us whether this child was gotten before ye was married, or since: for I suppose by the time of the birth it is much about the same time.

Jock. Hout ay, stir, it was gotten lang or I was married, I need na forget the getting, it was na sae easy to me.

Mess John. How long is it since ye was first acquaint?

Jock. Just when she came to be my mither’s lass, I never saw her but ance before, and gin I had never seen her, I had never kend her in sic a fashious fashion.

Mess John. How long was she serving with your mother.

Jock. Just twa hail-yerts: and I got her wi bairn about a year after she came, and its no a year yet since I was married.

Mess John. Dear John there is a contradiction indeed, a woman cannot go two years with child.

Jock. Deed stir, it was then the wean was first gotten.

Mess John. A John, John, I find you out to be a sinful liver, you and that woman has had carnal dealings for some time; it is ill keeping the cow out of the corn, if she once got a way of going to it, ye should actually a married the poor woman, when ye cohabited so long together.

Jock. No stir, we didna cow habit, tho’ she kist me, and I kist her, sometimes in the barn, and sometimes in the byre: nane ken’t o’t but my mither, an’ she wadna let me tak her, but sent me awa to court our Maggy.

His mother cries through the hole o’ the door: A ye senseless sumph, is that a’ the thanks I get for counselling you to do weel, war na me ye wad a been married on a lownlike leepet lazy lump, who had neither wit nor wyles, no say much judgment as wyfe the wind frae her tail but lute it gang afore fouks.

Up gets the elders crying, Fy, fy, Duncan the bell-man drive that wicked wife frae the door she disturbs us all.

Duncan runs to the door whispering, shame fa you for a wife had out o’ that: but I wad rather hear you, as hear them yet.

Mess John. Now John will you be so plain as tell me whether ye promist to marry the woman or no, when ye lay with her.

Jock. Na stir, I didna lie wi’ her, for the herd and me lay in the byre-bed, and she lay in the little lang sadle at the hallen end.

Mess John. It is all one whether ye lay with her or not, when ye have got her with child, that’s what ye confess.

Jock. I kenna whither I got her wi’ bairn or no: but I did wi’ her as I did wi’ our Maggy, when she fell wi’ bairn.

Mess John. But the question is, whether or no, did you promise to marry her when that child was gotten?

Jock. Hut, tut, stir, ye wad fash fouk spiering a’ thing, it was her that promist to marry me for the getting o’t.

Mess John. And did not you do the like to her?

Jock. A what needed I do the like when she and my mither did it a’ but the wean getting, she could na do that.

Mess John. Indeed John you seem to have been a parcel of loose livers altogether.

Jock. A loose stir, I wish I were loose yet, better be loose than bun to an ill stake.

Mess. John. I see it is needless for me to enquire any further into the matter, I find you out guilty, therefore, you must appear publicly on the stool of repentance on Sabbath next, and the two following thereafter, or ye be absolved from the scandal.

Jock. Indeed master minister, am very easy about repentance, and for your stool, its a seat am very indifferent about, for am but bashful, and as I was never guilty o’ getting bystarts, either before or sin syne, except in thoughts, words, deeds and actions, I think ye may een let me pass, I suffered enough wi’ the clash o’ the kintry, and loss o’ my ain wain, it was nae bystart, ye canna gar me stand for that.

Mess John. You appear to be such a stupid fellow, the like of you should neither have lawful child or bastard, and I admire that such an ideot as you, was allowed to be married to any woman; and you James, who is the elder of that proportion, should have given information of this man’s capacity, before he was joined to a wife.[15]

Elder. Indeed sir, ye ken very well, he answered the questions at the examine, better nor any other fouks, and I think he is best married, for he might a gotten mae bystarts and fasht us.

Jock. Indeed stir, it’s very true, for when ance I got the gate o’ women, I cou’d na bide aff them, but our Maggy was unco cunnen, she wad na let me do naething but kiss her and kittle her till ance we was married.

Mess John. I’ll ask no more questions at him: call on his mother, (in she comes,) Goodwife, we have ordered your son to appear three Sabbaths on the stool an’ there to be reproved before the congregation publicly an’ be absolved from the scandal.

Mother. Than the ill thief be in his a—se Mess John, gin e’er he set his hips upon’t, my bairn on your black stool? and wadna’t be a great blunder on the auld black face o’t, to my son to gang on’t before the young laird, who has had twa bystarts and ne’er set a hip on’t yet, and he’s continually riding on the hussies to this day, and them that wadna let him, he rives their duds, and kicks their doups. A dear Mess John, an ye gie gentle fouk a toleration to whore, to fornicate, kiss an’ kuddle a wee, wi’ ilka body they like, I’ll gie you ten marks and gie’t to me and my son too.

Mess John. And what shall we do with these odious persons?

Elders. Indeed, sir, we see not what we can make of them.

Mess. John. Make of them, we’ll exclude them from all church benefit, and lay them under the lesser excommunication.[16]

Mith. Indeed stir, tak your mind o’t as our cat did o’ the haggies, when she sippit it a’, and crap in o’ the bag.

If ye winna christen the wean, ye canna hinder us to cast a cogfu’ o’ water on the face o’t, and ca’t ony thing we like.

So out she goes shooting Jockey before her, so John went and pisht on the auld minister’s widow’s gavel, and there was nae mair about it that day.

Part IV. — THE Vth AND LAST PART.

Now Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow cracking like twa hand guns.

Moth. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field condingly, whan I hae conquer’d a’ the canker’d carles about the kirk.

Jock. Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister, and gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures you may preach as well as he.

Moth. I true Jock lad their black stool o’ sham repentance ne’er got sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.

Jock. Na, na, mither, a’ the whoremongers that ever set a hip on’t kens na sae muckle about the auld foundation o’t as ye do.

Moth. But Johny man, an’ thou wad start in the morning, the first o’ the daft days,[17] and that’s on Munday, ye an’ I wad go and see the daft jade, Jenny the mither o’t.

Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but wi maun giet something an’ it were an auld servet, or an auld sark to keep the hips o’t warm, young weans is ay wet about the a—se ye ken.

Moth. A well then Johny, I’se cry to thee whan the hens begin to keckle, and that’s about the break o’ day, an’ wees be ready to tak the road again Torryburn day light, whan weel ken a turd by a stane.

Up gets auld Maggy, Jocks mither in the morning, puts on the kettle, and maks her Yool sowens, the meikle pot hung on the fire a’ night wi’ the cheek of an auld cows head, skims aff the fat an’ mak’s a great cog o’ brose, then pours on a chappen o’ clean creish like oil, which made a brave sappy breakfast for Jockey and his mither, and Maggy got the cog to scart.

The brose being done and a’ thing ready, he halters the black mare, lays on the sunks and a covering, fine furniture for a country wife.[18]

Jockey mounts, and his mother behind him, trots awa, till coming down the brae abune John Davie’s well; the auld beast being unfiery o’ the feet, she fundred before, the girth and curple brake, Jockey tumbled o’er her lugs, and his mother out o’er him in the well wi’ a slung.

Jock. Ay, ay, mither, tho’ I fell ye needna faun abune me, an’ gin ye had lyne whar ye lighted first, ye wadna tumbl’d into the well; its an unco thing that a body canna get a fa’ but ye maun fa’ abune them: auld ruddoch it thou is, thou might a hauden better by the rumple, an’ ye wadna a bruised a my back wi’ your auld hard banes, nor a wat a’ yoursel say, and see how ye hae drummel’d a John Davie’s well.

Moth. Hech quo she, I wonder gin I be kill’d, thou always was wont to get the word of a good rider, baith upon hussies and horses, an’ this be thy management thou’s little worth; fel’d the auld beans it bore thee! sic a bath as I hae gotten to my Yool, thou coudna gien me a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld frosty morning: wae be to thee an’ that ill gotten gett o’ thine, O! let never better bounty be gotten wi’ bystarts getting, an’ this is so much for the fruits o’ fornication, a war stance nor the black-stool yet.

Jock. Let’s a be now wi’ your auld taunts about bystarts getting, or I’se gie you the wind o’ the mare’s tail, an’ gar you wammel hame an’ a’ your wate coats about you.

Moth. Na, na, my man Johny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, we came together, and wi’s gang together, wi sall see thy bystart and its mither or wi gae hame.

Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but yonder the house an’ the hens on’t, the lums reeking rairly, but little ken they wha’s coming.

At length they came to Jenny’s mother’s door.

Moth. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?

Her mother answers,

Well a wat she’s in her bed, an’ cauld cauld, and comfourtless is her lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever weel paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she’s done, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he wad a seen her lang or now.

Moth. A dear Marrion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John wha has a wife o’ his ain, cou’d come an’ wait on her as she were a dame o’ honour, or yet an honest man’s wife, poor silly lown it she is, an’ he had thought on what he was com’d o’ he wad ne’er a offer’d benevolence to the like o’ her.

Mar. An’ ye had been as great an instrogater against his making her double ribbet, as ye’re now against doing her justice, for the filthy jimcrack he’s gien her, ye wadna need to ca’ her silly lown the day, an him an honest man; but the ne’er an honest man wad a hoddl’d sae lang on a ae poor hussie an’ then gane awa an a married anither for love of a pickle auld clouts, and twa three pock-fou’s o’ tow: an she is but a silly lown indeed that lute him or ony rattle-scul else, shake their tail so lang upon her, without his faith, an’ his troth, an’ his fist before the minister.

Moth. A cauld be your cast kimmer, do ye think it your dadeling daughter’s a match fit for my son John; I think less may sair, her father was but a poor cotter carle, an’ our John’s father was a farmer, an’ its but a trick o’ youth, an’ the course of youdeth maun be out; but she may thank good fortune an’ tell her friends ay, an’ count it a credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like o’ him; a good fu fat farmer’s son, but ae laigher nor a laird.

Mar. A wae be to sic a credit it’s no worth the cracking o’, an’ whar was a’ his noble equals whan he bute to lay a leg on a my poor lassie, poor clarty clukny it thou is? an’ if they warna baith ae man’s mak I wad think naething o’t; for they warna a needle o’ differ between their dadies an’ what war they baith but twa sticket taylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame an’ a counted bow-kail stocks, as to come here to count kindred wi’ me.

Jock. Hout awa daft witless wives, I kenna what you’re flyting about, I wad rather see the wean gin it be ony thing wally and like the warld.

Mar. Indeed sall ye John, you’ll see your ain picture for little siller, a muckle mouth’t haverel it is just like yoursel.

The child is presented.

Jock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth just like mine, an’ sees wi’ baith ot’s een, an bit five days auld yet.

Moth. Dear Johny thou’s no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be blin, the poor thing saw whan it was new born.

Jock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skill’d as the howdies, an’ them that’s ay hobbling weans: but I thought they had a been like the wee bit’s a whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.

Moth. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu’, comparing a beast till a woman’s ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, an’ a wean is a chrisen’d creature.

Jock. Na mither, its no a chrisen’d creature yet, for hit has neither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little do I ken how to ca’t yet.

Mar. I wat well it’s a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or yet t’ meet in a morning, a body wanting a name.[19]

Moth. Hout tout ay, ye it’s auld wives is ay fu o’ frits an’ religious fashions, them that looks to frits, frits follows them, but it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an’ I never kend a sabbath day by a nither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.

Mar. Dear guidwife what needs ye speak so loud? ye fright the wean wi’ crying sae, see as it starts.

Moth. Ay, ay, the bystarts is a’ that way, but ken ye the reason o’ that?

Mar. Ye that kens the reason of everything may soon find out that too.

Moth. A deed than woman I’ll tell you, the merry begotten weans, its bystarts I mean, is red wood, half wittet hillocket sort o’ creatures: for an it be nae ane among twenty o’ them, they’re a’ scar’d o’ the getting, for there’s few o’ them gotten in beds like honest fouk’s bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o’ dikes, and kil-loggies; whar there’s ay somebody wandering to scar poor needfu’ persons, at their job of journay-wark: for weel ken I the gaits o’t, experience gars me speak.

Jock. A deed mither that’s very true, for whan I was getting that wean at the black hole o’ the peat stack, John Gammel’s muckle Colly came in behind us wi’ a bow wow, of a great goul just abune my buttocks; an’ as I’m a sinner, he gart me loup laveruck height, an’ yet wi got a wean for a’ that.

Moth. A weel than Johnny that mak’s my words good yet.

Jenny answers out o’ the bed. A shame fa your fashions ye hae nae muckle to keep whan ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the getting o’t.

Jock. A shame fa yoursel Jenny, for I hae gotten my part o’ the shame else, an’ gin ye hadna tell’d first there wad nane kend, for nae body saw us but John Gammel’s auld colly an’ he’s no a sufficient witness.

Mar. Now guidwife amang a’ your tales ye hae tell’d me, how is this wean to be maintain’d?

Moth. Ill chance on your auld black mouth Marrion, did I not send you my guid sprittled hen, a pund of butter and a sixpence, forby a libby o’ groats an’ a furlat o’ meal; mak her a guid cogfu’ o’ brose, an’ put a knoist o’ butter in them, to fill up the hole whar the lown came out, an’ I’ll send mair or that be done.

Mar. An it be na better nor the last ye may een keep it to your sell; your groat meal, and gray meal, sand dust and seeds, course enough to feed cocks an’ hens, besides a woman in her condition.

Moth. A foul be your gabs, ye’re a sae gash o’ your gabbies; a whine fools that stives up your gutses wi’ guid meat, to gar the worms turn wanton and wallop in your wames; feed yourselves as I do, wi’ hacket kail brose, made o’ groat meal, an’ gray meal, sand, seeds, dust an’ weak shilling, ony thing is good enough to fill the guts an’ make a t—d of.

Jock. Na, na, mither an’ the wean wad suck our Maggy, I sud take it hame in my oxter.

Moth. O ye fool, Maggy’s milk is a mould salt and sapless lang syne; but I trow she wad keb at it, as the black ew did at the white ews lamb the last year, sae speak nae mair o’ Maggy’s milk, no to compare a cat to a creature, the yeal cats is never kind to kitlens, an’ the maiden’s bairns is a’ unco weel bred.

Jock. Na, na, ye’re a’ mistane mither, Maggy has milk yet for every pap she has is like a burn pig, I’se warrand ye they’ll haud pints the piece.

Moth. My man Johny let them keep the wean, that has the wean, we’ll never miss a pockfu’ of meal now and tan, I wadna hae my bed pisht and blankets rotten for a bow o’ the best o’t.

Jock. O mither! I canna lea’t I like it say weel it has twa bonny glancing een, just like mine in a keeking glass, I wonner how I was able to get the like o’t, indeed mither I think mare o’ it, nor I do o’ my gray horse, Maggy an’ the four ky.

Moth. My man Johnny ye’re at nae strait about bairns getting, nane needs to gang to London to learn that auld trade; I ken very weel when ane gets warklums right to their hand, nature will teach them how to fa’ to.

Jock. Now fare ye weel Janet, that wean is weel worth the warkmanship, I’ll warrand ye weel a wat ist.

Jenny. Guidnight wi’ you John, but O man thou’s broken my fortune, I’ll never get mair o’ a man nor I hae gotten, an’ dear, dear, hae I suffer’d for what I hae done, an’ if thou had a bestowed thyself on a me, ye see what a bonny bairn time we had a hane.

Moth. Thou says it thou’s suffer’d sadly for what thou’s done, but though they wad take the hide o’er thy een holes it wadna tak the inclination out o’ thee; for thou’ll do’t again, but it’s no wi my bairn I’se warrand thee, an’ now Johnny come awa hame to thy hauf marrow an’ use thy freedom as formerly, thou’ll hae weans thick and three fauld; I’se make thee a decoction of cock stanes, lamb stanes, an’ chicken broe, will gar thee cock thy tail like a mevies an’ canter like a Galloway toop.

As Jockey and his mither came hobbling hame together on the out side of the auld doil’d beast his mither’s black mare; a waefu’ misfortune befel them;—Her hinderlets being wickedly wet, in John Davie’s well that morning, and it being a frosty night, her coats was a’ frozen round about her and the hard harn sark plaid clash between her legs like a wet dish clout, her teeth gaed like a rattle bag till almost haf gate hame, then she was suddenly seiz’d wi’ a rumbling in her muckle bag, what we kintry fouks ca’s a rush i’ the guts; Jockey was fash’d helping her aff and helping her on, foul, fat and dirty was the road, having like half a T——d as ever tadder length.

Jock. Deed mither, I doubt death has something to do wi’ you, for there’s a rumbling in a your wame like an auld wife kirning.

Mith. Hout tout I canna hear o’t, but they’ll be na fear o’ me now, I’m safe at my ain door, thanks to thee an’ the auld beast it brought me; heat my feet wi’ the bannock stane, an’ lay me in my bed, fling four pair o’ blankets an’ a cann’os on me, I’ll be weel enough an’ ance I were better, swieth Maggy gae mak me a cogfu’ o’ milk brose, an’ a placks worth o’ spice in them, nae fear of an auld wife as lang as she’s loose behin, an can tak meat.

Jock. I’se be’t mither, a e’en fill up the boss o’ your belly, you’ll stand to the storm the better, I’se warran ye never die as lang as you can tak your meat.

Ben comes Maggy wi’ the brose; but four soups an’ a slag filled her to the teeth, till she began to bock them back again, and ding awa the dish.

Jock. A mither, mither I dout there’s mair ado wi’ you nor a dish to lick: whan ye refuse guide milk meat, I’m doubtfu’ your mouth be gaun to the mules.

Mith. A dear Johnny am no willin to die if I could do better: but this will be a sair winter, on auld frail fouks, yet an’ I wou’d grow better I might live these twenty years yet, an’ be nae auld wife for a’ that: but alake a day there is e’en mony auld fouk dying this year.

Jock. A deed mither there is fouks dying the year that never died before.

Mith. Dear Johnny wilt thou bring me the doctor he may do me some guide, for an my heart warna sick an’ my head sae sair, I think I may grow better yet.

Jock. A weel mither, I’se bring the doctor, the minister, an’ my uncle.

Mith. Na, na, bring nae ministers to me, his dry cracks ’ll do me but little guid, I dinna want to see his powder’d pow, an’ I in sic an ill condition; get me a pint o’ drams in the muckle bottle, an’ set in the bole in the back side o’ my bed.

Jock. A deed mither ye’re in the right o’t, for ye want to be weel warm’d within; to chace the call wind an’ frosty water out at your back side.

Then awa he rins to draff Meg’s at the Kirktown, an’ brings a bottle in every hand, out wi’ the cork an’ gies her ane in o’er, she sets it to her gab an’ squattles up a mutchkin at a waught, which was like to wirry her till she fell a rifting and roaring like an auld blunder-bush.

Mith. Hech hay, co’ she, but that maks an alteration and wears awa the wind.

Wi’ that her head fell to the cod and she sughte awa, like a very saint or drunken sinner.

Jock. O! Maggy, Maggy, my mither’s lost her breath, (she’ll no live lang without it,) I doubt she be dead already, and nae body seen her but ye and I and oursels twa; an’ she had been fair o’er seen it maksna, I’ll no ha’d this a fair strae death indeed, fy Maggy, cry in a’ the neighbours to see her die, although she be dead. O an’ she wad but shake her fit, or wag her muckle tae, it wad ay be some satisfaction:[20] but in came the neighbours in a hush, dinging ither down in the door.

Jock. Come awa sirs, for my mither’s as dead as a mauk, good be thanket for’t; but I’d rather it had a been the black mare, or the muckle rigget cow, for weel a wat I’ll een miss her, for she was a bra spinner o’ tow; an’ cou’d a cardet to twa muckle wheels, she had nae faut but ane an that was her tongue, but she’ll speak nae mair, fy gets a dale or a barn door to straught her on, for ay whan she was cauld she was unco kankert an’ ill to curch, but I’se hae her yerdet on Wednesday teen.

Come, come, says Maggy, wi maun hae her drest.

Jock. What does the fool mean? wad ye dress a dead woman, she’ll never gang to kirk nor market a’ her days again.

Mag. A dear John be at ease, ye ken she mauna be buried as she is, a sark and winding sheet is the least she can get.

Jock. Ah ha Maggy is that what you mean, she has a guid new windin sheet, it was never about her shoulders yet,[21] say Maggy do’t a’ yoursell, and I’se gar clinkem Bell misure the grave and mak it.

Now when they brought out the corps John told the people they were welcome, to haud in a cheek o’ his auld mither wast the gate; and being laid right on the spakes,[22] ha! ha! quoth he, this is a braw honestly indeed, its mair boukie nor my bridal was, but when they came to the grave, it was o’er short and strait about the mouth, which set John in a great passion, saying a foul fa your naughty fashions master bell man, did not I packshon wi’ you for the bried o’ my mither’s back and the length o’ her carkage? an’ this hole winna haud her thou’s get nae mair o’ my change if I sude die the morn.

Uncle Rabbie. Whisht, whisht, stir, this sude be a day o’ mourning for your mither, dinna flyte here.

Jock. What the vengeance uncle, sudna fouks die when they’re auld? an’ am to pay for a hole and get but haf a hole; that’s the thing that vexes me, but I’se keep twopence out o’ his trencher for’t, an’ se will I een; but gang ye hame uncle to get cog and cap for the dradgey, and I’ll see her get fair play or I gae.

Hame they came in a croud and fell to the cheese and cheeks of leaves tuth and nail, the ale was handed about in cogs and caps, lashing it down o’er like bletchers watering their webs; John blutter’d in the cog like a cow in warm water, till the barm and bubbles came belling out at his nose, saying, a guide health to you a round about, an shoon and shortly may wi a gang the gate may mither’s gane, an’ I wish them a burying amang the dogs that speaks against it.[23]

About eight and twenty weeks thereafter Maggy had a wally weame fu of weans to bear, an’ ay whan she cryed, John cryed, which made a’ the kimmers and auld Katty the howdie laugh heartily to hear them.

Katty. Here now John, your wife’s brought to bed wi’ a bra lad bairn, gie him your blessing.

Jock. Well I wat he’s no want that, but an’ there had a been samuckle din at the getting o’ him, as at the bearing o’ him, it sude ne’er a been gotten for me: Come, come, gets in uncle Rabbie, the com riddle fu’ of the three nucket scons, whang down the cheese like peats, eat and drink[24] as at my mither’s dradgey, till wi forget our sorrow, and then weel see Mess John about a name till him; since wi see its the way o’t, that the young comes into the warld and chases out the auld, wi maun chrisen them, and they maun bury us.

Now John and his uncle goes to the minister, he enters, saying, guideen to you Mr. Minister ye dinna ken my mither’s dead?

Minister. Yes John I heard so: but how is your wife?

Jock. My wife stir a wae worth her, for the wives o’ our town an’ I hae gotten a waking night wi’ her; but wi hae gotten her turn’d and still’d again, she’s born a bra wally thumping stirra, he’ll herd the kye belyve to me an’ he had huggers on him, an’ am come to you to get a bit name to him.

Minister. A bit name to him John, if ye want no more but a name, ye may gie him that yourself.

Jock. Na but stir, I want baith the words and the water, what ye say to ither fouks say to me.

Minister. A but John you must give security or satisfaction, you’re a man under scandal.

Jock. What the muckle mischief stir, though under scandal or abune scandal, will ye refuse to chrisen my wean that’s honestly gotten in my ain wife’s bed beneath the blankets; caus I had a bystart, canna ye chrisen the weel com’d ane, let the bystart stand for its ain skaith without a name.

Minister. No John you have been too slackly dealt with, I’ll bring you to obedience by law, since you reject counsel.

Jock. A deed stir, I wad think naething to stan a time or twa on’t to please you, if there were nae body in the kirk on a uke day, but you an’ the elders to flyte a wee on me; but its war on a Sunday, to hae a’ body looking and laughing at me, as I had been coding the piese, suppen the kirn, or something that’s no bonny like pissing the bed.

Minister. A well John never mind you these things, come ye to the stool, its nothing when its over we cannot sae o’er much to you about it.

Upon Sunday thereafter John comes in with uncle Rabbies auld wide coat, a muckle great gray lang tail’d wig and a big bonnet, which cover’d his face, so that he seem’d more like an old Pilgrim than a young fornicator; mounts the creepy[25] with a stiff stiff back as he had been a man of sixty, every one looked at him, thinking he was some old stranger who knew not the stool of repentance by another seat, so that he passed the first day unknown but to very few, yet or the second it came to be known, that the whole parish and many more came to see him; which caused such a confusion that he was absolved, and got his children baptized the next day.

But there happened a tullie between the twa mother’s who would have both their names to be Johns, a weel, a weel says old John their father to the minister, deed stir ye maun ca’ the tean John an’ the tither Jock, and that will please baith these enemies o’ mankind.

Minister. A well John suppose ye do, it is still twa Johns nevertheless.

Jock. A deed stir, ye maun gie the wicked a’ their will, wi’s ca’ the bystart Jockie, an’ my son Johnny Bell; On wi’t some way and let her ca’t as she likes.

Minister. A dear John but ye speak indifferently about this matter, ye know not the nature of it.

Jock. A mony thanks to you Mess John, now caus ye hae chrisend baith my bairn and my bystart I hope you’ll forgive me the buttock mail.

Minister. John I desire you to be silent and to speak none here: You must keep a straight walk in time coming, free of scandal or offence.

Jock. Ay stir an’ how think ye the like o’ me can wak straight wi’ sic auld shevelin heel’d shune as mine, amang such rugh rigs, highs an’ hows as I hae to harl through.

Minister. I need not speak to you, you are but a poor mean ignorant person.

Jock. Na stir welawat am neither poor nor yet mean, my mither’s fairly yerdet now guide be thanket, and left a’ she had to Maggy and me.

Minister. But hear ye this John, ye must not kiss any other woman nor[26] your own wife, live justly like another honest christian, and you’ll come to die well.

Jock. A black end on a me stir, in ever I lay an unlawfu leg upon hissie again an they sude lie down to me while our Maggy lests; and for dying there’s nae fear o’ that, but I’ll no get fair play if ye an’ a’ the aulder fouk in the parish be not dead before me, so I hae done wi’ ye now.

An EPITAPH.

An ELEGY on the Death of Jockey’s Mother

Finis.

THE COALMAN’S COURTSHIP.

All you that’s curious of Courtship, give attention to this History of Mary and her son Sawny, a young Coalman, who lived in the country a few miles from Edinburgh.

Mary, his mither, was a gay hearty wife, had mair wantonness nor wealth; was twelve years a married wife, nine years a widow, and was very chaste in her behaviour, wi’ her ain tale (for want of charging:) for a’ this time of her widowhood, there was never a man got a kiss o’ her lips, or laid a foul hand on her hind quarters.

Sawny her son was a stout young raw lown, full faced, wi’ flabby cheeks, duddy breeks, and a ragged doublet, gade always wi’ his bosom bare, sometimes had ae gartan, a lingle or rash-rape was good enough for Sawny: his very belly was a’ sun burnt and brown like a piper’s bag, or the head of an auld drum; and yet his beard began to sprout out like herring banes: he took thick brose to his breakfast, and baps and ale through the day, and when the coals sell’d dear, when the wind was cauld, bought an oven farl and twa Dunbar weathers,[27] or a Glasgow magistrate,[28] which fish-wives ca’s a waslen herrin.

His mither, auld Mary plagued him ay in the morning, got up when the hens keckled, reinged the ribs, blew her snotter-box, primed her nose, kindled her tobacco pipe, and at every puff breathed out fretting against her hard fortune, and lanely single life. O but a widow be a poor name, but I live in a wilderness in this lang-lonen; mony a man gaes by my door, but few looks in to poor auld Mary: Hoch hey, will I never win out o’ this weery’d life.—Wa’ Sawny man, wa’ Sawny man; wilt thou na rise the day; the sun’s up, an a’ the nibours round about; Willie and Charlie is to the hill an hour syne, an’ haf-gate hame again. Wilt thou rise and gi’ the beasts a bite; thou minds na’ them, I wat man.

Grump, grump, quo’ Sawny, they got their supper an hour after I got mine. Shute to dead come on them, an’ they get a bit frae me till they work for’t.

Sawny. But O Mither, I been dreaming that I was married, an’ i’ the bed aboon the bride, I wonder gin it be true: Od! I never got sic fun; what wilt be, think ye? How auld am I mither; do you think I could man a hissy yet? Fegs am a mind to try, but the sour saucy hissies ’ill no hae me, I ken well enough.

Mither. Hae you lad, ay mony a hungry heart wad be blyth o’ you; but there was never a sca’d Jocky but there was a scabbit Jenny till him yet:[29] dinny be fear’d lad.

Sawny. A hech, mither, I’se no be lordly, an I sud tak a beggar wife aff the hi’ gate: but I’ll tell you something it’m ay thinking on, but ye manna tell the nibours, for the chields wad aye jamf[30] me wi’t.

Mither. Wad I tell o’ thee, I wad tell o’ mysel as soon.

Sawny. Do ye mind, mither, that day I gaed to the Pans[31] I came in by Auld Mattie’s, your countrymans, the Fife wife, it came out o’ the town ye came frae, the wife it says, Be-go laddie, I gaed there, and she wisna in, and her doughter kend me; she was unco kind, and made me fat, fat brose out o’ the lee side o’ her kail pat, there was baith beef and paunches in’t: od they smell’d like ony haggies, an’ shin’d a’ like a gou’d lac’d waiscoat, figs I suppit till I was like to rive o’ them, and had a rift o’ them the morn a’ day; when I came out, I had a kite like a cow wi’ ca’f. She spier’d for you mither, and I said ye was gaily: and she looked to me, and leuch ay, and grippet my shakle bane, and said I wad be a sturdy fallow yet.—I looked ay to her, and thought I liked her, and thinks on’t ay sin-syne, she leugh, and bad me seek out a coal-driver for her, for she did na’ like to carry a fish creel.

Mither. Forsooth, Sawny, I’ll gie my twa lugs for a lav’rocks egg if she binna in love wi’ thee, and that will be a bargain.

Sawny. An’ upon my word mither she’s a sturdy gimmer, well worth the snoaking after; she has a dimple in every cheek, and ane on her chin, twa legs like twa posts, an haunches like a sodger’s lady’s hoop, they hobble when she shakes, and her paps plays nidity nod when she gangs, I ken by her keeking[32] she has a conceit o’ me.

Mither. But Sawny man, an tou see her mither Matty in the town, auld Be-go-laddie, as ye ca’ her, gi’ her a dram, she lik’st well; spout ye a mutchkin o’ molash in her cheek, ye’ll get her mind an’ speed the better.

Sawny. But mither how sud I do when I gang to court her; will I kiss her and tan kittle her, an’ fling her o’er as the chiels does the hissies amang the hay. I seen them gang our ither, and o’er ither; an’ when they grip them by the wame, they’d cry like a maukin when the dogs is worrying them.

Mither. Hut awa’, daft dog it thou is, that’s no the gate, thou maun gang in wi’ bra’ good manners an’ something manfu’; put on a Sunday’s face and sigh as ye were a saint; sit down beside her as ye were a Mess John; keek ay till her now and then wi’ a sto’en look, and had your mouth as mim, and grave as a May-puddock, or a whore at a christening; crack well o’ our wealth, and hide our poverty.

Sawny. Ay but mither, there’s some other way in courting nor that, or the lasses would never couple so close to them.

Mither. Ay but Sawny man, there is a time for everything and that too; when ye sit where nae body sees you, you may tak her head in your oxter, like a creesh pig, dab nebs wi’ her now an’ than, but be sure ye keep a close mouth when ye kiss her; clap her cheeks and straik her paps, but for your drowning gang nae farther down; but fouk’s that’s married can put their hand to ony part they like.

Sawny. Aha, but mither, I didna ken the first word o’ courting, the lassie ’ill no ken what am com’d about.

Mither. Ay will she lad, wink and keek well to her, she’ll hae a guess; seek a quiet word o’ her at the door; an’ gin it be dark, gie her a wee bit kiss when ye’ve tell’d her your errand; an’ gin they gi’e you cheese and bread, or ony meat, ca’t good, whether it be sae or no; and for my blessing, be mensfu’ wi’ your mouth, and dinna eat o’er muckle, for I seen you sip as mony milk brose as wad a sar’t twa men to carry on a barrow.

Sawny. A but mither, ye’re lying now, or it was na’ a’ at ance than, but an they set meat before me, and I be hungry, a de’il claw the clungest[33] an’ I be nae upsides wi’t, for that same. A faith mither, fouks maun hae meat, an’ they should ne’er get wives, there’s some o’ them no worth the cursing, an’ a body were na letting an oath whether or no: a hear ye that now, when ye pit me till’t, and gar me speak; ay by my sooth, I wad rather hae a bit good powny[34] an’ a pound o’ cheese, or I were bound to bab after ony hizzies buttocks I see yet.

Mither. Wa Sawny man thou’s a fool an’ that’s a fau’t: gin every ane were as easy about women as thou is, the warld wad be a wilderness in a wee time; there wad be nae body to inhabit the earth but brute beasts, cats and dogs wad be worrying ither, and every thing gae to confusion. Gae to the courting ye dog it ye are, and either do something or naething at a’.

End of the First Part.

Part II.

Part III.

COMICAL TRANSACTIONS OF LOTHIAN TOM.

This Thomas Black, vulgary called Lothian Tom, because of that country, was born four miles from Edinburgh, his Father being a very wealthy farmer, who gave him good education, which he was very awkward in receiving, being a very wild cross mischievous boy.

When he was about 10 years of age, he was almost killed by the stroke of a horse’s foot, which his father had; who had a trick of kicking at every person that came in behind him. But when Tom was got heal of the dreadful wound, whereof many thought he would have died. To be even with the horse, he gets a clog, or piece of tree which was full of wooden pins; a thing which the shoe makers used to tann their leather upon; and with a rope he tied it to the cupple balk in the stable, directly opposite to the horse’s tail, gets up on the balk and gives it a swing back so that the pikes in the end of it, came with a full drive against the horse’s arse; which made him to fling and the more he flung and struck at it, it rebounded back again and struck him; the battle lasted with great fury for a long time, which was good diversion for Tom, until his father hearing some disturbance in the stable, came in to know the matter, and was surprized when he saw the poor horse tanning his own hide, with his legs all cut and bloody, with kicking against the pikes of the tanners stool; so he cut the rope and the battle was ended, but the poor horse would never kick at any thing that came behind him afterwards, but always run from it.

It happened one day that Tom went a fishing and brought home a few small fish, which his grandmother’s cat snapt up in the dark; so Tom to have justice of the cat for so doing catches her, and puts her into a little tub cogbome,[53] then sets her a drift into a mill-dam, ordering her to go a fishing for herself; then sets two or three dogs upon her, where a most terriable seafight ensued as ever was seen in fresh watter: for if any of the dogs assayed to board her, by setting in over their nose, badrons came flying to that quarter, to repulse him with her claws; then her vessel was like to overset by the weight of herself, so she had to flee to the other, and finding the same there, from thence to the middle, where she sat mawing, always turning herself about, coming her nose with her foot. The old woman being informed of the dangerous situation of her dearly beloved cat, came running with a long pole to beat off the dogs and haul her ashore: What now, says Tom, if you be going to take part with my enemies, you shall have part of their reward: then gives the old woman such a push that she tumbled into the dam over head and ears, beside her beloved cat, and would undoubtedly perished in the water, had not one of the people who were there looking at the diversion, com’d to her relief.

After this Tom was sent to the school to keep his hands out of an ill turn; and having an old canker’d crab witted fellow for his dominie, they were always at variance, for if Tom had got his whips, which he often deserved, he was sure to be revenged upon his master again for it. So Tom perceiving his master had a close-stool in a little closet within the school, where he went and eased himself when need was: Tom gets a penny-worth of gun powdar, and strinkled it on the ground directly before the seat, and lays a little of it along in a train to the fire side, then perceiving when his master went into it, and as he was loosing down his breeches, sets fire to the train which blew it all up about his master’s bare hips, which scorched him most terriably, besides the fright; for which Tom was severely whipt; yet in a little after he began to study revenge on his master.

So it happened one day as Tom went into the master’s house, the wife was stooping into a big meal barrel[54] to bring out some meal; there he takes her by the feet and cowps her up into the barrel with her head down, and her bare backside upper-most; then runs into the school, crying, “O! master, master! the deel’s looking out of your meal stand wi’ a fat face, and a black ill far’d mouth: yon’s just auld nick and he be living.” At this the master run with all speed he could to see what it was, and found it to be his own wife speechless and almost smothered to death; but as she could not tell who did it, Tom got clear off; yet he was not satisfied without some more vengeance on the old fellow; and knowing his master had a fashion when he was going to whip the boys, if they would not loose their breeches willingly, he drew his knife and cut them thro’ the waistband behind: so Tom goes to a butcher and gets a raw pudding, and fills it with blood and watter and puts it in within the waistband of his breeches: then goes to school next day, and as the master was sitting with his back towards the fire, Tom lights a piece of paper and sets his wig in a low, which burnt for some time unperceived, until the flames came fizing about his ears: he first put out the wig by trampling it upon the ground with his feet, and being informed that Tom did it, flies to him in a rage, ordering him to loose his breeches, but Tom told him he was never so mad: then he drew his knife and whips poor Tom over his knee, and with great kicking and struggling cuts the waistband of his breeches through pudding and all, so that the blood gushed out; and Tom cried murder, murder, and down he fell. The poor dominie went out of the door crying and wringing his hands. Word flew about that Tom was sticket by the dominie, which made the people come running from several parts of the country round about to see how it was; but searching him for the wound, found none but the empty pudding, which discovered the fraud.[55] Then two men had to get horses and ride after the poor dominie, who had by this time got two or three miles away; and when he saw them coming after him, crying to stand, and come back again, he ran the faster, untill he could run no more, but fell over on the road, praying him to let him go, for if he was taken back he was sure of being hanged: and would not be persuaded that Tom was alive, until they forced him back and he saw him: but he would be Tom’s teacher no longer; so Tom’s father had to seek another master for him.

Part II.

Part III.

Part IV.

Part V.

Part VI.

Finis

HISTORY OF JOHN CHEAP THE CHAPMAN.

Preface.

John Cheap the chapman, was a very comical short thick fellow, with a broad face and a long nose; both lame and lazy, and something leacherous among the lasses: he chused rather to sit idle than work at any time, as he was a hater of hard labour. No man needed to offer him cheese and bread after he curst he would not have it; for he would blush at bread and milk, when hungry, as a beggar doth at a babee. He got the name of John Cheap the chapman, by his selling 20 needles for a penny, and twa leather laces for a farthing. He swore no oaths but one, which was, Let me never sin.

He used no imprecations, But let me never cheat nor be cheated, but rather cheat, &c.

He gave bad counsel to none but children, to burn the bonecombs, that their mother might buy another when he came again.

He never fought with any but dogs,[71] and the good wives daughters in their daffing, and that’s not dangerous.

Part I.

Part II.

Part III.

LEPER THE TAYLOR.

Part I.

Leper’s father lived in a village about six miles from Glasgow, and died when Leper was but very young, he left a widow and three children, two daughters and a son, and Leper being the youngest, was greatly idolized by his mother, who was a good soft natured woman, very industrious, and followed the business of bleaching of cloth.

As Leper grew up, he turned a very mischievous boy, playing tricks on the neighbourhood, such as tying cats to dogs-tails, breaking hen’s legs, stoping people’s lumbs or chimney-tops; so that his poor mother was sadly vex’d with complaints against him.

To get him kept from mischief, she prevailed with a taylor to take him an apprentice, he settled and was very peaceable for some time, until he had got so much of the trade on his finger-ends as he might pass for a journey-man, and then he was indifferent whether he stayed with his master or not; his mistress gave him but very little meat when they wrought at home, so he loved best to be in other houses, where he got both meat and diversion.[94]

Leper being resolved on revenge against his mistress, for her thin kail, no kitchen and little bread; for tho’ flesh was boiled in the pot, none for poor Leper and his master, but a little bit on Sabbaths, and all the bones were kept, and put in the pot, to make the broth thro’ the week. Leper perceived always when she took off the pot, she turned her back to them and took out the flesh, and set it on a shelf within her own bed;[95] one night after work, he steals out a pan, cuts a piece of flesh out of a dead horse, then goes to a lime kiln and boils it; next day his master being from home, his landlady and him being in the house, after she had set off the pot as usual, and taken out her bit of good beef, he goes out for some time, and then comes in, saying, The minister’s lass is wanting you to go directly and speak to her mistress, away she goes in all haste, Leper runs and takes away her bit of good beef, and lays down his horse-flesh, and knowing she would soon return in a passion, and sit down with a sosse in her cushion’d chair as she used, he takes a large prin and staps it straight up through the cushion, with its head on the chair and the point to her back-side: in she comes in a rage, and down she sits with all her weight on the prin point, and she roars out, Murder, murder, for she was sticket through the a—se, the neighbours came running in, and Leper got out with his bit of good beef, leaving the wives to doctor his landlady’s doup as they pleased; he still denied the doing of it, and his master believed it might happen accidentally, but the Houdie was very often to be had before the hole was got heal again; and his landlady by eating of that horse-beef, took a loathing at flesh, so Leper and his master got all the beef to eat ever after, and his landlady turned one of the kindest mistresses a prentice could wish for.

There was a neighbour wife on which Leper used to play tricks sometimes, for which she came and complained to his master, and got him severely beaten[96] several times: Leper resolved to be revenged on her, so one day he came to the back-side of her house, (no body being within but herself) and took up a big stone, and runs it along the rough wall with all his force, which roared like thunder in the inside of the house, and frightened the wife so, that she thought the house was tumbling down about her ears, upon which she ran out and sat down at a distance, looking when the house would fall down, till her husband came home, to whom she told the above story, ‘Hout daft Taupie, said he, the house will stand these hundred years,’ so by his persuasion they both went into the house, Leper (knowing they were both in) comes back and plays the same trick over again, which frighted the goodman also so much, that he cried out, ‘Run Maggy run, for my heart plays a’ pitty patty,’ and they would not lodge in the house any more, till the masons convinced them of its sufficiency.

There was another neighbour who had a snarling curr dog, which bit Leper’s leg; Leper resolved to be revenged on the dog, and so, one night he catches the dog and carries him to the kirk, where the rope of the bell hang upon the outside, so with his garter he tied the dog’s fore-foot to the rope, and left him hanging; the dog struggling to get free, set the bell a ringing, which alarmed the whole village, every one cried out, ‘Wonderful sirs! Wonderful sirs![97] the de’il is ringing the bell.’ When they saw the black colley hanging the rope, I true it set the minister and all the people to their prayers:[98] but Leper fearing he would be found out by his garter, came to the minister’s side and asked the reverend gentleman, what was the matter? Indeed my bairn (said he) it’s the de’il ringing the kirk-bell; says Leper, I’ll go and see him, for I never saw the de’il; the minister cry’d, Stop that mad laddie, but Leper ran and loused the dog, crying, It’s such a man’s dog, which had the rope in his teeth, they all cried out, ‘The de’il is in the dog, the de’il is in the dog,’ took up some stones and fell’d poor colley, and the de’il got the blame of making the dog ring the bell, this spread Leper’s fame for being one of the wisest and most couragious taylors that was in all the kingdom; and many shaking their heads, said, ‘It was a pity he was a taylor, but a captain or general of an army, as the devil could not fear him.’

After this a farmer in the neighbourhood, hearing the fame of Leper, how he had frighted the de’il frae being a bell-man, sent for him to an ale-house, and drank with him very heartily, and told him he was sadly born down with the spirit of jealousy against his wife, on suspicion of being too free with a servant-lad she had before, and if he would keep it secret, and learn him how to find it out, he would give his mother a load of meal, to which Leper and him agrees, so he gave the poor supposed cockold instructions how to behave. So home he goes and feigns himself to be very sick, and every day worse and worse, taking death to him, blesses his three small children, and charges his wife not to marry until his children could do something for themselves: This hypocritical woman takes the roaring, a-ha, marry, she would never marry! No, no, there should never man ly by her side, nor kiss her lips after thee, my lamb Johnny——Then he acted the dying man as well as possibly he could, the neighbours were called in, and he’s fair o’erseen[99] as the old saying is, Before good neighbours; the sorrowful widow made a sad lament, wrung her hands, and tearing her hair,——the reverend women[100] about began to dress the corpse, asked her for a shirt, ay, ay, said she, He has twa new linen sarks, and there is an auld ane in the bottom of the kist it nae body can wear, just take it, ony thing is good enough for the grave; well, said they, we must have some linen for a winding sheet, a’well, co’ she, I ha’ twa cut o’ linen in the kist, but there is a pair of auld linen sheets hol’d in the mids, may do well enough, I had need to be carefu’, I’m a poor widow the day, wi’ three sma’ bairns. Awell, the corpse is dress’d, and laid on the top of a big chest, while the neighbours sat by her condoling her misfortune, and wondering how the funeral raisins were to be provided; said one, the coffin must be seen about first. Ay, ay, said she, he has some new deals in the barn he bought to mak a bed o’, but we’ll no break them, there is the auld barn-door and the chaff-kist will do well enough, ony thing’s good enough to gang to the grave; but O, co’ she, send for Sandy my honest auld servant, and he’ll see every thing right done, I’ll tell him where he’ll get siller to do ony thing wi’, he’s the lad it will not see me wrang’d; then Sandy comes wrying his face and rubbing his eyes, O Sandy, there is a sad alteration here, and ba-a-a she cries like a bitten calf, O sirs, will ye gang a’ butt the house till I tell Sandy what to do; butt they goes, and there she fell a kissing of Sandy, and said, Now my dear, the auld channering ghaist is awa,’ and we’ll get our will o’ ither; be as haining of every thing as you can, for thou kens it’s a’ thy ain; but the corpse’s sister and some other people came in, and ben they came to see the corpse, lifts the cloth off his face, and seeing him all in a pour of sweat, said, Hegh, he’s a bonny corp,[101] and a lively like colour, when he could no longer contain to carry on the joke, but up he got amongst them, a deal of the people ran for it, and his wife cried out, O my dear, do ye ken me? Ay ye base jade and whore, better than ever I did. Jumps on to the floor and gets his staff, and runs after Sandy, and catches him in the fields a little from the house, gives him a hearty beating, never tell’d him for what; returns to the house, ate and drank with his sister and neighbours who had come to see his corpse; poor Sandy went home with a skinful of terror, and a sorting of sore bones, took a sore fever, and died in a few days after, so he got quit of his cockler, and Leper’s mother got her meal.

Leper’s mother was a careful industrious wife, but as the by-word is ‘A working mother makes a daly daughter,’ and so it happened here, for she had two idle glaket sluts of daughters, that would do nothing but ly in their bed in the morning, till (as the saying is) ‘The sun was like to burn a hole in their backsides;’ the old woman being at this time busy bleaching some cloth, was very early at work in the mornings, and Leper’s patience was worn out with the laziness of his two sisters, and he resolved to play a trick on them for their reformation; so he goes and gets a mortcloth[102] and spreads it upon the bed above them, and sends the dead bell[103] thro’ the town, inviting the people to his sisters’ burial the next day, at four o’clock afternoon, for they had died suddenly; this brought all the neighbour-wives in, who one after another lifted the mortcloth, and said with a great sigh, ‘They’re gone to their rest, a sudden call indeed!’ Their aunt hearing of this sudden news, came running in all haste, and coming through the green where the jades mother was at work, who was ignorant of the story, she cries out, ‘Fy upon you, woman, fy upon you,’ says she. What’s the matter, sister? What’s the matter? ‘I think ye may let your work stand for ae day, when your daughters are lying corpse.’ My bairns corpse! I am certain they went to bed heal and fair last night. But I tell you (says the other) the dead bell has been through the town, warning the folk to the burial, then the mother cries out, ‘O the villain, O the villain, that he did not send me word.’ So they both ran, and the mother as soon as she entered the house, flies into the bed, crying, ‘O my bairns, my dear bairns!’ on which the sluts rises up in a consternation, to the great surprize of the beholders, and to the great diversion of the whole town, and to the great mortification of girls, who thought shame to set their noses out of doors.

Leper and his master went to a gentleman’s house to work, where there was a saucy house-keeper, who had more ignorance and pride, than good sense and manners; she domineered over her fellow-servants in a tyrannical manner; Leper resolved to mortify her pride; so he finds an ant’s nest, and takes their white eggs, grinds them to a powder, and puts them into the dish her supper-sowens was to be put in. After she had taken her supper, as she was covering the table, the imock-powder began to operate, and she let a great fart, well done Margaret, says the laird, she runs away for shame, but before she turned herself round, she gives another raird. My faith, says the Laird, Margaret, your arse would take a cautioner; before she got out of the chamber-door, she lets fly another crack; then she goes to order her fellow-servant to give the laird his supper, but before she could give the necessary directions, she gave fire again, which set them all a laughing; she runs into a room by herself, and there she played away her one gun battery so fast, as she had been sieging the Havannah. The laird and lady came to hear the fun, they were like to split their sides at proud Maggy, so next morning she left the place, to the great joy of her fellow servants.

(The end of the First Part.)

Part II. [104]

THE GRAND SOLEMNITY OF THE TAYLOR’S FUNERAL.

Leper[109] in his life-time desired, That all those who came to attend his funeral, might be handsomely entertained with a half-penny-roll, and a pint of ale;[110] in memory of the many breakfasts he had made in his life-time: And furthermore desired, That those who were his former[111] relations and chief mourners, instead of a mourning ring, might be presented with a Taylor’s Thimble, in memory of his own trade, and round the rim to have this motto engraved:

Round the room hung divers remnants of black-cloth, of the Taylor’s own cabbaging, for he was very honest that way, and never cabbaged but a quarter[112] out of a yard. At the four corners of the room stood four woolen-drapers, lamenting the loss of so good a customer, with each of them a white wand in his hand, just a yard long and a parchment label hanging on their shoulders, with this motto:

At the head of the Taylor’s coffin, stood the goose triumphant, the cabbage blazoned, and the cucumber argent. On the lid of his coffin was engraven, on a brass plate, this applicable motto:

At the foot of the coffin was the sheers pendent, the bodkin rampant, and the thimble enclosed in three ermins.

When the Corpse was conveyed down stairs, each person was served decently round with a leaf of red cabbage, instead of a sprig of rosemary. Then the Corpse was hoisted on the shoulders of six piece-brokers, having each of them this motto:

The pall was supported by those who sold stay-tape, buckram, and canvas.

The Corpse was followed down Cloth-fair by thirty-six master-taylors, each having a yard in his right-hand, with a parchment streamer at the end of it, with this motto:

Next followed twenty-four[113] woolen-drapers, two-by-two, bearing on their breasts this motto:

Then followed the like number of button-makers, wringing their hands with this motto:

After these, followed a vast number of city ricketty hopper-arsed beaux, who had been padded up, and made into a complete gentlemen, by the deceased limb-trimmer, drying their watery eyes, with cambrick hankerchiefs, and having this motto engraved on their watch cases:

But to conclude the procession: Last of all, followed a numerous croud of journeymen taylors, who were all slip-shoed, their stockings about their heels, their hats off, a skein of thread hung carelessly about their necks; and their shirt collars were open, that they might have liberty to disturb their bosom friends. On their left sleeve was a cushion, whereon stuck abundance of Spanish and Whitchapel needles. The tails of their wigs were matted like horses’ manes, just as if they had come off the shop-board from work. On their left shoulders each had a long strip of parchment, whereon was written this motto:

At the bottom of Cloth-fair, the Corpse was arrested at the suit of an old herb-woman for elevenpence halfpenny,[114] which had been due a long time to the hag, for cabbages and cucumbers, which the deceased had in his life-time: However the journeymen-taylors manfully released the Corpse,[115] and afterwards marched on in ample procession to the house of one Ned Kemp, an honest piece-broker, where there was a spacious grave dug, between a large cabbage and a cucumber plant.

The FUNERAL SERMON was preached by Obadiah Backstitch, and the words of the text were these:

After which, the journeymen taylors were admitted into the house,[117] and each of them served with a halfpenny-roll, and a pint of ale, and so went weeping home, for the loss of so good a master.

I will and bequeath unto Simon Whipstitch,[118] my needle and thimble; unto Peter Niggle, my sheers and bodkin; and unto Mrs. Mary Laycock[118] is my Pincushion, stuck full of needles and pins, to which I sewed a watch-chain, key, and seal with which I used to strut about like a crow in a gutter.[119]

Finis.

THE HISTORY OF HAVEREL WIVES.

It is a certain old saying, That where women are conveen’d in crouds there can be but little silence; and some have acknowledged that it was a great bondage for them to hold their peace in the church: and where there is much talk by ignorant speakers, it is diverting for persons of understanding to hear them. Therefore we have furnished the public with a small collection of old wives noted sayings and wonders, which they relate happened in their own time, also what has been told them by their forefathers.

Two old wives (Maggy, and Janet) at their rocks, began their cracks as follows:

Janet. A dear Maggy, an how auld will ye be now, o’ it’s lang since I kend you.

Maggy. Indeed Janet that’s what nae body kens, for my father and mither had sae mony o’ us, they ne’er counted how auld ane o’ us was, they minded ay wha o’ us was born first, and wha was neist ane anither, and that was a’ that e’er we sought to ken about it; but I ha’e mind o’ the mirk Munonday.[121]

Jan. Hout, tout, woman, the mirk Munonday, I hae mind since there was nae Munondays at a’, and the Sabbath days was nae com’d in fashion, there was a day they ca’d Sunday came anes o’ the ouk for it, we kend ay whan it came, for my father cow’d ay his beard whan the bell rang, and then every body ran to the kirk it had ony thing ado, an it were to buy saut or shune, for the chapman chiels set up a’ their creims at the kirk-door, an the lasses wad a gotten keeking glasses, red snudes, needles, prins, elshin irons, gemlets, brown bread and black saep to buy, forby sweety wives things, and rattless for restless little anes; the men wad a bought pints o’ ale, an a gotten a whang o’ gude cheese to chow a’ the time a drinking o’t, hout, tout ay, they were braw markets on the Sundays i’ the time o’ Paepery,[122] we had nae ministers than but priests, Mess Johns, Black Friers, and White Friers, Monks, Abbots, and Bishops, they had nae wives, yet the best o’ them wad a spoken baudy language, and a kiss’d the lasses, fikle fyking bodies they ware, unko ill to please, they wad a baith curs’d fouk and bless’d them, just as ye pay’d them; a deed they were unco greedy o’ the penny, and pray’d ay to the dead fouk, and gard the living pay them for’t, and although they had play’d the loon wi’ a poor hizey she durst na speak o’t for her very life, for they cou’d gi’ ony body o’er to the de’il when they liket: They did not gar fouks learn to read and pray like our new ministers, but thump on your breast, strake your fingers o’er aboon your nose, tell your beads and rin bare-fit thro’ amang hard stanes, and cauld sna’.

Mag. A hech woman, an wad they a had carnal dealings wi’ the women, and they sae good and haly.

Jan. Hout ye daft woman, do ye think their goodness gelded them tho’ they had nae wives; there was a great sort o’ them it they ca’d cardonels, that ay when twa young bodies was married they bute to hae the first night o’ the bride.[123]

Mag. A wae worth them filthy hureing dogs, if I wadna’ a libbet them mysel, I wonder that the gentle fouks and lairds lote them do the like o’ that.

Jan. A dear woman the gentle fouks and the lairds keepet ay in wi’ them, for they said they had the command o’ the de’il and the dead fouk, and the gentles durst na cast out wi’ them, for they got a’ their sins pardon’d for the less siller.

Mag. A dear woman that was unko like, the de’il wad get nae body then but the poor fouk, and them that had nae siller.

Jan. A well a wat that was true, for an they pay’d the priest well, the de’il durst na middle wi’ them.

Mag. A wow woman, a what’s come o’ them a’ now, am sure the like o’ thae fouks it had sae meikle power, needed neither die nor yet be sick: they wad live a’ their days.

Jan. A wat well did they, for the maist o’ them is dead and rotten, and the rest o’ them gade awa’ to Italy, where the auld Pape their father, the de’il, the witches, brownies and faries dwal,[124] and then we gat anither sort o’ gospel fouks it they ca’d curits,[125] fine sort o’ dainty honest foulks they war, but gay and greedy, they did na’ like sculdudery wark, but said na meikle against it, for a hantle o’ bits a callans wad a gotten twa or three bastards before they wad a gotten breeks; they beit to hae their tithes of every thing that grew, mony a time my father wist they wad take the tithes of his hemp too, an it were to hang themsels, they were ay warst whare a poor man or wife died, altho’ they left weans fatherless and mitherless, a deed they wad a sent their bellman, and wi’ his lang prelatic fingers he wad a harled the upper pair o’ blankets aff o’ the poor things bed, for some rent that they gard fouks pay for dying, a sae did they e’en, and yet they keepit a hantle o’ bra haly days, and days o’ meikle meat, Fastrens-e’en and Yule days, when we gat our wames fou o’ fat brose, and a sippet Yule sowens till our sarks had been like to rive, and after that a eaten roasted cheese and white puddings well spiced, O bra times for the guts, well I wat every body might live than that had ony thing to live on.

Mag. But dear Janet ye’er bra an lang o’ the memory, do ye mind o’ the waefu blast, when the foul thief was raging in the air, and the de’il dang doun a’ the kail yard dykes cutted the corn stacks, tirr’d the houses and blew giddy Wille’s wig in the wall, they said it was some young minister it had rais’d the de’il, and for want o’ a cock, a cat, or some unkirsen’d creature to gi’ him, they could na’ get laid again, an he brake the bridle slipped his head an ran awa frae them.[126]

Jan. A deed woman I heard tell o’ that, and how wood Willie M‘Neel met him on the staps in the mids o’ the water, an shot him o’er, and thought to drown him, but he gade doun the water like a meikle branded bill roaring, a’ burning fire; but I hae mind the first time it the de’il came to this kintrey was on a Sunday, I was a wi’ bit gaun lassie my father and a’ the men fouk was at the kirk, the ware twa o’ them, a humeld ane an a horn’d ane, a goodman de’il, and a goodwife de’il as we took them to be, we ran a’ into the house, and my mither barr’d the door and hunted the dogs at the byre hole, thinking the de’il wou’d rin frae the dogs, but, na, na, they got up on their tae end like twa auld men, they were a rugh lang hair like a pyet horse, wi’ lang bairds aneath their chin, and the meikle horn’d de’il box’d the dogs in at the hole agen, we ran a’ ben the house and grat, but our Jock wha wis a little gabby gaun laddock, cry’d ay, mither, mither, what is the de’il seeking here, he’ll be wanting to tak a’ the auld wives an cats to mak witches o’ them,[127] I true whan my gran mither heard that, she gat up and ran ben to the spence, and crap in the bear meal barrel to hide hersel frae the de’il, and curr’d there ’till the kirk skaild, a deed she was sae fear’d, she made her burn in the barrel; and what was’t true ye after a’ but a tupe and a ewe of the highland gaits, it the laird had gotten to gie the lady milk, but mony a day we leugh at the twa de’ils.

Mag. But dear woman, what an a body is that de’il, it ev’ry body is sae fear’d for him, is’t na him they ca’ auld nick, what fore do they ca’ him auld nick?

Jan. A dead woman I dinna ken what like a body he is, but they say he’s a’ black, and they ca’ him auld nick, because he’s aulder nor Adam, and Adam was the first man in the warld, and they say the de’il will never die, nor yet be sick, nor yet tak sair een.

Mag. A wow Janet but ye’re a witty creature, but can ye tell me what way the blackamoors is made, some fouk says they’re a’ dipped in cats blood and burnt bear strae, but I’m ay thinking the litster doucks them in amang the broe that they lit the black claith wi’, and then sells them to the lairds and gentle folks to flee their bairns wi’, or dis the gentles eat them when they’re dead think ye.[128]

Jan. Hout awa daft creature, the blackamoors is fouk just like oursel, but only they hae a black skin on them, did ye never see black sheep and white sheep, black horse and white horse, ye think they’re a’ de’ils because the de’il’s black: I thought mysel lang syne, they were made for the penny, and sell’d the dearer o’ the black skin.

Mag. But Janet did ye ever see the de’il, I wad fain ken what like he is, some says he’s like a bill, a bear or an auld beggar man.

Jan. Indeed I never saw sae muckle as the de’il a’ my days, but I’ve heard the ministers flyting and misca’ing him, and whan they said a’ that they cou’d say o’ him, they ca’d him an ill spirit, and a great liar, mony a ane has war names than a’ that yet.[129]

Mag. But do you think there is ony de’ils but ane, every body’s speaking an crying on him, ane couldna answer them a’.

Jan. A deed they say there’s black anes and white anes o’ them, humel anes, and horn’d anes, the very witches is haf de’ils whan they’re living, and hail de’ils when they’re dead; the brownies is haf dogs haf de’ils, a’ rugh but the mouth, seeks na claise, ae man’s meat ’ill sair them, and they’ll work ten mens work in ae night, forby hob-goblins fairies and elfs, that shoots fouks beasts to dead, an no a hole to be seen in the skin o’ them;[130] hard na ye tell o’ the twa Highland wives, how the tane cry’d oh, on, oh on, Shenet my cows shot, houp, poup, co’ she, an wha shot her, a de’d it was the de’il, oh hough, oh hough, Shenet we’ll a’ be kill’d whan the de’il has gotten a gun.

Mag. A sweet be wi’ us woman, is nit an unco thing they dinna a’ flee on the minister, whan he flytes and misca’s them sae, do ye think they hear him?

Jan. A doubtless but they hear and sees too, they’re neither blind nor bleer-ey’d, but ay whan ye speak o’ them, name the day cry it’s wansday thro’ a’ the warld and there’s nae fear o’ you.[131]

Mag. But what de ye think o’ our minister, is he a good man think ye?

Jan. Indeed I think he’s a gay gabby body, but he has twa fauts, and his wife has three, he’s unko greedy o’ siller, and he’s ay preaching down pride, and up charity, and yet he’s that fou o’ pride himsel, that he has gotten a glass window on ev’ry side o’ his nose, and his een is as clear as twa clocks to luk to, he has twa gigglet gilliegaukies o’ dochters, comes into the kirk wi’ their cobletehow mutches frizel’d up as braid’s their hips, and clear things like starns about their necks, and at ev’ry lug a walloping white thing hanging like a snotter at a bubbly wean’s nose, syne about their necks, a bit thin claith like a mouse web and their twa bits o’ paps playing ay niddity nod, shining through it like twa yearning bags, shame fa’ them and their fligmagaries baith, for I get nae good o’ the preaching looking at them; and syne a’ the dirty sherney hought hizies in the parish maun hae the like or lang gae; but an I ware to preach, sic pride sudna hae baith peace and property in my parish, I wou’d point out my very finger to them in the kirk, and name them baith name and sirname, and say there sits sherney Meg o’ the mill, stumpy May o’ the moss, sniveling Kate wi’ her hodle-makenster coat, they came into the kirk bobbing their hin quarters like three water wag tails, shaking their heads like a hunder pund horse, smacking their lips and hauding their mouth like May puddocks; and what shall I compare them to, but painted Jezebels; the whore of Babylon or Rachel the harlot, with a’ their gaudy decoying colours, high taps, and spread glittering tails, whan they come sailing into the house of prayer, as it were a house o’ dancing and debaushery, go, go, ye painted pisweips to fairs and weddings, and there display your proud banners of pride which ye are puffed up with, it is the very spirit o’ the devil, and unbecoming o’ the house o’ prayer: But if these gillygaukies shou’d come into the kirk with their heels up and their heads down, our mess John is become like ane o’ the dogs of Egypt, he’ll no move his tongue, and I believe he darna for Clipock his wife; wha’s element is to banter a’ the poor beggars from her door, nane can stand her but the tinkler wives, and she’s ay whinging about charity, but it’s to hersel, she widna pity the cripple on the blind’s back, but bids gae hame to their ain parish filthy beggar dirt,[132] she casts a’ her cauld paritch and kail to the cocks and hens, kicks the poor colly dogs out at the door, ca’s them filthy useless brutes, because they canna lay eggs, like hens eggs, she’s ay flyting on her lasses, hungers her servant lad, eats cocks and hens hersel, and gars the poor minister eat saut herrin.

Mag. A well I wat then I wish he may not turn a drucken body, for herring maks fouk ay dry, but well I wat Janet ye hae tell’d their faults on baith the sides, an I hae ae great faut to our minister yet, and tho’ I ware dead and rotten the night afore the morn I’ll neither forgi’ him nor yet forget him, a what he said to me, that I sud be ta’en and douked for offerin to marry agen, a woman at my age; an auld man, said he, ought to marry some kindly body to keep him clean in his auld age, but an auld woman (said he) that can wash a dud sark to themsels needs nae men; and now no Janet, I am no to ca’ very auld although I be stricken in years, I dinna ken my ain age, being kirsen’d in the time o’ Paepery;[133] I hae the penny, tho’ bair o’ flesh and blood, has four good teeth before and well willin gums in the backside, I canna gang far without a staff, an yet I wad as fain be married as whan I was fifteen year auld, O woman! but a man in the bed is an usefu body, they hae a sweet breath, and natural heat to keep a body warm; but an our minister ware an auld wife, he wad ken what the want of a bit man is as well as I, and a’ this began about wanton Wat the town taylor that promis’d to tak me again sic a time or tell me what for, mony a pickle well butter’d kail bleds I gi’d him, held out frae my ain wame and stappit in a his, he said he wad do as muckle to me again, but he has na don’t fause loun carle it he was, cheated me out o’ sax pund and twa sarks and then gar’d me mak a fool o’ mysel whan the laird’s duket[134] was biggit and made a’ white to gar the dows come, he said an my window ware as white they wad come to me too, and I like a poor fool took a basin fu’ o’ good bear meal and made it drammock and whitened a my window wi’t, but the never a dow came near hand me the mair o’t, but a’ the town dogs came pyking and licking it at night and day, I was plagued wi’ them till a gude shure came and wisht awa agen, the laird an every body came to look and laugh at it.[135]

Jan. But Maggy an ye be a mind to marry ye maun snod yoursel better up, cast awa your staff, singe your whiskers wi’ a candle or fir stick, stand straight up like a rash kekle, and looky cantylike whan the carles is gaun by, tak a mouthfu’ o’ good meat, and a drap dram in the mornin will keep the dirt aff your face and raise the red in your cheek, ye see the hens turns ay red lugget or they begin to lay: a body that wants a bit man will use mony a shift for ane, I ken how I did mysel whan I was fourteen lang year a widow, and thought never to gotten ane, I feed our John, whan he was a saft silly docus callan to ca’ the pleugh, and keepit him three years till he turn’d a wally whincer and fain wad I had him, but he widna speak o’t to me, but ae day we was in the house our lane, an I ties a gude hard stane knot on the strings o’ my toy beneath my chin, an fykes wi’t awee, then says, O Johnny my man look an ye can louse this knot wi’ your teeth, he lays a hand on every shouther and louses the knot, and I gripes him by the twa lugs and gies him a kiss, and saes poor man Johnny thou has a sweet breath, thou needsna want a bit kiss o’ me whan thou likes lad, I true that culli’d him hither ay the mair, ha, ha, thou has nae art woman.

Enters Humphray Clinker, hearing a’ that past, perswades his aunt Maggy that no man would marry such as her, for she looked like a picture of death riding upon hunger’s back, a rickle of banes row’d up in a runkly skin, had wasted her body with water lythocks into a scrufe of skin and bane for want of teeth to chow bread for the nourishment of her body, and that he was com’d on purpose to write her testament or latter will, that it was a lightness in her brain before death; therefore she ought to go to bed and die directly,[136] which she accordingly did[137] by taking thought of what was said to her, the priest being sent for came and discoursed with her, but still she keeping her purse in her hand, which he observed, desired she would give it to her friends or she died, to which she would answer by her sooth that she wad not, for she wad tak it wi’ her, for she had heard every body say they were the better o’ the penny wi’ them, gang whare they like, and so died supposed to be an hundred and six years old.

Humphray’s aunt Janet is yet alive an has made an oration in praise of the old women, and on the pride of the young.

Finis.

JANET CLINKER’S ORATION.

The madness of this unmuzzled age has driven me to mountains of thoughts, and a continual meditation: It is enough to make an auld wife rin red-wood, and drive a body beyond the halter’s-end of ill-nature, to see what I see, and here what I hear: Therefore the hinges of my anger are broke, and the bands of my good and mild nature are burst in two, the door of civility is laid quite open, plain speech and mild admonition is of none effect; nothing must be used now but thunder-bolts of reproach tartly trimm’d up in a tantalizing stile, roughly redd up and manufactured thro’ an auld Matron’s mouth, who is indeed but frail in the teeth, but will squeeze surprizingly with her auld gums, until her very chaft-blades crack in the crushing of your vice.

I shall branch out my discourse into four heads.

First, What I have seen, and been witness to.

Secondly, What I now see, and am witness to.

Thirdly, What I have heard, does hear, and cannot help; I mean the difference between the old women and the young.

Fourthly, Conclude with an advice to young men and young women, how to avoid the buying of Janet Juniper’s stinking butter,[138] which will have a rotten rift on their stomach as long as they live.[139]

First, The first thing then, I see and observe is, that a wheen daft giddy-headed, cock-nosed, juniper nebbed mothers, bring up a wheen sky-racket dancing daughters, a’ bred up to be ladies, without so much as the breadth of their lufe of land, it’s an admiration to me, whare the lairds are a’ to come frae that’s to be coupled to them; work, na, na, my bairn manna work, she’s to be a lady, they ca’ her Miss, I maun hae her lugs bor’d says auld Numps the mither; thus the poor pet is brought up like a mitherless lamb, or a parrot in a cage; they learn naething but prick and sew, and fling their feet when the fidle plays, so they become a parcel of yellow-faced female-taylors, unequal matches for countrymen, Flanders-babbies, brought up in a box, and must be carried in a basket; knows nothing but pinching-poverty, hunger and pride; can neither milk kye, muck a byre, card, spin, nor yet keep a cow from a corn-rigg; the most of such are as blind penny-worths, as buying pigs in pocks, and ought only to be matched with Tacket-makers, Tree-trimmers, and Male-taylors, that they may be male and female agreeable in trade, since their piper fac’d fingers are not for hard labour; yet they might also pass on a pinch for a black Sutor’s wife, for the stitching of white seams round the mouth of a lady’s shoe; or, with Barbers or Bakers they might be buckled, because of their muslin-mouth and pinch-beck speeches, when barm is scant, they can blow up their bread with fair wind, and when the razor is rough, can trim their chafts with a fair tale, oil their peruke with their white lips, and powder the beau’s pow with a French-puff; they are well versed in all the science of flattery, musical tunes, horn-pipes, and country-dances, though perfect in none but the reel of Gamon.

Yet these are they the fickle farmer fixes his fancy upon; a bundle of clouts, a skeleton of bones, Maggy and the Much, like twa fir-sticks and a pickle tow, neither for his plate nor his plow; very unproper plenishing, neither for his profit nor her pleasure, to plout her hands through Hawkey’s[140] caff-cog, is a hateful hardship for Mammy’s Pet, and will hack a’ her hands. All this I have seen and heard, and been witness to; but my pen being a goose-quill, cannot expose their names nor places of abode, but warns the working-men out of their way.

Secondly, I see another sort, who can work, and maun work till they be married, and become mistresses themselves; but as the young man receives them, the thrift leaves them; before that, they wrought as for a wager, they span as for a premium, busked as for a brag, scour’d their din skins as a wauker does worsted blankets, kept as mim in the mouth as a minister’s wife, comely as Diana, chaste as Susanna, yet the whole of their toil is the trimming of their rigging, though their hulls be everlastingly in a leaking condition; their backs and their bellies are box’d about with the fins of a big fish,[141] six petticoats, a gown and apron, besides a side sark down to the ankle-banes; ah! what monstrous rags are here, what a cloth is consumed for a covering to one pair of buttocks! I leave it to the judgement of any ten taylors in town, if 30 pairs of mens’ breeches may not be cut, from a little above the easing of Bessy’s bum, and this makes her a motherly-like woman, as sturdy a fabric as ever strade to market or mill.

But when she’s married she turns a madam, her mistress did not work much, and why should she! Her mother tell’d ay she wad be a lady, but cou’d never show where her lands lay; but when money is all spent, credit broken, and conduct out of keeping, a wheen babling bubly bairns, crying piece minny, parich minny, the witless waster[142] is at her wit’s-end. Work now or want, and do not say that the world has war’d you; but Lofty-Nodle, your giddy-headed-mother has led you astray, by learning you to be a lady, before ye was fit to be a servant-lass, by teaching you laziness instead of hard labour, by giving you such a high conceit of yourself, that no body thinks any thing of you now, and you may judge yourself to be one of those, that wise people call Littleworth; but after all, my Dear Dirty-face, when you begin the warld again, be perfectly rich before you be gentle, work hard for what you gain, and you’ll ken better how to guide it, for pride is an unperfect fortune, and a ludicrous life will not last long.

Another sort I see, who has got more silver than sense, more gold than good nature, more muslins and means than good manners, tho’ a sack can hold their siller, six houses and a half cannot contain their ambitious desires. Fortunatus’s wonderful purse[143] would fail in fetching the fourth part of their worldly wants, and the children imitate their mothers, chattering like hungry cranes, crying still I want, I want, ever craving, willfully wanting, till all be brought to a doleful dish of desolation, and with cleanness of teeth, a full breast, an empty belly, big pockets without pence, pinching penury perfect poverty, drouth, hunger, want of money, and friends both, old age, dim eyes, feeble joints, without shoes or clothes, the real fruits of a bad marriage, which brings thoughtless Fops to both faith and repentance in one day.

Thirdly, Another thing I see, hear, and cannot help, is the breeding of bairns, and bringing them up like bill-stirks, they gie them walth o’ meat, but nae manners: but whan I was a bairn, if I didna bend to obedience, I ken mysel what I gat which learned me what to gie mine again; if they had tell’d me tuts, or prute-no, I laid them o’er my knee, and a com’d crack for crack o’er their hurdies, like a knock bleaching a harn-web, till the red wats stood on their hips, this brought obedience into my house, and banished dods and ill-nature out at the door; I dang the de’il out o’ them, and dadded them like a wet dish-clout till they did my bidding: But now the bairns are brought up to spit fire in their mither’s face, and cast dirt at their auld daddies: How can they be good who never saw a sample of it; or reverence old age, who practised no precepts in their youth? How can they love their parents, who gave them black poison instead of good principles? Who shewed them no good, nor taught them no duties! No marvel such children despise old age, and reverence their parents as an old horse does his father.

Fourthly, The last prevailing evil which I see, all men may hear, but none strive to help,[144] the banishment of that noble holy-day called the Sabbath, which has been blasted by a whirl-wind from the south; I am yet alive who saw this hurricane coming thro’ the walled city[145] near Solway in the South; it being on a Sunday, and a beautiful sun-shine day amangst some foul weeks in harvest-weather, which caused the Lord Mayor of the place to work hard, and put in the whole fields of wheat harvest, and the priests of that church commended him therefore: Because the season was backward, why should not man be disobedient! And this infection is come here also, surely the loss of this Sabbath-day will be counted a black Saturday to some; when I walk in the fields, I know it not but by the stopping of the plow, when in the city, only by the clossness of a few shop-doors and the sound of the bells; degenerate ideas of religion indeed! when the high praise is sounded only by bell-metal, A sounding Brass and a tinkling Cymbal: Is it not come to pass, the taverns roar like Ætna’s mouth; children follow their gaming, and old sinners their stroling about, nothing stopt but coal-carts and common carriers, the Sabbath lasts no longer than the sermon, and the sermon is measured by a little sand in a glass; many, too many frequent the church, seemingly only to show their antic dress, with heads of a monstruous form, more surprizing than those described by Aristotle, as for length exceeding that of an asses’s head, ears and all; and ah! How humbling would it be, to see their heads struck into such a hideous form, &c.

They disdain now to ride on pads as of old, or to be hobled on a horse’s hurdies, but must be hurled behind the tail, safely seated in a leather conveniency, and there they fly swiftly as in the chariot of Aminadab.[146]

They will not speak the mother language[147] of their native country, but must have southern oaths, refined like raw-sugar thro’ the mills of cursing, finely polished, and fairly struck in the profane mint of London, into a perfect form of flunky-language; even the very wild Arabs from the mountain-tops, who have not yet got English to profane his Maker’s name, will cry, Cot, Cot; hateful it is to hear them swear, who cannot speak. O! strange alteration since the days of old![148] the downful of Popery, and the Prelates’ decay, when reformation was alive, and religion in taste and fashion; the people during the sabbath, were all packed up in closets, and their children kept within doors, when every city appeared like a sanctuary, nothing to be heard on the streets, but the sound of prayer on the right-hand, and the melodious sound of psalms on the left.

Now is the days of counting, scribing, riding of horses, and the sound of the post-horn come; surely there will be trade now; and none will miss prosperity when every day is a fair; I add no more on this head, but every one claim a right to his own set time, &c.

Another grievance of the female offenders I cannot omit, which attacks a man’s fancy, and is the cause of his fall;[149] I mean Flighters who has gotten a little of the means of Mammon, more silver than sense, more gold than good nature, haughtiness for humility, value themselves as a treasure incomprehensible, their heads and hearts of Ophir-gold, their hips of silver, & their whole body as set about with precious stones, great and many are the congresses of their courtship, and the solemnizing of their marriage is like the conclusion of a peace after a bloody and tedious war.[150]

And what is she after all! yea, her poor penny will never be exhausted, it must be laid out in lunacy and laziness, she must have fine teas and the tuther thing: When pregnancy and the speuing of porich approaches, then she prophecies of her death; as she hatches life, she embraces laziness; then O the bed, the bed, nothing like the bed for a bad wife, her body becomes as par-boil’d,[151] being so bed-ridden, this rots their children in the brewing, and buries them in the bringing up; yea, some mothers are so beastly, as to water the bed and blame the child therefore; yet such lazy wives live long, and their children soon die; their far fetched feigned sickness, soon render the husband to the substance of one sixpence, he becomes poor and hen-peck’t under such petticoat government.

But when I Janet was a Janet, and had the judgement of my own house, my husband was thrice happy, I never held him down, he was above me day and night, I sat late and raise early, kept a fu’ house and rough back, when summer came we minded winter’s cauld, we had peace ay at porich-time, and harmony through the day; we supp’d our sowens at supper-time with a seasonable heat, and went to bed good bairns kent naething but stark love and kindness, we wrought for riches, and our ages and earthly stores increased alike, we hated pride and loved peace, he died with a good name; I let you ken I live, but not as many do, not so lordly of my brain as some are of their belly! and was not my life strange by that now practised? Come help yourselves you hillocat-livers and avoid it.

Now after a’, if a poor man want a perfect wife, let him wale a weel blooded hissie wi’ braid shouders an thick about the haunches, that has been lang servant in ae house, tho’ twice or thrice awa’ and ay fied back, that’s weel liked by the bairns and the bairns’ mither, that’s naeway cankard to the cats, nor kicks the colly-dogs amang her feet, that wad let a’ brute-beasts live, but rats, mice, lice, flaes, neets and bugs, that bites the wee bairns in their cradles, that carefully comb the young things’ heads, washes their faces, and claps their cheeks, snites the snotter frae their nose[152] as they were a’ her ain, that’s the lass that will mak a good wife; for them that dauts the young bairns, will ay be kind to auld fouk an they had them.

And ony hale-hearted halsome hissie, that wants to halter a good husband, never tak a widow’s ae son, for a’ the wifely gates in the warld will be in him, for want of a father to teach him manly actions; neither tak a sour looking sumf wi’ a muckle mouth, and a wide guts, who will eat like a horse and soss like a sow, suffer none to sup but himsel, eat your meat and the bairns baith; when hungry angry, when fu’ full of pride, ten sacks will not haud his sauce, tho’ a pea-shap wad haud his siller: But go, tak your chance, and if cheated, channer not on me, for fashionable fouk flee to fashionable things, for lust is brutish-blind, and fond love is blear-ey’d. I add no more, says Janet; so be it, said Humphray the Clerk.

Finis.

THE COMICAL AND WITTY JOKES OF JOHN FALKIRK.

A certain old reverend priest, being one night at supper in a gentleman’s house; and for one article having eggs, the server of the table, as usual laid a cloath on every ones knee, wherewith to hold their egg in when hot, when supper was over, the priest looking down between his legs, and seeing the white cloath thought it was his shirt-tail: and very slyly stops it into his breeches bite, and bite, which the lady and her maid observed, but was ashamed to challenge him; so home he went with the servet in his breeches, and knew nothing of it till going to bed, when it fell from him, his wife enquired how he came by it, he could not tell, but was surprized how he came to have more bulk in his breeches than formerly, but perceiving the name they sent it back again, the priest pleaded to be excused own’d himself only a thief through ignorance.[153]

An old gentleman and his two sons, being in a company, his oldest son sitting next him, spoke a word which highly displeased his father; for which his father gave him a hearty blow on the side of the head: A well said he, I will not lift my hand to strick at my parents, but gives his other brother that sat by him, a blow on the ear, saying give that about by the way of a drink, till it comes to my father again.

A sailor being traveling between Edinburgh and Linlithgow which is twelve long computed miles: and as he was setting out in the morning about 8 o’clock, he seed a vain like young spark go running past him, which he never minded, but kept jogging on at his own leisure: and as he was going into Linlithgow, about twelve o’Clock, up comes the young spark, and asked the sailor, what a Clock it was, why says the sailor, I see you have a watch and I have none, what is it? out he pulls his watch, ho said he, it’s directly twelve, and what do you think, it was half an hour after ten or I came out of Edinburgh, I have walked it in an hour and a half; it is pretty well tript, says the sailor, but pray sir, what man of business are you? O! said he, I am a watch maker, I was thinking so, said the sailor, for you have made your watch to answer your feet, for those feet can’t answer a right watch, and I suppose your tongue can’t keep time with none of them do you remember where you went past me this morning about eight o’Clock; O yes said he, and off he went.

As two maids was coming from the milking of their cows, one of them steping over a style, fell and spill’d the whole peal full of milk from her head O said she, what will I do, what will I do, O said the other maid, let it go who can help it now, you can make it up again it is not your maiden-head: My maiden-head said she, if it were my maiden-head, I would think nothing of it, many, many a time, I have lost my maiden-head with great pleasure, and I got it ay again, it came ay back to its ain place again, but I’ll never gather up my milk again.

A sailor being one night in company with a country taylor, O said the taylor, but your trade is a very dangerous trade, do you ever pray any? yes said the sailor, when we’re hard beset we pray to blast one anothers eyes and limbs, if they wont be nimble and quick, a wow man but that’s a sad trade, said the taylor, and what trade was your father? why said the sailor, he was a sailor too, and where did he die, said the taylor? why he was drowned at sea, and O man! said the taylor are you not fear’d to go to sea? not I said the sailor: But what trade was your father? indeed said the taylor, he was a taylor as well as me, and where did he die? said the sailor, indeed he died in his bed, says the poor taylor. O then says the sailor, are not you afraid to go to bed lest you die there too.[154]

Three merry companions having met on a saturdays night at an Ale house, (a hatter and a shoemaker, and a taylor,) where they drunk heartily all that night, and to morrow until mid day; and their beats was who had the lovingest wife: So they agreed for a trial of their good nature that every man should do, whatever his wife bade him do; as soon as ever he went home, or who did not as she ordered him, was to pay all the reckoning, which was seven and six-pence, or if all of them did as their wives bade them: then they were to pay all alike: so on this agreement they all came away, first to the hatters house, and in he goes like a madman, dancing and jumping round the floor, his wife at the very time was taking of the pot and setting it in the floor, he still dancing about, now says the wife, ding over the pot with thy madness, so he gives it a kick, and over it went, and that saved him as he had done what his wife bad him do. Then away he goes to the taylors house, and in he goes dancing likewise, but his wife fell a scolding him. O says he, my dear give me a kiss? kiss my arse you drunken rogue, said she; then to her he flys and whips her over in the bed, up with her petty coats and kisses her arse before them all, and that saved him; then away they went to the shoe-makers, and in he goes very merry and dancing about as he saw the other two do: saying come my dear heart and give me a kiss: go hang yourself you drunken dog said she, so he must either go and hang himself directly or pay all the reckoning.

An honest highlandman not long since, not much acquainted with the law, fell out with one of his neighbours, and to the law they went; he employed one advocate, and his opposite another, and as they were debeating it in court before the judges, the highlandman being there present, a friend of his asked him how he thought it would go, or who would win the day, indeed said the highland man, his law man speaks well, and my law man speaks well, I think we’ll both win, and the judges will lose for they speak but a word now and then.

A young woman by the old accident having got herself with child, was called to the Session for so doing: and after one elder another examining her how she got it, and where she got it, and what tempt her to get it; and no doubt the de’il wad get her for the getting of it; last of all the minister he fell a enquiring how she got it, which run the poor lass out of all patience about the getting of it, says the priest: tell me plainly where it was gotten, I tell you said she, that it was gotten in the byre, at a cows staike, and what other place do you want to ken about: but said he, he did not tye you to the cows staike, no said she, I did not need any tying, and how far was between the byre and the house? just butt and ben, up and down twa steps of a stone stair, then says the priest, why did you not cry to the folks in the house: indeed sir, said she, I could not get cried for laughing at it.

An old sodger being on a furlough from the north of Scotland, having got no breakfast, fell very hungry by the way and no ale house being near; came into a farmers house, and desired they would sell, him some bread, or any kind of victuals: to which the surly good wife reply’d, she never sold any bread, and she was not going to begin with him, he had but three miles and a bittok[155] to an ale-house, and he might march on, and she did fair enough when she gide bits of bread for naething to beggars though she gide nane to idle sodgers; he had naething to do there awa: Hute said the goodman gi’ him a laidle fu’ o’ our kail, he’s been ay somebodys bairn, before he was a sodger,[156] What said she there not a drop in the pot, they’re a’ in the plate before you, then gi’ him a spoon and let him sup wi’ us, the soldier gets a spoon and thinking he could sup all he seed himself, the first soup he put in his mouth, spouted it back again in the plate, and crys out O my sore mouth, the hide’s all of it yet since I had the Clap then every one threw down his spoon, the soldier got all to sup himself, the wife stood cursing and scolding all the while, and when he was done burnt both plate and spoon in the fire to prevent the Clap: So the soldier came off with a full belly, leaving the wife dressing the goodmans rigging with a four footed stool, for bidding him sup.

A great drover who frequainted a public inn in the north of England as he passed and repassed agreed with the servant maid of the house, for a touch of love: for which he gave her a six and thirty shilling piece: But on the next morning mounted his horse without asking a bill, or what was to pay, but sir, said the landlord, you forgot to pay your reckoning well minded, sir said he, I want my change I gave your maid a six and thirty to change, the poor maid is called on in haste, yes said she I got it, but it was not for that, throws it down and off she goes, her mistress understood and gave her the challenge, she told her it was so, but she should be up with him; so in twelve months thereafter, he came past with his drove, puts up at the same inn as foremerly; then the girl goes to a neighbour woman, and borrows a young child about three months old, comes into the company where he was, lays it down on the table, saying, sir there’s the change of your six and thirty, and away she comes; the child crys, and the bells rung, the landlord was ready enough to answer, O sir, said he, call her back for this will ruin my family and crack my credit, but sir said the girl, you thought nothing to ruin my character and crack my maiden head; peace, peace said he, my dear, here’s one hundred and fifty pound and take away the child and trouble me no more, well said she I’ll take it: But you will make more of buying cows than maiden heads; so away she came with the money, and returned the borrowed child to its own mother.

A churlish husband and virtuous wife one time fell sadly out, because the wife had given something to the poor, what, said he, mistress, I’ll let you know there is nothing about this house but what is mine and you’re mine, and your very arse is mine; a well well goodman, then you will let me have nothing take it all and give me peace: So away they went to bed the goodwife turned her backside towards the goodman, and as he was falling asleep, she draws up her smoke, and let’s fly in the goodman’s shirt-tail, which wakened him in a great fright, as he had been shot; ay, ay, woman, what are ye about; what am I about, said she, dear woman your filling the bed, not I goodman, for when my arse was my own I took care of it, and take you care of it now it is yours. O rise woman and clean the bed, and keep your arse, and a’ the liberty ye had before, and more if you want it, fich fich, what’s this! am a dirt.

A ships crew being one time in great distress at sea by reason of a violent storm, and being all fallen down to prayer, expecting every moment to go to the bottom; there happened to be an old gentleman a passenger on board with them who had a great big red nose with drinking ale and whisky; and being all at their last prayer as they thought, a little boy burst out into loud laughter: O thou thoughtless rogue said the captain what makes thee to laugh in seeing us all on the point of perishing, why, said the boy, I cannot but laugh, to think what a fine sport it will be when we are all drowning, to see how that man’s red nose will make the water bizz when it comes about it, at which words they all fell a laughing, and cheered the crew, so that they made another attempt to weather it out, and got all safe on shore at last.

My lovely Bett,

The beauty of old age, thy hoary head and loutching shoulders inclines to mortality, yet I’ll compare thee to an eagle that has renewed her youth, or a leek with a white head and a green tail, this comes to thee with my kind compliments, for the kisses of thy lips, and the kindness I had to thy late bed-fellow fiddler Pate my brother pensioner, ah! how we drank other’s healths with the broe of the brewket[157] ewes, we brought from boughts of the German Boors, but its nonesence, to blow the dead when in the dust, yet a better violer never scrided on a silken cord, or kittled a cat’s tryps with his finger-ends, his elbow was souple as a eel, and his fingers dabbed at the jigging end like a hungry hen picking barley: I seldom or ever saw him drunk, if keep him from whisky and whisky from him; except that night, he trysted the pair of free stone breeches from Joseph the mason, and now my dear Bessy he’s got them he’s got them, for a free stone covers his body, holds him down and will do, and now, now, my dainty thing, my bonny thing, my best match for matrimony come take me now, or tell me now, I am in anger,[158] I’ll wait nae langer, I say be clever, either now or never, its a rapture of love, that does me move, I’ll have a wife or by my life, if she should be blind and criple, I’ll sell my win, for her meat and fun, the like ne’er gade down her thraple; so now Bessy I love you and my love lies upon you, and if ye love not me again some ill chance come upon you, as am flyting free and flitting free am both in love and banter; or may your rumple rust for me, I’ve sworn it by my chanter.

From John Kirk’s Wind-mill at Corky Crown.

Finis.

THE SCOTS PIPER’S QUERIES: OR JOHN FALKIRK’S CARICHES.

John Falkirk, commonly called the Scots Piper, was a curious little witty fellow, with a round face and a broad nose. None of his companions could answer the many witty questions he proposed to them, therefore he became the wonder of the age in which he lived. Being born of mean parents he got no education, therefore his witty invention was truly natural; and being bred to no business, he was under the necessity of using his genius in the composition of several small books, of which the following Cariches was one, which he disposed of for his support. He became author of many small Tracts, and the following curious and diverting pieces are said to be his composition, viz.:—The History of John Cheap the Chapman, The History of the Haveral Wives, Janet Clinker’s Oration, John Falkirk’s Witty Jokes, Jockie and Maggie’s Courtship, The Proverbs of the Pride of Women, History of Lothian Tom, with many others, which are well known in Scotland, England, and Ireland. In a word, he was

Q. What is the wisest behaviour of ignorant persons?

A. To speak of nothing but what they know, and to give their opinion of nothing but what they understand.

Q. What time is a scolding wife at the best?

A. When she is fast asleep.

Q. What time is a scolding wife at the worst?

A. When she is that wicked as to tear the hair out of her own head, when she cannot get at her neighbours, and thro’ perfect spite bites her own tongue with her own teeth, my hearty wish is, that all such wicked vipers may ever do so.

Q. What is the effectual cure and infallible remedy for a scolding wife?

A. The only cure is to get out of the hearing of her, but the infallible remedy is to nail her tongue to a growing tree, in the beginning of a cold winter night, and so let her stand till sun-rising next morning, she’ll become one of the peacegblest women that ever lay by a man’s side.

Q. What time of the year is it that there is most holes open?

A. In harvest when there are stubbles.

Q. At what time is the cow heaviest?

A. When the bull is on her back.

Q. Who was the goodman’s muckle cow’s calf’s mother?

A. None but the muckle cow herself.

Q. What is the likeliest thing to a man and a horse?

A. A tailor and a mare.

Q. What is the hardest dinner that ever a taylor laid his teeth to?

A. His own goose, tho’ ever so well boiled or roasted.

Q. How many tods’ tails will it take to reach up to the moon?

A. One if it be long enough.

Q. How many sticks gangs to the bigging of a craw’s nest?

A. None for they are all carried.

Q. How many whit’s will a well made pudding prick need?

A. If it be well made it needs no more.

Q. Who was the father of Zebedee’s children?

A. Who but himself.

Q. Where did Moses go when he was full fifteen years old?

A. Into his sixteenth.

Q. How near related is your aunty’s good-brother to you?

A. No nearer than my own father.

Q. How many holes are there in a hen’s doup?

A. Two.

Q. How prove you that?

A. There is one for the dung and another for the egg.

Q. Who is the best for catching of rogues?

A. None so fit as a rogue himself.

Q. Where was the usefulest fair in Scotland kept?

A. At Millgavie.[161]

Q. What sort of commodities were sold there?

A. Nothing but ale and ill wicked wives.

Q. How was it abolished?

A. Because those who went to it once would go to it no more.

Q. For what reason?

A. Because there was no money to be got for them, but fair barter, wife for wife, and he who put away a wife for one fault got a wife with two as bad.

Q. What was the reason that in those days, a man could put away his wife for pissing the bed, and not for sh——g it?

A. Because he could shute it away with his foot and ly down.

Q. What is the reason now a-days, that men court cast marry, and re-marry so many wives, and only but one in public at last?

A. Because private marriage is become as common as smuggling and cuckolding the kirk no more thought of than a man to ride a mile or two upon his neighbour’s mare, men get will and wale of wives, the best portion, and properest person is preferred, the first left the weak to the worst, and she whom he does not love, he shutes away with his foot, and lies down with whom he pleases.

Q. How will you know the bairns of our towns by all others in the kingdom?

A. By their ill-breeding, and bad manners.

Q. What is their behaviour?

A. If you ask them a question in civility, if it were but the road to the next town, they’ll tell you to follow your nose, and if you go wrong curse the guide.

Q. Are young and old of them no better?

A. All the odds lies in the difference, for if you ask a child to whom he belongs, or who is his father, he’ll tell you to kiss his father’s a—.

Q. What sort of creatures is kindliest when they meet?

A. None can exceed the kindness of dogs when they meet in a market.

Q. And what is collie’s kindness there?

A. First, they kiss others mouths and noses, smell all about, and last of all, they are so kind as to kiss others below the tail.

Q. What is the coldest part of a dog?

A. His nose.

Q. What is the coldest part of a man?

A. His knees.

Q. What is the coldest part of a woman?

A. The back parts of her body.

Q. What is the reason, that these three parts of man, woman, and dogs, are coldest?

A. Fabulous historian say that there was three little holes in Noah’s Ark, and that the dog stopt his nose in one, and the other the man put his knee in it, a third and biggest hole broke, the woman bang’d her backside in it and these parts being exposed to the cold blast, make them always cold ever since.

Q. And what does the women do to warm their cold parts?

A. The married women turn their backsides to the goodman’s belly; virgins and those going mad for marriage the heat of their maidenhead keeps them warm, old matrons, whirl’d o’er maidens, widow and widows bewitch’d hold up their coldest parts to the fire.

Q. And what remedy does the poor dog take for his cold nose?

A. Stops it below his tail the hottest bit in his body.

Q. What is the reason the dogs are worst on the chapmen, than on other strange people?

A. It is said the dogs have three accusations against the chapmen, handed down from father to son, or from one generation of dogs to another; the first is as old as Æsop the great wit of Babylon, the dog having a lawsuit against the cat, gained the plea, and coming trudging home with the decree below his tail a wicked chapman throwing his ellwan at him, he let it fa’ and so lost all his privileges thereby. The second is, because in old times the chapmen used to buy dogs and kill them for their skins. The third, when a chapman was quarterd in a farmer’s house, that night the dog lost his property the licking the pot.

Q. What creature resembles most a drunken piper?

A. A cat when she sips milk; she always sings, and so does a piper when he drinks good ale.

Q. What is the reason a dog runs twice round about before he ly down?

A. Because he does not know the head of his bed from the foot of it.

Q. What creature resembles most a long lean, ill looking greasy-fac’d lady for pride?

A. None so much as the cat, who is continually spitting in her lufe and rubbing her face, as many of such ladies do the brown leather of their wrinkled chafts.

Q. Amongst what sort of creatures will you observe most of a natural law?

A. The hart and the hind meet at one certain day in the year; the brood goose, lays her first egg on Fasterns Even, old stile; the crows begin to build their nest the first of March old stile; the swans observe matrimony, and if the female die, the male dares not take up with another or the rest will put him to death; all the birds in general join in pairs and keep so; but the dove resembles the adulterer, when the shoe-one turns old, he puts her away, and takes another; the locusts observe military order, and march in bands; the frogs resemble pipers and preachers, for the young ride the old to death.

Q. Who are the merriest and heartiest people in the world?

A. The sailors, for they’ll be singing and cursing one another when the waves, their graves, are going over their heads.

Q. Which are the disorderliest creatures in battle?

A. Cows and dogs for they all fall on them that are neath-most.

Q. Who are the vainest sort of people in the world?

A. A barber, a tailor, a young soldier, and a poor dominie.

Q. What is the great cause of the barber’s vanity?

A. His being admitted to trim noblemen’s chafts, thyke their sculls, take kings by the nose, and hold a razor to his very throat, which no other subject else dare do.

Q. What is the great cause of the tailor’s pride?

A. His making of peoples new clothes, of which every person, young and old is proud of, then who can walk in a vainer shew than a tailor carrying home a gentleman’s clothes.

Q. What is the cause of a young soldier’s pride?

A. When he lists, he thinks he is free from his mother’s correction, the hard usage of a bad master, has a liberty to curse, swear, whore, and do every thing; until he be convinced by four halberts and the drummer’s whip that he has now got both a military and civil law above his head, and perhaps worse masters than ever.

Q. What is the cause of the poor dominie’s pride?

A. As he is a teacher of the young and ignorant, he supposes no man knows what he knows, the boys call him master therefore he thinks himself a great man.

Q. What sort of a song is it that is sung without a tongue, and its notes are understood by people of all nations?

A. It is a fart which every person knows to be but wind.

Q. What is the reason that young people are vain, giddy-headed, and airy, and not so humble as the children of former years?

A. Because they are brought up and educat after a more haughty strain, by reading fables, plays, novels, and romances; gospel books, such as the psalm-book, proverbs, and the catechisms are like old almanacks; nothing in vogue, but fiddle, flute, Troy and Babylonish tunes; our plain English corrupted with beauish cants, dont, wont, nen, and ken, a jargon worse than the Yorkshire dialect.[162]

Q. Why is swearing become so common amongst the Scot people?

A. Because so many lofty teachers come from the south amongst us, where swearing is practised in its true grammatical perfection, hot oaths, new struck, with as bright a lustre as a new quarter guinea.

Q. How will you know the bones of a mason’s mare at the back of a dyke amongst the bones of a hundred dead horses.

A. Because it is made of wood.

Q. Which are the two things not to be spared, but not to be abused.

A. A soldier’s coat, and a hired horse.[163]

Q. How is a man in debt like a nobleman?

A. Because he has many to wait on and call for him.

Q. How is swearing like a shabby coat?

A. Because it is a bad habit.

Q. How is a bad pen like a wicked and profligate man?

A. Because it wants mending.

Q. Why is a church bell like a story that is handed about?

A. Because it is often toll’d.

Q. What is a man like that is in the midst of a river and cannot swim?

A. He is like to be drowned.

Q. Why is a drawn tooth like a thing that is forgot?

A. Because it is out of one’s head.

Q. Why is a book like a tree?

A. Because it is full of leaves.

Q. Why is a good sermon like a plump pudding?

A. Because there is reasons in it.

Q. How is a whorish woman like a charitable person?

A. Because she brings her husband to a piece of bread.[164]

Q. How is a lawyer like a contentious person?

A. Because he breeds wrangling and jangling.

Q. Who is the greatest fool in the world?

A. A whore; for she hazards soul and body for a miserable livelihood.

Q. Who are the two greatest thieves in Great Britain?

A. Tea and Tobacco, for they pick the pockets of the whole nation.

Q. What is the difference between Ale-drapers and Linen-drapers?

A. Only this, the one cheats you with froth and the other with cloth.

Q. If Extortioners cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven, where will Usurers, Tallymen, and Pawn-brokers go?

A. The same road with Extortioners.

Q. What is the consequence of immoderate gaming?

A. By cards and dice, a man is ruin’d in a trice, for gaming and whoring often hang together.

Q. What employments are likest to one another?

A. Soldiers and Butchers are bloody near relations, for they both live by slaughtering and killing.

Q. What are the two hardest things to be found, and yet they are both good in their kind?

A. Good women and good small beer.

Q. Who is the likest to a Boatman?

A. An hypocrite, who always look one way and rows another, in all his transactions.

Q. What are the five greatest rarities to be found in the world?

A. A black Swan, a Phœnix, an Unicorn, the Philosophers’ Stone, and a maiden at sixteen.

Q. What is the greatest folly that sensible people can be guilty of?

A. To go to law about trifles, for whatever way the plea end, the lawyers will be the greatest gainers.

Q. Who has the honestest trade in the world?

A. Ballad-singers; for they always deal with ready-money: and it is as ancient as the Siege of Troy, for Homer was a ballad-singer.

Q. What is the surest method for one to become both rich and respectable?

A. To be sober and industrious.

Q. What is the best method of overcoming the argument of a positive person?

A. Either to say with him, or give him no answer.

Q. What is the wisest course to be followed by a man who has a brawling and scolding wife?

A. To keep silent, and then she’ll bite her own fingers with anger.

Q. What thing is that which is lengthened by being cut at both ends?

A. A Ditch.

Q. What is that which was born without a soul, lived and had a soul, yet died without a soul?

A. The whale that swallowed Jona.

Q. What is the longest and the shortest thing in the world? the swiftest and the slowest? the most indivisible and the most extended? the least valued and the most regretted? without which nothing can be done? which devours all that is small, yet gives life and spirit to all that is great?

A. Time.

Q. What creatures are those which appear closely connected, yet upon examination are found to be three distinct bodies, with eight legs, five on one side, and three on the other; three mouths, two straight forwards, and the third on one side; six eyes, four on one side, two on the other: six ears, four on one side, and two on the other?

A. A Man and Woman on horseback.

Q. Why is a churchyard like an inn?

A. Because it receives weary travellers.

Q. Why is a carrotty[165] lady like a troop of soldiers?

A. Because she bears fire-locks.

Q. What did Adam first set in the garden of Eden?

A. His foot.

Q. How is it that a clergyman’s horse is like a King?

A. Because he is guided by a minister.

Q. What is the difference between a boiled sheep’s head and a sheep’s head boiled?

A. In the first the sheep is boiled and in the last the head is boiled.

Q. What kind of snuff is that, the more that is taken the fuller the box is?

A. It is the snuff off the candle.

Q. What relation is that child to its own father who is not its father’ own son?

A. Surely his daughter.

Q. What is that which is often brought to table, always cut, but never eaten?

A. A pack of cards.

Q. Where was Peter when his candle went out?

A. He was in the dark.

Q. What relation is your uncle’s brother to you who is not your uncle?

A. He must be your father.

Q. What difference is there between twice five and twenty and twice twenty five?

A. The former is 30, the latter is 50.

Q. Why is a brewer’s horse like a tap-ster?

A. Because they draw drafts of drink.

END OF THE CARICHES.

THE COMICAL SAYINGS OF PADY FROM CORK.

Part I.

Tom. Good morrow, Sir, this is a very cold day.

Teag. Arra, dear honey, yesternight was a very cold morning.

Tom. Well brother traveller, of what nation art thou?

Teag. Arra dear shoy, I come from my own kingdom.

Tom. Why, Sir, I know that, but where is thy kingdom?

Teag. Allelieu dear honey, don’t you know Cork in Ireland.

Tom. O you fool, Cork is not a kingdom, but a city.

Teag. Then dear shoy, I’m shure it is in a kingdom.

Tom. And what is the reason you have come and left your own dear country?

Teag. Arra dear honey, by shaint Patrick, they have got such comical laws in our country, that they’ll put a man to death in perfect health; so to be free and plain with you, neighbour, I was obliged to come away, for I did not choose to stay among such a people that can hang a poor man when they please, if he either steals, robs, or kills a man.

Tom. Ay, but I take you to be more of an honest man, than to steal, rob, or kill a man.

Teag. Honest, I am perfectly honest, when I was but a child, my mother would have trusted me with a house full of mill-stones.

Tom. What was the matter, was you guilty of nothing?

Teag. Arra, dear honey, I did harm to nobody? but fancied an old gentleman’s gun, and afterwards made it my own.

Tom. Very well boy, and did you keep it so?

Teag. Keep it, I would have kept it with all my heart while I lived, death itself could not have parted us, but the old rogue, the gentleman, being a justice of the peace himself, had me tried for the rights of it, and how I came by it, and so took it again.

Tom. And how did you clear yourself without punishment?

Teag. Arra, dear shoy, I told him a parcel of lies, but they would not believe me; for I said that I got it from my father when it was a little pistol, and I had keeped it till it had grown a gun, and was designed to use it well until it had grown a big cannon, and then sell it to the military. They all fell a laughing at me as I had been a fool, and bade me go home to my mother and clean the potatoes.

Tom. How long is it since you left your own country?

Teag. Arra, dear honey, I do not mind whether it be a fortnight or four months, but I think myself, it is a long time; they tell me my mother is dead since, but I won’t believe it, until I get a letter from her own hand, for she is a very good scholar, suppose she can neither write nor read.

Tom. Was you ever in England before?

Teag. Ay, that I was, and in Scotland too.

Tom. And were they kind to you when you was in Scotland?

Teag. They were that kind, that they kick’t my arse for me, and the reason was because I would not pay the whole of the liquor that was drunk in the company, though the landlord and his two sons got mouthful about of it; they would have me pay it all, tho’ I did not drink it all, and I told them it was a trick upon travellers, first to drink his liquor, and then to kick him out of doors.

Tom. I really think they have used you badly, but could you not beat them?

Teag. That’s what I did, beat them all to their own contentment; but there was one of them stronger than me, who would have killed me, if the other two had not pulled me away, and I had to run for it, till his passion was over; then they made us drink and gree again; we shook hands, and made a bargain, never to harm other more; but this bargain did not last long, for, as I was kissing his mouth, by shaint Patrick, I bit his nose, which caused him to beat me very sore for my pains.

Tom. Well Pady, what calling was you when in Scotland.

Teag. Why sir, I was no business at all, but what do you call the green tree that’s like a whin bush, many people makes a thing to sweep the house of it!

Tom. O yes Pady, they call it a broom.

Teag. Ay, ay, you have it, then I was a gentleman’s broom, only waited on his horses, and washed the dishes for the cook; and when my master rode a hunting, I ran behind along with the dogs.

Tom. O yes, Pady, it was a groom you mean, but I fancy you was cook’s mate, or kitchen-boy.

Teag. No, no, it was the broom that I was, and if I had staid there till now, I might have been advanced as high as my master, for the ladies loved me so well, that they laughed at me.

Tom. They might admire you for a fool.

Teag. What sir, do you imagine that I am not a fool, no, no, my master asked counsel of me in all his matters, and I always gave him a reason for every thing: I told him one morning that he went too soon to the hunting, that the hares were not got out of their beds; and neither the barking of horns nor the blowing of dogs, could make them rise, it was such a cold morning that night; so they all ran away that we catched, when we did not see them. Then my master told my words to several gentlemen that was at dinner with him, and they admired me for want of wisdom, saying, I was certainly a man of great judgement, for my head was all of a lump, added, they were going a-fishing along with my master and me in the afternoon; but I told them it was a very unhappy thing for any man to go a hunting in the morning and a fishing in the afternoon; yet they would try it, but they had better staid at home, for it came on a most terrible fine night of south-west rain and even-down-wind: so the fishes got all below the water to keep them dry from the shower, and we catched them all, but got none of them.

Tom. And how long did you serve that gentleman, Pady?

Teag. Arra, dear honey, I was with him six weeks, and he beat me seven times.

Tom. For what did he beat you? was it for your madness and foolish tricks?

Teag. Dear shoy, it was not; but for being too inquisitive and going sharply about business. First, he sent me to the post-office, to enquire if there was any letters for him: so when I came there, said I, is there any letters here for my master to-day? Then they asked who was my master; sir, said I, it is very bad manners in you to ask any gentleman’s name: at this they laughed, mocking me, and said they could give me none, if I would not tell my master’s name: so I returned to my master, and told the impudence of the fellow, how he would give me no letters unless I would tell him your name, master. My master at this flew in a great passion, and kicked me down stairs, saying, Go you rogue and tell my name directly, how can the gentleman give letters, when he knows not who is asking for them! Then I returned and told my master’s name, so they told me there was one for him, I looked at it, but being very small, and asking the price of it; they told me it was sixpence! sixpence, said I, will you take sixpence for that small thing, and selling bigger ones for twopence; faith I am not such a big fool; you think to cheat me, now, this is not a conscionable way of dealing, I’ll acquaint my master of it first; so I came and told my master how they would have sixpence for his letter and was selling bigger ones for twopence; he took up my head and broke his cane with it, calling me a thousand fools, saying, the man was more just, than to take any thing but the right for it: but I was sure there was none of the right buying and selling such dear penny-worths: So I came again for my dear sixpence letter; and as the fellow was shuffling through a parcel of them, seeking for it again, to make the best of a dear market, I pick’t up two, and home I comes to my master, thinking he would be well pleased with what I had done, now, said I, master, I think I have put a trick on them fellows, for selling the letter to you: What have you done? said he, said I, I have only taken other two letters; here’s one for you, master, to help your dear penny-worth, and I’ll send the other to my mother to see whether she be dead or alive, for she’s always angry I don’t write to her: I had not the word well spoken, till he got up his stick and beat me heartily for it, and sent me back to the fellows again with the two: I had a very ill will to go, but nobody would buy them of me by the way.

Tom. A well, Pady, I think you was to blame, and your master too, for he ought to have taught you how to have gone about those affairs, and not beat you so.

Teag. Arra, dear honey, I had too much wit of my own to be teached by him, or any body else; he began to instruct me after that, how I should serve the table, and such nasty things as those: one night I took ben a roasted fish in one hand, and a piece of bread in the other; the old gentleman was so saucy he would not take it, and told me, I should bring nothing to him without a trencher below it: the same night as he was going to bed, he called for his slippers and pish-pot, so I clapt a trencher below the pish-pot, and another below the slippers, and ben I goes, one in every hand: no sooner did I enter the room, than he threw the pish-pot at me which broke both my head and the pish-pot at one blow: now, said I, the devil is in my master altogether, for what he commands at one time he countermands at another. Next day I went with him to the market to buy a sack of potatoes, I went to the potatoe-monger, and asked what he took for the full of a Scot’s cog, he weighed them in, he asked no less than fourpence; fourpence, said I, if I were but in Dublin, I could get the full of that for nothing, and in Cork and Kinsale far cheaper; them is but small things like pease, said I, but the potatoes in my country is as big as your head, fine meat, all made up in blessed mouthfuls; the potatoe-merchant called me a liar, and my master called me a fool, so the one fell a-kicking me, and the other a cuffing me, I was in such bad bread among them, that I called myself both a liar and a fool to get off alive.

Tom. And how did you carry your potatoes home from the market?

Teag. Arra, dear shoy, I carried the horse and them both, besides a big loaf, and two bottles of wine: for I put the old horse on my back, and drove the potatoes before me: and when I tied the load to the loaf, I had nothing to do but to carry the bottle in my hand: but bad luck to the way as I came home, for a nail out of the heal of my foot sprung a leak in my brogue, which pricked the very bone, bruised the skin, and made my brogue itself to blood: and I having no hammer by me, but a hatchet I left at home, I had to beat down the nail with the bottom of the bottle: and by the book, dear shoy, it broke to pieces, and scattered the wine in my mouth.

Tom. And how did you recompense your master for the loss of your bottle of wine?

Teag. Arra dear shoy, I had a mind to cheat him, and myself too, for I took the bottle to a blacksmith, and desired him to mend it, that I might go to the butcher and get it full of bloody water, but he told me he could not work in any thing but steel and iron. Arra, said I, if I were in my own kingdom, I could get a blacksmith who would make a bottle out of a stone, and a stone out of nothing.

Tom. And how did you trick your master out of it?

Teag. Why the old rogue began to chide me, asking me what way I broke it, then I held up the other as high as my head, and let it fall to the ground on a stone, which broke it all in pieces likewise: now, said I, master, that’s the way, and then he beat me very heartily, until I had to shout out mercy and murder all at once.

Tom. Why did you not leave him when he used you so badly.

Teag. Arra, dear shoy, I could never think to leave him while I could eat, he gave me so many good victuals, and promised to prefer me to be his own bone-picker. But by shaint Patrick, I had to run away with my life or all was done, else I had lost my dear shoul and body too by him, and then I came home much poorer than I went away. The great big bitch dog which was my master’s best beloved, put his head into a pitcher to lick out some milk, and when it was in he could not get it out, and I to save the pitcher got the hatchet and cut off the dog’s head, and then I had to break the pitcher to get out the head; by this I lost both the dog and the pitcher. My master, hearing of this, swore he would cut the head off me, for the poor dog was made useless, and could not see to follow any body for want of his eyes: And when I heard of this, I ran away with my own head, for if I had wanted it I had lost my eyes too, then I would not have seen the road to Port Patrick, through Glen-nap, but by shaint Patrick I came home alive in spite of them all.

Tom. O rarely done Pady, you behaved like a man, but what is the reason that you Irish people swear always by shaint Patrick, what is this shaint Patrick?

Teag. Arra, dear honey, he was the best shaint in the world, the father of all good people in the kingdom, he has a great kindness for an Irishman, when he hears him calling on his name; he was the first that sow’d the potatoes in Ireland, for he knew it was a bit of good fit ground, it being a gentleman’s garden before Noah’s flood.

Tom. But dear Pady, is shaint Patrick yet alive, that he hears the Irish people when they speak of his name?

Teag. Arra, dear honey, I don’t know whether he be dead or alive, but it’s a long time since they killed him, the people turned all heathens, for he would not change his profession, and was going to run the country with it, and for taking his gospel away to England, so the barbarous tories of Dublin cutted off his head, and what do you think he did when his head was off?

Tom. What could a dead man do you fool?

Teag. Dead, faith he was not such a big fool as to die yet, he swimmed over to England after this, and brought his head along with him.[166]

Tom. And how did he carry his head and swim too?

Teag. Arra, dear honey, he carried his head in his teeth.

Tom. No, Pady, it won’t hold, I must have caution for that.

Teag. If you won’t believe me, I’ll swear it over again.

PART II.

PART III.

A NEW CATECHISM, &c.

PADY’S HUMBLE PETITION, OR SUPPLICATION.

A CREED FOR ROMISH BELIEVERS.

SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES.

Simple John was a widow’s son, and a coarse country weaver to his trade; he made nothing but such as canvas for caff-beds, corn and coal-sacks, druggit and harn was the finest webs he could lay his fingers to; he was a great lump of a lang lean lad, aboon sax fit high afore he was aughteen year auld, and as he said himsel he grew sae fast and was in sic a hurry to be high, that he did not stay to bring a’ his judgment wi’ him, but yet he hoped it would follow him, and he would meet wi’t as mony a are does after they’re married; he had but ae sister, and she had as little sense as himsel, she was married on Sleeky Willy, the wylie weaver, his mither was a rattling rattle-scul’d wife, and they lived a’ in ae house, and every body held them as a family of fools. When John came to man’s state, to the age of twenty-one years, he tell’d his mither he would hae a wife o’ some sort, either young or auld, widow or lass, if they had but head and hips, tongue and tail, he shou’d tak them, and weel I wat mither, quoth he, they’ll get a lumping penny-worth o’ me, get me wha will.

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.

John. A deed goodman as ye’re ay dealing among dead beasts and living beasts, I wad put them awa amang ither beasts, or gin ye be aun ony penny, let some body tak them up o’ desperate debt, I sud flay the sikes frae them, they anger’d you an’ sham’d you baith wi’ their bastards, a wheen daft jades it gets men or they be married, and bairns or they get bridals.

Goodwife. A wat weel that’s true lad.

Girzy. A weel John than, will ye tak me, I hae nae bastards, how will you and I do?

John. I watna gin ye be able to get a bastard, yet ye may hae some war faut; but ye maun be my pennyworth for ye’re unco little, and I’m o’er muckle, and gin ye and I war ance cairded thro’ ither, we may get bonny weans o’ a midlen mak; I hae nae fauts to ye, but ye hae a high breast, a hump back, a short neck, and high shoulders, the hands and legs may do, tho’ your mouth be a wee bit to the tae side it will ly well to the rock and I hae a hantle o’ tow to spin, will be baith sarks and sacks till us, ye’ll be my sonsy dauty up and down; a perfect beauty, wi’ cats yellow een, black brows and red lips, and your very nose is a purpey colour, ye hae nae fauts at a’: now whan will we be married.

Girzy. Ha, ha, John lad, we maun think on that yet.

John. What the yeltow lass, shoudna ye be ready whan I’m ready, and every body says that the women’s aye ready.

Goodman. Ye’ll hae to come back and bring somebody wi’ you, and we’ll gree about it, and set the day whan ye’ll be married.

John. A well goodman I’ll tell my mither o’t, and come back on munonday, and we’ll hae a chappin o’ ale and roasted cheese on the gude chance o’t, but I maun hae a word o’ the bride outby to convoy me, an a quiet speak to hersel about it.

Good wife. A wow na John, the daft louns will laugh at you, and she’ll think shame, gang ye out by and she’ll speak to you thro’ the gavel window.

Out goes John, and the bride and her twa sisters goes to the window within to hear the diversion, and what he would say; now says John, Girzy my dear, my braw pretty woman, an ye be in earnest tell me, for by my suthe I’m no scorning.

Girzy. Indeed John I’m very willing to tak you, but ye need na tell every body about it.

John. Then gi’ me a kiss on that? He shutes his head in at the window, making a lang neck to win down to her, and she stood on a little stool to win up to him, O cries he, an ye were good flesh I could eat you a’ I like you sae well, it’s a pity there is sic a hard wa’ a ’tween us, I’se tell my mither sae bonny as ye’re: O gi’ me anither kiss yet an then I’ll go; one of her sisters standing by in a dark corner, get’s ha’d of a cow’s head which wanted a’ the skin but about the mouth, and shutes it towards his mouth, which he kiss’d in the dark, O cry’d he, but your mouth be cauld since I kiss’d ye last, and I think ye hae a beard, I saw nae that afore, or is’t wi’ spinning tow that maks your mouth sae rough at e’en?

Hame he comes, and tells his mither the speed and properties of the marriage; a’ things was got ready, and next week sleeky Willy the weaver and him came to gree the marriage and stay a’ night wi’ the bride, and teach John gude manners, for whan John was hungry he minded his meat more than his gude behaviour, and as he never was fu’ till the dish was tume, Willy the weaver was to tramp on his fit when he thought he had supped enough; so all things being agreed upon short and easy terms and the wedding day sett, they were to be three times cry’d on Sunday and quietly married on Munonday, neither piper nor fidler to be employ’d, but sweith awa’ hame frae the minister, and into the bed amang the blankets, ha, ha, cries John, that’s the best o’t a’.

Now every thing being concluded and proposed, the supper was brought, a large fat haggies, the very smell would done a hungry body gude, but John had only got twa or three soups until are of the butcher’s meikle dogs tramped on John’s fit, which he took to be the weaver, and then he would sip no more; after supper they went to bed, John and the weaver lay together, and then he abused the weaver for tramping sae soon which he denied; but O, said John, there’s a hantle o’t left, and I saw where it was set, they’re a’ sleeping, I’ll go rise and tak a soup o’t yet, ay een do sae said Sleeky Willy, and bring a soup to me too; away then John goes to the amry and lays to the haggies, till his ain haggies cou’d had nae mair, then brings the rest to Sleeky Willy, but instead of going to the bed whare he was, goes to the bed whare the bride and her twa sisters lay, they being fast asleep, speaks slowly, will ye tak it, will ye tak it, but they making no answers, he turns up the blankets to put a soup into Willy’s mouth, but instead of doing so, he puts a great spoonful close into one of their backsides, Sleeky Willy hears all that past, comes out o’ the bed, and sups out the remainders, and sets up the dish whare it was, leaves the amry door open to let the cats get the blame of supping the haggies, and awa’ they goes to bed, but poor John cou’d get nae sleep for drouth, up he gets in search of the water can, and finding an empty pitcher, puts in his hand to find if there was any water in it, but finding none, he closed his hand when it was within the pitcher, and then could not get it out, goes to the bed and tells Sleeky Willy what had happened him, who advised him to open the door and go out to a knocking-stane that stood before the door, and break it there to get out his hand, and not to mak a noise in the house, so out he goes, but the bride’s sister who had gotten the great spoonful of the haggies laid to her backside was out before him, rubbing the nastiness (as she took it to be) off the tail of her sark, and she being in a louting posture, he took her for the knocking-stane, and comes o’er her hurdies with the pitcher, till it flew in pieces about her, then off she runs wi’ the fright, round a turf stack and into the house before him; John comes in trembling to the bed again wi’ the fright, praying to preserve him, for sic a knocking stane he never saw, for it ran clean awa’ when he brake the pigg upon it.

Now John was furnished in a house by his Father-in-law, the bed, loom, heddles, treadles, thrums, reeds and pirn-wheel was a’ brought and set up, before the marriage, which was kept as a profound secret; so that John got the first night of his ain wife, and his ain house a’ at ae time: So on the next morning after the marriage, John and his wife made up some articles, how they were to work, and keep house, John was to keep the house in meat, meal, fire, and water; Girzy was to mak the meat and keep the house in clothes, the Father-in-law to pay their rent for three years, they were to hae no servants, until they had children, and the first child was to be a John after its ain Daddy, get it wha will, if a boy, and if a girl, Girzy after its ain Minny, as he said, wha had wrought best for’t.[170]

I. Then she ordered John to rise and begin his work, by putting on a fire, and take the twa new piggs and gang to the well, no sooner had John opened the door, and gone out with a pigg in every hand, than a’ the boys and girls being gathered in a croud to see him, gave a loud huzza, and clapping their hands at him, poor John not knowing what it meant, thought it was fine sport, began to clap his hands too, and not minding the two piggs, clashes the tane against the tither, till baith went in pieces, and that was a chearful huzza, to baith young and auld that was looking at him. Girzel the wife draws him into the house, and to him she flies with the wicked wife’s wapons, her Tongue and Tangs, made his ribbs to crack, saying, They tell’d me ye was daft, but I’ll ding the daffing out o’ ye, I’ll begin wi’ ye as I’m amind to end wi’ ye; poor John sat crying and clawing his lugs. Ha, ha, said he, its nae bairns play to be married, I find that already; his Mither-in-law came in and made up peace, went to a cooper, and got them a big wooden stoup to carry in their water.

II. Next morning John was sent to the flesh-market an errand to his Father-in-law, who gave him a piece of flesh to carry home, and as he was coming out of the market, he saw six or seven of the fleshers-dogs fall on and worry at a poor country colley dog, Justice, justice, cries John to the dogs, ye’re but a wheen unmannerly raskel’s, that fa’s a on ae poor beast, heth ye sude a’ be put in the toubooth, and tane to the bailies, and hang’d for the like o’ that, it’s perfect murder, and in he runs amongst the dogs, and be hang’d to you a’ the-gither, What is the quarrel? What is the quarrel? John flings down the flesh he had carrying, and grips the colley, who took John for an enemy too, and bites his hands, till the blood followed, the whole of the tykes comes on a poor John, till down he goes in the dirt amongst their feet, and one of the dogs runs off with his flesh, so John went hame both dirty and bloody without his flesh, tell’d Girzy how it happened, who applied her old plaister, her tangs and tongue, made John to curse the very minister that married them, and wished he might never do a better turn.

III. Next morning, John was sent to the well with the great stoup to bring in water for breakfast, and as he was pulling the stoup out of the well, in he tumbles, and his head down, the well being narrow, he you’d na win out, some people passing, by chance heard the slunge, cried, and runs to his relief, hail’d him out half dead, and helped him into the house, and after getting a dry sark, he was comforted with the old plaister, her tongue and the hard tangs.

IV. Next day, she says, John, I must go to the market myself, for if you go, you’ll fight wi’ the dogs, and let them run awa’ wi’ ony thing ye buy, see that ye put on the pot, and hae’t boiling again I come hame; John promised well, but performs very badly, she’s no sooner gone, than he puts on the new pot without any water in it, and a good fire to make it boil, and away he goes to the unhappy well, fills his stoup and sets it down, to look at a parcel of boys playing at Cat and Dog, they perswades John to take a game wi’ them, on he plays till are o’ the boys cries, hy John, yonder’s your Girzy coming. John runs into the house wi’ the water, and the pot being red hot on the fire, he tumes in the cold water into it, which made the pot flee all in pieces, just as she was entering the door. John runs for it, and she runs after him, crying, haud the thief, some persons stop’d him, she comes up, and then she laboured him all the way home, and he crying, O sirs, ye see what it is to be married; the Mither-in-law had to make up a peace again, and he promised good behaviour in time to come.

V. On the next morning she sent him to the water to wash some cows puddings, and turn them on a spindle, showing him how he was to do or he went away; John goes to the water very willingly, and as he turn’d and wash’d them, he laid them down behind him, where one of his Father-in-law’s big dogs stood, and ate them up as fast as he laid them down till all was gone but the very last one, which he carried home in his hand, crying like a child, and underwent a severe tost of the old plaister, before any mercy was shown.

VI. His Father-in-law next day sent him away to bring home a fat calf he had bought in the country, and tied up the money in a napkin, which he carried in his hand for fear he should lose it, being very weighty as it was all in halfpence, and as he was going alongst a bridge, he meets a man running after a horse, who cries to John to stop the horse, John meets him on the top of the bridge, and when he wou’d not be stopped for him, he knocks the horse on the face wi’ the napkin and the money, so the napkin broke and most of the half-pence flew over the bridge in the water, which made poor John go home crying very bitterly for his loss, and dread of the auld plaister which he got very sickerly.

VII. On the next morning, she sent him again to the bridge to see if he you’d find any of it in the water, and there he found some ducks sweeming, and ducking down with their heads below the water, as he thought gathering up his money he kills one of them and rips her up, but found none of it in her guts or gabbie, then says he, they have been but looking for it, I’ll go do as they did, strips off his clothes and leaves them on the bridge, goes in a ducking, in which time a rag man came past and took away all his clothes, so he went home naked to get a bath of the old plaister.

VIII. The next morning she sent him to a farm house for a piggful of butter milk, and as he was returning through the fields the farmer’s bull and anither bull was fighting, the farmer’s bull being like to lose, John runs in behind him and sets his head to the bull’s tail, in purpose to help him to push against the other, but the poor bull thought John was some other bull attacking him behind, fled aside, and the other bull came full-drive upon John, pushed him down, broke the pigg and spilt the milk, so John went home to his auld plaister, which began to be an usual diet to him, and so he regarded it the less.

IX. His Mother-in-law with several auld witty wives held a private counsel on John’s conduct and bad luck, and concluded he was bewitched, John was of the same opinion, and went to the minister, and told him he was the cause of a’ his misfortunes, ca’d him a warlock to his face, and said, he had put such a black bargain in his hand, that he was ruin’d for ever; insisted either to unmarry them again, or send death and the bell-man to take her awa’, for she has a lump of mischief on her back and anither on her breast, and the rest of her body is a clean deil. The minister began to exhort him to peace and patience, telling him that marriage was made in heaven: ye’re a baist liar, says John, for I was married in your ain kitchen, an a’ the blackguards about the town was there, an it had a-been heaven they wadna win in, yet tell’t me that matrimony was sic a happy state, but an ye had gotten as mony we’ll paid skins as I hae gotten, ye wad ken what it is; ill chance on you stir, and out he goes, cursing like a madman, throwing stanes, and breaking the minister’s windows, for which he was catch’d and put twa hours i’ the stocks, and at last his Lump of Corruption came and rubbed his lugs, threw his nose, got him out, and drove him home before her; took a resolution never to set him about any bisiness in time coming, but keep him on his loom.

X. Now she giving him no sleep a’ that night for scolding; John got up in the morning lang or day, leaving his tormentor in bed; fell asleep upon his loom with his candle in his hand, and so set the web, heddles, reed, and treadle cords in a fire, by chance his old Viper looked out of the bed, or the whole house had been gone; up she got, and with her cries alarm’d the neighbourhood who came to her relief, but poor John underwent a dreadful swabing for this.

XI. After the former hurry and beating being over, his work being stopt, he went to bed and sleept a’ that day, and following night, on the next day having nothing to do; she sent him in search of a hen’s-nest, who had taken some by-place to lay her eggs in, so as poor John was in an auld kill searching a’ about the walls, the kill-ribs brake, and down he goes with a vengeance into the logie cutted and bruised himself in a terrible manner, up he could not win, but had to creep out at the logie below, scarcely able to get hame, his face and nose a’ running o’ blood, in this condition she pitied and lamented for him very much, tied his sores and laid him in bed, then sat down very kindly, saying, My dear and my lamb, do ye think there is ony o’ your banes broken, and what part o’ you is sairest? And what will I get to do you good? O! said he Girzy I’m a brizel’d atween the feet; Are ye indeed quoth she, then I wish ye had broken your neck, that I might a gotten anither, useless ae way, and useless mae ways, a po’ my word, ye’s no be here, gang whar ye like.

XII. Now, as poor John was turn’d out o’ doors next morning, to go awa’ hirpling on a staff, one came and told him his Mother had died last night, Oh hoch, said John, and is my Mither clean dead; O an she wad but look down thro’ the lift, and see how I’m guided this morning, I’m sure she wad send death for me too: I’m out o’ a mither, and out o’ a wife, out o’ my health and strength and a’ my warklooms. His mother-in-law came and pleaded for him: haud your tongue, mither, said Girzy, if ye kend what ail’d him, ye wadna speak about him, he’s useless, no worth the keeping in a house, but to ca’ him to die like an auld beast at a dyke-side, hout tout, co’ the auld wife, we’ll mak o’ him and he’ll mend again: so John got peace made up after a’, and he was easier mended than the burnt web; got all his treadles and warklooms set in order the wife’s tongue excepted, which was made of wormwood, and the rest of her body of sea-water, which is always in a continual tempest.

So John appeals to a Jedburgh jury, if it be not easier to deal wi’ fools, than headstrong fashous fouks; owns he has but an empty scull, but his wicked wife wants wit to pour judgment into it, never tells him o’ danger till it come upon him, for his mother said, he was a bidable bairn, if ony body had been to learn him wit.

Finis.

THE ANCIENT AND MODERN HISTORY OF BUCK-HAVEN.

Amongst several ancient records, this Bucky is not mentioned; there was a set called Buccaniers, who were pirates, that is to say sea-robbers, and after a strict search for that set of sea-robbers, they dispersed; what of them escaped justice in the southern climate, are said to have sheltered at or near Berwick upon Tweed. After a smart battle, among themselves, they divided, and ’tis said, the party who gained this Bucky-battle, fearing the English law to take place, set northward and took up their residence at this Buck-haven, so called not only from the great quantity of Buckies that are found in and about that place, but on account of the battle they had with their neighbours at Berwick when they divided, which was then called bucking one another, but is now named boxing or fighting. Another party of these Buckers settled in another town northward of Banff, called Bucky, near the river Spey, which is a large sea-town, but among all the sea-towns in Scotland, the fishers still retain a language, quite different from the people in the country, and they almost all shift the letter H, and use O, instead thereof which no country-people do in Scotland, but themselves.[171] There is a corruption of speech, in every county over all Britain, and likewise they use different tones and pronouncing words from others, even some in the South of Scotland, can hardly be understood by those in the North, though both pretend to speak English, and have a liberal part of education: but since learning is now so easy to be obtained, ignorance and corruption of speech are greatly decreased.[172]

In the county of Fife, on the sea-coast, there stands a little town, inhabited by few but fishers, called Bucky-harbour, because of the sea buckies and shells to be found so plenty on the rocks, in and about that place; there is little mention made of this town by historians, to know its original extraction and antiquities, but in their own burges-ticket, which was part of it perfect truths, but more of it by way of lampoon; this ticket was dated the two and thirty day of the month of Julius Cæsar, their coat of arms was two hands gripping each other over a Scate’s rumple, their oath was, “I wish the de’il may tak me an I binna an honest man to you, an ye binna de like to me.” An article of good neighbourhood they had, whoever was first up in a good morning, was to raise all the rest to go to sea, but if a bad morning, they piss and lie down again till break of day then raise Wise Willy, who could judge of the weather by the blowing of the wind.

Their freedoms were to take all sorts of fish contained in their tickets, viz., lobsters, partans, podles, spout-fish, sea-cats, sea-dogs, flukes, pikes, dike-padocks, and p— fish.

Among these people were said to be one Tom and his two sons, who were fishers on the coast of Norway, and in a violent storm were blown over, and got ashore at Bucky-harbour, where they settled, and the whole of his children were called Thomsons,[173] this is a historical saying, handed down from one generation to another. So in course of time they grew up and multiplied, that they soon became a little town by themselves; few of any other name dwelt among them, and were all called the Thomsons; they kept but little communication with the country people, for a farmer in those days thought his daughter cast awa, if she married one of the fishers of Bucky-harbour,[174] and Witty Eppie the ale-wife, wad a sworn be-go laddie, I wad rather see my boat and a’ my three sons dadet against the Bass or I saw ony ane o’ them married on a muck-a-byre’s daughter, a wheen useless taupies, that can do naething but rive at a tow-rock, and cut corn; they can neither bait a hook nor red a line, hook sandles nor gather periwinkles.

Now Wise Willy and Witty Eppie the ale-wife lived there, about an hundred years ago. Eppie’s chamber was their college and court-house, where they decided their controversies, and explained their wonders, for the house was wide like a little kirk, had four windows and a gavel-door, the wives got leave to flyte their fill, but fighting was forbidden, (as Eppie said, up hands was fair play) their fines, were a’ in pints o’ ale, and Eppie sold it at a plack the pint; they had neither minister nor magistrate, nor yet a burly-bailie to brag them wi’ his tolbooth; my Lord was their landlord,[175] Wise Willy and Witty Eppie the ale-wife were the rulers of the town.

Now Eppie had a daughter, call’d Lingle-tail’d Nancy, because of her feckless growth, her waist was like a twitter, had nae curpen for a creel, being Embruch bred, and brought up wi’ her Lowdin aunty, was learned to read and sew, make corse-claiths and callico-mutches,[176] there wasna scholar in the town but hersel, she read the Bible and the book of Kirk-sangs which was newly come in fashion, Willy and Eppie tell’d ay what it meant, and said a’ the letters in it, was litted by my Lord, for they saw him hae a feather that he dipped in black water, and made crooked scores just like the same, and then he spoke to it o’er again, and it tell’d him what to say.

It happened on a day, that two of their wives found a horse-shoe near the town, brought it hame, and sent for Wise Willy to see what it was. Willy comes and looks at it, Indeed co’ Willy, its a thing and holes in’t. Then said they, he would get a name til’t, aha, co’ Willy, but whair did ye find it? aneath my Lords ain house, Willy. Adeed, said Willy, its the auld moon, I ken by the holes in’t for nailing it to the lift; but I wonder it she fell in Fife, for the last time I saw her she was hinging on her back aboon Embruch, a hech co’ Willy we’ll hae her set up on the highest house in the town, and we’ll hae moon-light o’ our ain a’ the days o’ the year. The whole town ran to see the moon; hout tout, cried Witty Eppie, ye’re a’ fools together, it is but ane o’ the things it my Lord’s mare wears upo’ her lufe.[177]

At another time, one of the wives found a hare with its legs broken, lying among her kail in the yard; she, not knowing what it was, called out her neighbours to see it, some said it was a gentleman’s cat, or my lady’s lap-dog, or a sheep’s young kitlen, because it had saft horns; Na, na, cry’d Wise Willy, its ane o’ the maukens, that gentlemen’s dogs worrie. What will you do wi’t? haith co’ Maggy, I’ll singe the woo’ afi’t, and mak fish and sauce o’t to my Tammy’s parrich: No, no, said Witty Eppie, better gie’t to my Lord, and he’d stap an iron stick thro’ the guts o’t, and gar’t rin round afore the fire till it be roasted; Na, na, said Wise Willy, we’ll no do that indeed, for my Lord wad mak us a’ dogs, an gar us rin thro’ the kintry seeking maukins till him.

It happened on a dark winter morning, that two of the wives were going to Dysart to sell their fish, and near the road-side there happened to be a tinker’s ass tedder’d, and the poor ass seeing the wives coming with their creels, thought it was the tinkers coming to flit or remove him, fell a crying, the two wives threw their fish away, and ran home like mad persons, crying, they had seen the de’il, aye the very horned de’il, an that he had spoken to them, and cried after them, but they did not ken what he said, for it was worse words than a Highlandman’s. The whole town was in an uproar, some would go with picks and spades and hag him a’ in pieces, others wad gang and catch him in a strong net, and then they could either hang or drown him. Na, na, co’ Wise Willy, we manna cast out wi’ him at the first, as he’s gotten the twa burden o’ fish, he’ll ables gang his wa’ and no fash nae mair, he is o’er souple to be catch’d in a net, a’ your pith ’ill neither hang him nor drown him, an’ the kintry he comes frae is a’ het coals, he’ll never burn, we’ll go to him in a civil manner, and see what he wants: get out Eppie the ale-wife, and lingle-tail’d Nancy, with the Bible and the Saum-book:[178] so aff they came in a croud, either to kill the de’il or catch him alive, and as they came near the place, the ass fell a crying, which caused many of them to faint and run back: Na, na, co’ Willy, that’s no the de’ils words ava’, it’s my Lord’s trumpeter touting on his brass whistle, Willy ventured till he saw the ass’s twa lugs, now, cried Willy back to the rest, come forward and hand him fast, I see his twa horns, hech sirs, he has a white beard like an auld beggar man, so they enclosed the poor ass on all sides thinking it was the de’il: but when Wise Willy saw he had nae cloven feet, he cried out, Fearna’ lads, this is no the de’il, it’s some living beast, ’tis neither a cow nor a horse, and what is it then Willy? Indeed co’ Willie, ’tis the father o’ a’ the maukens, I ken by its lugs.

Now some say, this is too satirical a history, but it is according to the knowledge of those times, not to say in any place by another, old wives tell us yet of many such stories, as the devil appearing to their grandfathers and grandmothers, and dead wives coming back again to visit their families, long after their being buried: but this Bucky-haven which was once noted for droll exploits, is now become more knowing, and is a place said to produce the best and hardiest watermen or sailors of any town on the Scots coast, yet many of the old people in it, still retain the old tincture of their old and uncultivated speech, as be-go-laddie, also a fiery nature, if you ask any of the wives where their college stands, they’ll tell you, if your nose were in their arse, your mouth would be at the door of it.

Now, it happened, when Wise Willy turned old he took a great swelling in his wame, and casting up o’ his kail, collops and cauld fish, that nothing staid on his stomach, and a stout stomach had he, for crab-heads, or scate-brose, or fat-brose on a bridal morning; yet it fail’d him; he fell sick, and none could cure him, or tell what ail’d him, till a mountebank stage-doctor came to Kirkcaldy, that could judge by people’s water, the troubles of their person, and Willy hearing of his fame, pissed into a bottle, and sent it away with his daughter; the bottle being uncorked, his daughter spilt it by the way, and to conceal her sloth in so doing, pissed in it herself, and on she goes, till she comes to the stage, and cries, Sir Dochter, Sir Dochter, here is a bottle o’ my father’s wash, he has a sair guts, and never needs to drite ony, he spues a’ he eats, ’tis true I tell you my dow; the doctor looks at it, and says, It is not your father’s, surely it is your mother’s; de’il’s i’ the man, co’ she, divna I ken my father by my mother? Then, said he, he is with child: A de’il’s i’ the man co’ she, for my mother bore a’ de bairns before, dat’s no true sir, a figs ye’re a great liar, home she came, and tell’d Willy her father, that the doctor said he was wi’ bairn. O waes me, co’ Willy, for I hae a muckle wame, and I fear its o’er true, O plague on you Janet, for ye’re the father o’t, and I’m sure to die in the bearing o’t. Witty Eppie was sent for, as she was houdy, and fand a’ Willy’s wame, to be sure about it, indeed co’ Eppie ye’re the first man e’er I saw wi’ bairn before; and how ye’ll bear’t I dinna ken, ye hae a wally wame, weel I wat, but how men bear bairns I never saw them yet, but I would drink sa’t water and drown’t in my guts, for an men get anes the gate o’ bearing weans themsells, they’ll seek nae mae wives: so Willy drank sea-water till his guts was like to rive, and out he goes to ease himself among the kail, and with the terrible hurl of farting, up starts a mauken behind him, thinking she was shot, Willy sees her jumping o’er the dike, thought it was a child brought forth, cries, Come back my dear and be christened, and no rin to the hills and be a Pagan,[179] so Willy grew better every day thereafter, being brought to bed in the kail-yard: but his daughter was brought to bed some months thereafter, which was the cause of the doctor’s mistake.

PART II.

PART III. [181]

THE MINISTER AND MUSSEL MOU’D HARRY.

THE WITTY AND ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS OF GEORGE BUCHANAN.

PART I.

Mr. George Buchanan was a Scotsman born, and though of mean parentage, made great progress in learning.—As for his understanding and ready wit, he excelled all men then alive in that age, that ever proposed questions to him.—He was servant or teacher to King James VI. as his private counsellor, but publicly he acted as his fool.

It happened one day, that a young airy noble man went into the king’s garden to pull a flower for a young lady he fancied: George followed at a distance; so, when the young man found a flower to his pleasure, he would not pull it himself, but to find it again, without further searching, he covered it with his hat, and went away for his sweetheart: no sooner was he gone, but up goes George, lifts his hat, and pulls the flower, then cases himself on the spot, and covers it with the hat again, and away he goes. In comes the young man, leading his sweetheart to pull the flower below the hat; but as soon as he lifted the hat, and seeing what was below, he looked like a fool. The lady flies in a passion, off she goes, and never would countenance him any more. The young man being sadly vexed at this affront done to him by George, sent him a challenge to fight him, appointing the day and place where they were to meet. Being to fight on horseback, George gets an old stiff horse, and for harnassing, covers him about with blown bladders, with a little small stone in each, without either sword or spear, away to the field he goes, where the duel was appointed; so when George saw his enemy coming against him, all in glittering armour, armed with sword and spear, he rode up to him with all the speed his horse could carry him, and his horse, as is said being all covered over with bladders, the small stones in them, made such a terrible noise, that the gentleman’s fine gelding would not stand the battle, but ran away, and threw his master to the ground, which caused all the spectators to laugh, and say the gentleman was more fool than George. The gentleman being so enraged at this second affront, he would fight with George on foot; but his friends persuaded him that it would be no honour for him to fight and kill the king’s fool, and far less to be killed by the fool, so they were advised both to agree; but the gentleman would try another exploit with George, for to have it said he was still the cleverest man, to hold him a jumping-bout publicly the next day thereafter. With all my heart, says George, and we will end in and about where we began; they not knowing his meaning in this. The place and hour being set where they were to meet next morning, George in the night caused a deep pit to be made, and the earth of it carried away, afterwards filled it up with dung from a privy, covered it over with a green turf, so that it might not be known by the other ground; so, according to promise, they both met in the morning against the appointed time: now George being the oldest man, and by them counted the greatest fool, the young spark permitted him to jump first, which he, according to order, performed; and jumped within a foot of the place where the ground was falsified: the young man seeing this, made his performance afterwards with great airs and all his might, so that he jumped a foot over George, but to the oxters among clean dung; whereat the whole multitude of spectators cried out with huzzas and laughter. Now, says George, I told you we would end in and about where we began, and that is in clean dirt.

On a time after this, the king and his court was going into the country, and they would have George to ride before them in the fool’s dress, whereunto he seemed unwilling, but it was the king’s pleasure. So George was mounted upon an old horse, a pair of old riven boots, with the heels hanging down, and a palmer coat patched over with pictures of divers kinds. George rode before them in this posture, which caused great laughter and diversion until they came to an inn, where they alighted to dine; and in the time they were at dinner George went into the stables, and with a knife cut all the horses chaffs, not sore, but so as they might bleed. Now, as soon as dinner was over, and they mounted on their horses again, George riding before them as usual, in his palmer coat and old boots, they began to make their game of him: then George turned about suddenly, and clapping his hands with loud laughter; the king asked him, what made him laugh so? Laugh, says George, how can I but laugh, when horses cannot hold their peace? O my sovereign, says he, don’t you see how your horses have rent their chafts laughing at my old boots; then every man looking at his horse’s mouth, they were all in a rage against George; the king caused him to be dismounted directly, and charged him never to let him see his face on English ground. Now George knowing that nothing could reconcile the king at this time, he came away to Scotland, and caused make him a pair of great boots and put a quantity of Scottish earth in each of them, and away he goes for England to see the king once more. He hearing the king and his court were to pass through a country village, George places himself up in an old window, and sets up his bare arse to the king and his court as they passed by. The king was greatly amazed to see such an unusual honour done to him, was curious to know the performer; so he called unto him, asking him to come down, and finding it to be George, Sir, says the king, did not I charge you never to let me see your face again? True, my sovereign, says George, for which cause I let you see my arse. Ay but says the king, you was never to come on English ground again. Neither I did, says George, pulling off his boots before the king, saying, Behold, my Sovereign, ’tis all Scots ground I stand upon.—The king and his court being so diverted with this merry joke, George was admitted again to the king’s favour.

After this, there arose a debate betwixt the king and the queen about votes in the parliament; as the king had two votes, the queen would have one, and would needs be a parliamenter, or no peace without the preferment: this matter was committed to George by the king; so it was agreed among the parliamenters that the Queen should be admitted into parliament for a day; and accordingly she came, and was received with all the honour and congratulation, as was due, and becoming her high station; but before any matter of consequence was brought to the board, George seated himself hard by the queen’s seat; all being silent, he rose up quickly, and lifted one of his legs, and then gave a great fart, which set the whole house a laughing; whereat the Queen was greatly offended, crying, Go take the rogue and hang him; to which George answered, A fine parliamenter indeed, to hang a man for a sinless infirmity, and that’s a fart. The Queen being so enraged at this affront put on her first proposal to parliament, went off in a passion, and never would countenance them any more. But yet to be revenged on George, she would never give the King rest till he delivered George into her hands, that he might be punished at her pleasure: which the king accordingly commanded to be done, knowing that George would rescue himself by some intrigue or other. No sooner was he delivered into her hands, to be at her disposal, but she and her Maries[196] pronounced his doom, which is as follows: As he had affronted the Queen among so great an equipage, who ought to be honoured in chief, and above all women in the nation, that he should be stoned to death by the hands of women. Now the time being come that he was to die, according to their appointment, he was taken into a park, where a great number of women was waiting upon him, with their aprons full of stones, to fall upon him, and to put him to death, according to the queen’s appointment.

His SPEECH to his Executioners.

When he had ended with these words, The greatest whore throw the first stone, every one put it to another to cast the first stone; but knowing they would attain the character of a whore for so doing, they all refused, till the dying hour was past, and then he took a protest against them, and by that mean gained his life.

After this he was admitted to the Queen’s favour and presence, attending the court as formerly. About this time the French king not knowing how to pick a quarrel with Great Britain, sent a letter to the king, desiring it to be read before the Parliament, and the writing was as follows: Will I come? Will I come? Will I come?—This letter being read before the king and his courtiers, they all concluded that the French king designed to invade England; therefore they wrote a letter on purpose to send to him again upbraiding him with the breach of peace, and putting him in mind of the last treaty. The answer being read before the King and his Nobles, they all condescended that it should be sent as an answer; but George smiling and shaking his head, cried out,

Then they asked George what he thought the French king meant by such a letter? to which he answered, I suppose he wants an invitation to come over to dine, and then go back in a friendly manner; but you are going to charge him with a breach of peace, before he has given any signal of offence or war: his letter is indeed dark and mystical, but send him an answer according to his question. Now George being ordered to write the answer, it was, And ye come, And ye come, And ye come. This being sent to the French King, he admired it beyond expression, saying, It was an answer more valiant and daring than he expected; so the enmity he intended was thereby turned into love.

About this time it happened that a malignant party in Scotland sent up a great spokesman to the King and Parliament, for the seducing of the church: George hearing of his coming, went away and met him on the bridge, and the salutation that he gave him was, the cutting off his head, and throwing it over the bridge, then ran to the king with all his might, falling down before him, pleading most heartily for a pardon, or without it he was a dead man; the king most seriously asked him what he had done now? to which he answered, He had only thrown the Scots bishop’s hat over the bridge, which made the king to laugh, to hear him ask pardon for such a small fault; but he had no sooner got the pardon sealed by the King’s hand, then he said, indeed my sovereign, I threw his hat over the bridge, but his head was in it. Geordy, Geordy, says the King, thou wilt never give over till thou be hanged.

After this, a nobleman in England agreed with the King to put a trick upon George, to try his manly courage, in sending him to a certain house for a bag of money. On his way home through St. James’s Park, they caused a sturdy fellow to go and set the way upon him, and take the money; he being armed with sword and pistol, came up briskly, and attacked George with these words, You, Sir, deliver what money you have, or you are a dead man: to which George answered, Sir I have money indeed, but ’tis not my own, and I am sorry to give it; nevertheless, since I am not armed as you are to exchange blows for it, you shall have it; but pray do me the favour as to fire your pistol through the flap of my cloak, that the owners may see I have been in danger of my life before I lost the money; which he accordingly performed. No sooner had he fired it, than George whips out his hanger from below his cloak, and with one stroke cut off his right hand, wherein he held his sword, so that both his sword and the hand fell to the ground; but George lifted his hand, and carried it to the King. No sooner did he come before them, but they asked him, saying, Well George, did you see any body to trouble you by the way? No, said he, but one fellow, who was going to take the money from me; but I made him give me his hand he would not do the like again. You did, says the fellow’s master? Yes, I did, says George, let work bear Witness, throwing down the fellow’s hand on the table before them.

Now this last exploit of George’s caused many of the English to hate him, and among the rest, a young nobleman fell a jocking of George, in saying, he would be as famous a champion for Scotland as Sir William Wallace was: Ay, ay, says George, William Wallace was a brave man in his time. True, indeed, says the other, but when he came to London, we did him all manner of justice, and for honour of the Scots, we have his effigy in the shite-houses to this very day. And do you not know the reason of that, says George? No, I don’t, says he: Well, I’ll tell you, says George, he was such a terror to the Englishmen when he was alive, that the sight of him yet makes them beshite themselves. The English took this as a great affront, and forthwith caused Wallace’s picture to be taken out of that place.

There was a young English girl in love with a Scotsman, and petitioned him several times for to marry her, which he refused, and upon revenge thereof, she went to a Justice, and swore a rape against him, which is death by the law. George hearing this, went into the prison where the young man was, and instructed him how to behave before the judge. So in the time of the trial, George came in, while the judge was crying to the man, but never a word could he get him to answer, to tell whether he was guilty or not. After the judge had given him over for deaf and dumb, others fell a-shouting in his ears, but never a word he would speak. Then the judge perceiving George, called him, saying, George, do you know what is the matter with this man? Yes I do, very well, says George. What is it, says the judge? Why, says George, the woman made such a noise and crying, when he was ravishing her, it has put the poor man quite deaf, I assure you. Is it so, says the judge. No, no, says the woman, my lord judge, you may believe me, I lay as mute as a lamb, and never spoke a word all the time. Very well confessed, said the judge, and you have sworn a rape against him; go take the whore to Newgate, and let the poor man go about his business, and so it ended.[197]

PART II.

PART III.

PART IV.

PART V.

PART VI.

GLOSSARY.

A

Ae, ane, ain, one.

A-bizin, making a hissing noise, such as hot iron does in water.

Ables, perhaps, mayhap.

Amry, a cupboard or press.

Assoilzied, acquitted.

A-thort, along, across, about.

Auld Nick, a familiar name for the Devil.

Aught, possession.

B

Babee, a copper coin of the value of a halfpenny sterling, also applied to the English coin. The word is derived from the French bas-piece, base money; though many believed it had its original in the fact that during the minority of James VI. coins with the effigy of the ‘baby’ king were issued.

Badrons, a cat.

Baggity, greedy.

Baist, great.

Balk, bauk, crossbeam in roof of a house; hen-bauk, the beam where the fowls roosted, generally above the doorway.

Bane-kame, a dust-comb.

Banning, swearing.

Bannock, a thick oatmeal cake; sometimes a scone.

Bannock-stane, a stone used for supporting the girdle on the fire.

Bap, a kind of scone, baked with yeast, generally lozenge-shaped.

Barronry, barony.

Bear, barley.

Beek’d, warmed, heated by the sun.

Be-go, not an uncommon exclamation; probably a chewed oath.

Begunk, a cheat, a deception, properly a verb, but used as a noun at p. 61, vol ii.

Belling, bubbling up like soapy water.

Beltane, the 1st of May, when, in the olden times, fires were lighted in honour of the god Bel, or Baal. Many superstitious observances lingered in this country until a century ago; and in some districts they are still celebrated in a covert way. (Vide Shaw’s Hist. Prov. Moray.)

Belyve, by and bye, in a short time.

Besom, a brush or broom.

Bicker, a cup.

Bide, to stay, to endure.

Bilchy, strong, lusty.

Bill, a bull.

Bittock, a little bit, a short distance.

Birr, to make a whirring noise.

Bizing, v. a-bizing.

Bladdering, blethering, talking.

Blate, bashful.

Blawirt, the blue bottle plant, also known as witch-bells.

Bleds, blaids.

Bletchers, bleachers.

Blewflum, a sham.

Bobet, danced.

Bock, to vomit.

Boggle, a spectre or ghost.

Bone-comb, a dust-comb, so called from being made of bone instead of horn.

Boss, empty; also, a vacancy.

Bottle, a sheaf.

Bouk, bulk.

Bookie, bulky.

Boul-horn’d, obstinate.

Bow, a boll.

Bowed, bent.

Bow-kail, kail or broth made with cabbage; also, a cabbage.

Bowster, a bolster.

Brattle, to make a clattering noise.

Bray, to grind.

Brewket, or Brucket, black and white streaked or spotted.

Brizel’d, bruised.

Brochan, thin oatmeal porridge.

Brocket, v. Brewket.

Brogged, pierced.

Broe, soup.

Brogue, a trick.

Bublie-cock, a turkey.

Buckie, a spiral shell.

Bucking, pushing, butting, fighting.

Buckle, to marry.

Buckled, married.

Bun, bound.

Bute, behoved.

But and ben, the outer and inner apartments of a house.

Bystart, bastard.

C

Caddled, upturned, disordered.

Caff-cog, chaff-dish.

Callan, Callen, a boy, a young man.

Caller, fresh.

Can’as, canvas.

Cannilie, easily, gently.

Cankerd, cross, ill-natured.

Cantrips, charms, spells.

Cap, a wooden bowl.

Capstride, to cheat; originally, to drink out of one’s place in company when the loving-cup was going round.

Carle, an old man.

Carlin, carline, an old woman.

Cat and Dog, a boy’s game. It is also known as cat and bat. Jamieson suggests it was an early form of cricket. It is still common, and in the summer season boys may be seen playing at it in any village in Scotland.

Chafts, cheeks, jaws.

Chaft-blades, cheek or jaw bones.

Channering, fretting.

Chappen, a quart measure.

Cheek, side.

Cheek for chow, side by side.

Chiel, chield, a servant, a young man.

Chirten and chappen, pressing and knocking.

Chuckies, hens.

Claes, clothes.

Clarty, dirty.

Clash, idle talk, gossip.

Clatter, talk.

Clawing, scratching, rubbing.

Cleavings, the lower part of the human body.

Clipock, a name given to a sharp-tongued woman, descriptive of her failing.

Clout, a cloth; also, a knock.

Clukny, a hen.

Clungest, emptiest.

Clutes, hoofs, feet.

Cobletehow, probably hot-pressed in a fanciful way.

Cod, a pillow.

Cogbonie, cogboin, a little wooden trough for feeding sheep or swine.

Colly-shangy, uproar, disturbance.

Corse, a cross, market place.

Corse-claiths, burial clothes.

Couper, a seller of horses or cattle. (v. Introduction, vol. 1., p. 70.)

Coupt, tumbled.

Couties, colts.

Cow, to poll the head.

Cracks, talk, conversation.

Creim, a booth or shop.

Crish, grease.

Crocket, croaked.

Cronoch, a dirge, or death lamentation.

Crouse, courageous, brisk, lively.

Crowdie, gruel made of meal stirred in cold water.

Curpen, the crupper, the rump.

Curple, the crupper.

Culli’d, coaxed, cajoled.

Cumstrarie, perverse.

Cupple-balk, a rafter, v. balk.

Curch, to bend or move.

Curr’d, crouched.

Curroch, a small basket carriage.

Cusser, a stallion.

Cussen, cast.

Cutties, spoons.

D

Daddy, father.

Dadeling, slovenly.

Dadet, struck, knocked.

Daffing, sporting, fun.

Daft, silly, stupid, giddy.

Dale, a long piece or deal of wood.

Daly, silly, dressed up like a doll.

Dearth, high price.

Dighting, cleaning, wiping, dressing.

Ding, to knock.

Dinging, knocking.

Docus, stupid, easily led.

Dods, ill-humour, sulks.

Doil’d, crazy, silly, in dotage.

Doit, an old Scotch coin, equal to a penny Scots, or the twelfth part of an English penny; the word is used to signify worthlessness or extreme poverty.

Dorder-meat, a bannock given to farm servants after stopping their work, to stay their appetite until supper time; also a meal of any kind.

Douce, sedate, modest, quiet.

Douked, ducked, as in water.

Doup, the bottom of anything.

Dows, pigeons, doves.

Dradgey, a funeral, also the feasting accompanying it.

Dramack, Drummock, oatmeal and cold water mixed.

Drouket, drenched, wet to the skin.

Druggit, a kind of coarse cloth.

Drummel’d, made muddy, troubled.

Dubs, pools, gutters.

Duds, rags.

Duddy, ragged.

Dufe, a simpleton.

Duket, a dovecot.

Dunting and Dangling, knocking and swinging.

Dwallion, a dwelling.

E

Earding, burying.

Eerock, a chicken.

Elf-shot, shot by fairies, or the disease produced by the injury, bewitched.

Ell, a measure equal to three feet nine inches.

Elshin, a shoemaker’s awl.

Elwand, a wooden cloth measure, the length of an ell.

Even, to equal, or compare.

F

Fair strae death, a death in the common course of nature.

Fairing, a present given at a fair, a present generally.

Fake, a sight, vision.

Farl, an oatmeal cake.

Fash, trouble, bother.

Fashious, troublesome.

Fashing, troubling.

Fastern’s-e’en, the evening before the first day of Lent; Shrove-Tuesday. Its annual return was made the occasion of many superstitious observances.

Fealins, failings.

Fecket, an undershirt or waistcoat made of flannel or worsted.

Feckless, weak, poor-spirited.

Feif-titty, thief-sister.

Feike, screw, force.

Fey, try.

Fied, feed, engaged.

Figs, a petty oath.

Fint, feint, an interjection probably derived from the word ‘fiend.’

Flighter, an unsteady, high-flown person.

Fitting, scolding.

Fluke, a flounder, or flat fish of any kind.

Flyte, to scold.

Forfoughen, exhausted, fatigued.

Forjesket, jaded; also, disreputable.

Fornent, opposite, or concerning.

Freit, frit, a superstition; also, a charm against evil.

Fule haet, very little.

Fundred, foundered.

Furich, bustle, haste, hurry.

Furlat, furlet, four pecks, a quarter of a boll.

Futer, a silly, useless person.

Fyking, troublesome, restless.

G

Gabbie, dimin. of Gab, the mouth.

Gaits, goats.

Gamon, nonsense.

Gate, way, road.

Gaun-gear, live stock.

Gaunting, yawning.

Gartan, a garter.

Gavel, gable.

Gear, stock, possessions.

Geid, gave.

Gemlet, gimlet.

Gigglet, wanton.

Gilly-gawkie, gilliegaukie, a foolish woman.

Gimmer, a young woman.

Girning, fretful, petted.

Girth, saddle strap.

Glaied, gly’d, squint-eyed.

Glam, to snatch.

Glaket, foolish, light-headed.

Goodman, the master of a house.

Goodum, guddame, grandmother.

Goodwife, the mistress of a house.

Gouls, souls.

Gourd, gorged, swelled.

Gowke, the cuckoo; to hunt the gowke is to go on a foolish and fruitless errand.

Groats, oats with the husks taken off.

Grunkie, a name applied to a pig.

Gruzling, grunting and boring for food as a sow does with its snout.

Guidame, v. Goodum.

Gule-fitted, yellow-footed.

Gut, the gout.

Gutcher, a grandfather; generally, forefathers.

Gullie, a large knife.

H

Haf-gate, half-way.

Hag, an old woman.

Hagwife, a midwife.

Hail yerts, whole years.

Haining, saving, sparing.

Hallen, the square space in the doorway of a country house.

Hally-band, the kirk session.

Hamsheughs, a disturbance; also, a misfortune.

Hantle, a considerable number.

Harle, a quantity; also, to draw or pull violently.

Harn, coarse pack-sheet.

Harnes, brains.

Hate, haet, a small quantity.

Hatter, a rash.

Haverel, a foolish talker.

Heads and thraws, lying alternately, heads and feet, like herring in a barrel.

Heckle, a hook, a weaver’s comb.

Herie, a word used by married people towards each other, equivalent to ‘my dear.’

Herns, v. harns.

Heugh, the shaft-head of a coal-pit.

Hillocat, hillocket, giddy, hair-brained.

Hinderlets, hind parts.

Hirpling, halting, walking slowly and painfully.

Hizzy, a girl, a huzzy.

Hobble, to dandle on the knee, an awkward style of walking, a state of perplexity.

Hodden-grey, undyed woollen cloth.

Hoddled, waddled.

Hoiting, following, running.

Hotchen, swarming.

Houdie, howdy, a midwife.

Houghed, hamstrung.

Hows, hollows.

Huggers, stocking legs.

Humeld, without horns.

Hurdies, buttocks.

Hurl, noise, force.

I

Ill-far’d, ill-looking, ugly.

Imock-powder, powder made of the shells of ants’ eggs.

J

Jamf, jamph, to make sport of, to torment.

Jimcrack, a knock.

K

Kail, vegetable broth.

Kankert, ill-natured.

Keb, jump at, be glad of.

Kebbock, a large cheese.

Keckle, to cackle.

Keek, to look slyly, or pryingly.

Kill-kebber, a support for a kiln.

Kil-logie, an open space before a kiln fire.

Kimmer, a gossip, or neighbour.

Kite, the stomach.

Kittle, to tickle; also, difficult.

Knocking-stane, a stone mortar, on which the hulls were broken off the barley with a mallet.

Knoist, a lump.

Kuddle, to fondle, caress.

Kye, cows.

L

Laddock, diminutive of lad.

Lade, a load.

Lammas, the 1st of August.

Lang-gae, the phrase, ‘before lang gae,’ signifies simply, before long.

Lang-lonen, all alone.

Laveruck, a lark.

Leepet, thin, meagre.

Lenno, thread-gauze.

Leuch, laughed.

Libby, properly lippie, a quarter of a peck.

Libbet, castrated.

Lift, the sky.

Lingle, a shoemaker’s thread; also, a bandage.

Lingle-tailed, applied to a woman wearing misfitting clothes.

Lint, flax.

Litster, a dyer.

Litted, dyed.

Logie, v. kil-logie.

Loup, to jump.

Louting, bending.

Lufe, the palm of the hand.

Lugs, the ears.

Lum, a chimney.

M

Maeslie-shanket, probably a reference to bowed legs.

Maggs, a halfpenny; also a gratuity.

Masket, infused.

Mauk, a maggot.

Mauky, maggoty.

Mauken, a hare.

Maumier, mellower, sweeter, pleasanter.

Mavis, the thrush.

Mawing, mewing.

Maw-turned, sick, squeamish.

Mense, discretion, good manners.

Mensefu’, discreet, well-bred.

Merk, an old Scottish silver coin, equal to thirteenpence and one-third of a penny, sterling.

Mevis, v. Mavis.

Mill, a snuff-box.

Mim, prim, demure, prudish.

Minny, mother.

Mirk, dark.

Mow, a heap.

Mules, the ‘mools,’ the grave.

N

Neb, a beak; in a ludicrous sense, the nose.

Neist, next, nearest.

Neuk, nuik, a corner.

Nidity nod, shaking, bobbing up and down.

Nossack, a good drop.

O

O’ercome, overplus.

Ouk, oulk, uk, a week.

Oxter, the armpit.

P

Packshon, bargain, agreement.

Padock, puddock, a frog.

Paid, pait, drubbed.

Partan, a crab.

Peck, a dry measure containing two gallons.

Pickle, a small quantity.

Pig, pigg, an earthenware vessel.

Pillonian, a kind of coarse blue cloth.

Pinging, whining, complaining.

Piping het, boiling hot.

Pirn, a reel for winding thread or yarn.

Pisweip, a lapwing.

Plack, a small copper coin, worth one-third of a penny, sterling.

Plash, to wet; ‘wet to plash,’ thoroughly drenched.

Plotted, scalded.

Podle, a tadpole.

Port, a gate, as of a town.

Pow, the head.

Pownie, a name given to a turkey-hen. See note to p. 52, vol. ii.

Prat, a trick.

Prik’t, fastened, pinned.

Prin, a pin.

Prute-no, an expression of contempt.

Puddock, v. padock.

Pund, a pound Scots, equivalent to one shilling and eightpence, sterling.

Purpey, purple.

Pyet, piebald.

Pyking, poking.

Q

Quean, a young woman; sometimes used in a bad sense.

R

Raird, a noise, a roar.

Raisins, necessities.

Rake (of water, or coals), as much as can be carried at one time.

Rash-rape, a rope made of rushes.

Rattle-scul, one who talks without thinking.

Ratton, a rat.

Red, redd, to put in order.

Red-wood, mad, in a violent rage.

Reeking, well ordered.

Reinge, to clear out, to rinse.

Retour, return, as the return journey of a coach.

Rift, an eructation.

Rifting, belching.

Rigget, striped.

Rigging, the roof of a house, the human head in a ludicrous sense.

Ripples, a weakness in the back and reins.

Rippling-kame, a flax-comb.

Rive, to tear.

Rolloching, outspoken.

Rout, to bellow; also, a blow.

Rowt, assembled.

Royte, a noisy animal.

Ruddoch, a contemptuous name for an old woman.

Rugh, rough.

Runkly, wrinkly.

Runt, the stalk of a vegetable, such as a cabbage.

S

Saep, soap.

Sandle, the sand-ell or sand-lance.

Sannock Garner, probably a familiar name for the devil.

Saugh, the willow.

Scart, to scratch or scrape.

Scorn, to torment, to rally.

Scour, to clean out.

Scour’d, ran quickly.

Scride, to scrape, as the bow on the strings of the violin.

Sculdudery, immorality.

Sculls, wicker baskets, such as are used by fishers.

Scunnert, disgusted.

Scythed, shot quickly.

Sea-cat, the sea-wolf or wolf-fish.

Sea-dog, the seal.

Servet, a table-napkin.

Shap, a cod, as a pea-cod.

Sheavling, distorting.

Shern, cattle ordure.

Shevelin, walking unsteadily.

Shough, slough, moss.

Shule, shovel.

Shure, sure.

Sickerly, firmly, surely.

Sikes, the phrase, ‘flay the sikes,’ means to give a good beating.

Sinsyne, since.

Skail’d, dispersed.

Skaith, harm.

Skein, a length of worsted or thread.

Skellat, a small bell used by town criers.

Skelped, struck.

Skirl’d, cried, screamed.

Slag, a small quantity.

Slung, a sling, a throw.

Snishing, snuff.

Snoaking, prying, smelling about like a dog.

Soncy, plump, well-conditioned.

Soughing, a rushing sound.

Souse, sosse, the fall of a soft body, to throw one’s self into a seat.

Soup, a mouthful, a spoonful.

Sowens, flummery, made of the dust oatmeal remaining among the seeds, steeped and soured.

Spanged, leaped, jumped.

Spaul, limb.

Speir’d, asked.

Spence, a larder, the parlour of a country house.

Spence, to, used to denote ‘the bedding.’

Spout, drink.

Spout-fish, the razor-fish.

Sprittled, speckled.

Spruch, spruce, smart.

Spue, to vomit.

Spunkie, Will-o’-the-Wisp.

Squattle, to drink greedily.

Stark, strong.

Stay, stey, steep, difficult.

Steighling, crowding, cramming.

Sticket, stopped; as, ‘a sticket minister,’ a man who has failed or been stopped in his studies for the ministry.

Stirk, a young bull.

Stirra, a stout, romping boy.

Stively, stoutly, firmly.

Stock, a stalk.

Stot, to stagger.

Stoup, a deep and narrow wooden vessel for holding water.

Sugh, to breathe heavily.

Sumf, sumph, a stupid, silly fellow; a blockhead.

Sunks, a saddle.

Supple, the part of a flail that strikes the grain.

Sutter, sutor, a shoemaker.

Swabing, a beating.

Swats, small beer.

Sweith, an interjection signifying ‘be quick, make haste.’

Syne, after that, then.

T

Tadder, a tether, a hawser.

Taupie, tawpie, a foolish woman.

Tent, care.

Theckit, thatched.

Thole, to bear.

Thraple, throat.

Tirlie-whirlie, any ornament, a whirligig.

Tirr’d, unroofed.

Tocher, a dowry.

Tod-lowrie, a name given to the fox.

Toom, empty.

Tost, an application.

Totum, a very small person.

Touting, blowing, sounding.

Toy, a linen or woollen head-dress, which hangs down over the shoulders.

Trykle, treacle.

Tug, a hawser.

Tullie, a quarrel.

Tut, an expression of contempt, equivalent to ‘pshaw’.

Tyke, a dog.

U

Uk, uke, v. ouk.

Unco, strange, unusual, very.

Unfiery, unsteady, infirm.

V

Veals, calves.

W

Wale, to choose.

Wallop, to leap; also, to beat.

Wally, large, fine, ample.

Wame, the belly, the stomach.

Wammel, to move awkwardly.

Water-wag-tail, the bird called the wag-tail, or motacilla.

Waught, a drink.

Wauker, a fuller.

Webster, wabster, a weaver.

Whaken, large, overflowing.

Whalpie, a puppy.

Whalp, to whelp.

Wheen, whin, a number.

Whiltie-whaltie, a state of palpitation; to play pit-a-pat.

Whinge, to whine, lament.

Whit, a jag or prick.

Widdling, waddling.

Widdyfu’, one who deserves to fill a widdy or halter, a romp.

Wierd, fate.

Winnle, an instrument used by women for winding yarn.

Win, dwell, reside.

Wirry, to strangle, to worry.

Wood, wud, furious with rage, mad.

Wyfe, to whiff.

Wyles, caution.

Wylie, a kind of flannel used for vests and petticoats.

Wyte, blame.

Y

Yeal, old, barren.

Yearning-bag, a bag containing the stomach of a calf, used for making milk curdle.

Yeltow, a chewed oath.

Yence, once.

Yerdet, buried.

Yird, the earth, the grave.

Youdeth, youth.

Youket, coupled, married.

Yule, latterly Christmas, but formerly the name given to an annual feast in honour of Odin.

Yule, youl, to howl like a dog.

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The End.

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Printed by H. Nisbet & Co., 38 Stockwell Street, Glasgow.

FOOTNOTES: