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pours on a chappen of clean crish like oil, which made a brave sappy breakfast for Jockey and his mither; and Maggy got the cog to scart.
The brose being done, an a' things ready, he halters the black mare, lays on the sunks, and a covering, fine furniture for a country wife.
Jockey mounts and his mither behind him, trots awa', till coming down the brae aboon John Davie'd well, the auld beast being unfiery o' the feet, she fund'red before, the girth and crupple broke. Jockey tumbled o'er her lugs, an his mither out o'er him in the wall wi' a flung.
Jock. Ay, ay, mither, tho' I fell, ye needna fa en aboon me; and gin ye had lyne where ye lighted first, ye wadna tumbled into the wall; it's an unco thing that a body canna get a fa' but ye maun fa' aboon them, auld ruddock it tu is, thou might hae hauden better by the rumple, and then wadna ha'e bruised a' my back wi' your auld hard banes, nor hae wat yoursel sae; and see how ye hae drummeld a John Davie's wall.
Mith. Hech, quo' she, I wonder gin I be killed; thou a'wise was wont to get the word of a guid rider, baith upon hissies and horses, gin this be thy management thou's little worth-fell'd the auld banes it bore thee: sic a bath, as I hae gotten to my Yool! thou coudna gi'en me a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld frosty morning; wae be to thee an that ill gotten gate o' thine: O! let never better bounty be gotten wi' bystarts getting: and this is sae much o' the fruits o fornication, a war stance than the black stool yet.
Jock. Let's a be now wi' your auld jaunts about bystarts getting, or I'se gie you the wind o' the mare's tail, and gar you whammel hame wi' a' your wat coats about you.
Mith. Na, na, my man Johnny, haud th auld jade till I loup on; we came together, an we's gang hame together; we sall see thy bystart an' its mither or we gae hame.
Jock. Wi' a' my heart, mither, but yonder's the house an the hens on't; the lums reeking rarely, but little ken they wha's coming.
At length they came to Jenny's mither's door;
In goes Jock's mother, and in goes his mare;
Himself goes after, and cries, How's a here.
Mith. Hech! is that poor body in her bed yet?
Her mother answers; Weel I wat she's in her bed, and cald, cald, and cumfortless is her lying. Bystart getting is like lent gear, seldom or never weel paid back again; but
