THE
WHOLE PROCEEDINGS
OF
JOCKY & MAGGY'S
COURTSHIP,
WITH
The Great Diversion that Ensued.
IN THREE PARTS.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
WONDERFUL POWER OF THE STOMACH--
Mr. Hunter justly regards the Stomach as the seat and centre of sympathy, with respect to the other organs of the humane frame: KAYE'S WORSDELL'S PILLS so promote that sympathy, and sustain the digestive powers, as to produce perfect health. Sold throughout the Empire at 1s. 1 1/2., 2s, 9d. and 4s. 6d, per box. Wholesale Depot, 22, Bread Street, London.
HOLLOWAY'S OINTMENT AND PILLS EFFECTUAL IN THE CURE OF SCROFULA--
Copy of letter from Mr. Campbell, of Hastings.-"To Professor Holloway. Sir, I am happy to bear witness to the wonderful efficacy of your Medicines in cases of Serofula. A frirend of mine was severely afflicted with this complaint for several years, indeed so bad that several experienced surgeons said he was incurable. After all hopes of a recovery a friend persuaded him to try your Medicines, and the consequence was that he now entirely got rid of his complaint."-Sold by all Medicine Vendors throughout the World; at Professor Holloway's Establishments, 244 Strand, London; and 80, Maiden Lane, New York; by A. Stampa, Constantinople; A. Guidicy, Smyrna and H. Hood's, Malta, and Retailed by W. R. Walker, Royal Arcade, Newcastle.
THOUSANDS who have for a long time suffered from Disease are rejoicing over renewed health, and strength, by the simple practice of taking for a short time one or two of Dr. TORRENS' HERBAL PILLS before going to bed at night.
These Pills are the most restoring, invigorating, cleansing, comforting, purifying, refreshing, enlivening, and bracing, of any medicine ever known; they cleanse the stomach, rectify the bile, purify the blood, strengthen the nerves, and completely restore a decayed constitution; and by removing all Disease out of the Body restore cheerfulness and personal beauty.
Sold wholesale and retail by W R. Walker, Arcadia, Newcastle-on-Tyne.
JOCKEY AND MAGGY'S
COURTSHIP.
PART I.
Jockey. Hey, Maggy, wiltu stay and tak kent ⟨folks⟩ hame wi' ye the night.
Maggy. Wiltu come awa' than Johnnie, I fain wad be hame or the kie come in; our mickle Riggy ⟨is⟩ sic a rumbling royte, she rins ay thro' the byre, ⟨and⟩ sticks a' the bits o' couties; my mither is na able to haud her to her ain stake.
Jock. Hute, we'll be hame in braw time woman. ⟨And⟩ how's a' your folks at hame?
Mag. Indeed I canna weel tell you man; our ⟨guid⟩ man is a' gane wi' the gout; my mither is ⟨very⟩ frail, my father he's aye wandering about, and ⟨widdling⟩ amang the beast.
Jock. But dear, Maggy, they tell me me were ⟨gaun⟩ to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth, the Laird's young gardener.
Mag. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to ⟨be⟩ his wife than the like of me; but auld Tammy Tailtree was seeking me; my father wad a hane ⟨me⟩ to tak him, but my mither wadna let me; there ⟨was⟩ a debate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi' the grape, if my father hadna chanced to founder her with the beetle.
Jock. Hech, woman, I think your father was a fool for fashing wi' him, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a cow but the cloutes; your guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the taen may sair the tither fu' weel.
Mag. Hech man! I wad hae tane thee or ony body to hane them greed again, my father bled my guidame's nose, and my guidame brake my mither's ⟨thumb⟩; the neighbour's came rinning in, but I had the luik to haud my father's hands, till yence my guidame plotted him wi' the broe that was to mak our brose.
Jock. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you, an ye wadna be angry at it.
Mag. O Johnny, there's my hand I'se no be angry at it, be what it will.
Jock. Indeed, Maggy, the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town says we are gaunto be married. What sayest thou?
Mag.I wish we ne'er do waur, man, O Johnny I dream'd of you langsyne, and I like you aye after that.
Jock. O Maggy, Maggy, dost thou mind since I came to your father's bull wi' my mither's cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye helped me to haud her; aye after that they scorned me, that I wad be married to you.
Mag. It's very true man, it'll be an odd thing and it be; but it'll na fa' back at my door, I assure you.
Jock. Nor at mine-But my mither bade me kiss ye.
Mag. Indeed sall ye. Johnny, thou's no ⟨want⟩ twa kisses, ane on every side of the mouth, man.
Jock. Ha, ha, Maggy, I'll hae a merry night ⟨of⟩ kissing you shortly.
Mag. Ay, but Johnny, you maun stay till ⟨that⟩ night comes; it's best to keep the feast until the feast day.
Jock. Dinna be angry. Maggy, my wife to be; for I have heard my mither saying in her daffin, that fouk sud aye try gin their house will haud their plenishing.
Mag. Ay, Johnny, a wife is ae thing and a house anither; a man that's a-mind to marry a woman, he'll aye be fond o' her.
Jock. 'Tis a' true Maggy, but fouks may kiss or they be married; and no hae nae ill in their minds.
Mag. Indeed, Johnny, I like you better than ony lad I see; an I sall marry you and ance my faither's muck were out; my mither downa work at the midden.
Jock. A Maggy, Maggy! I'm feared ye beguile me, and then my mither will murder me for being so silly.
Mag. My jo, Johnny, tell your mither to provide a' things for the bridal and I sall marry you in three ouks after this; but we maun gie in siller to the Precentor, a groat and a drink to the Bellman, and then the kirk wa's maun bear o't three Sundays or it come.
Jock. But Maggy, I'm no to mak a blin bargain wi' you nor nae body; I maun ken of your things, and you sall ken of mine.
Mag. I ken well what I was to get, and gin my mither like the bargain weel, she'll mak it better; but an my father be angry at the bargain, I darna speak of marrying.
Jock. I seena how he can be angry; I wat well I am a gay sturdy fellow, when I laid a bow and five pecks of beer on the Laird's Bawsy, and he's as bilshy a beast as in a' the barony.
Mag. Ay, but my mither is aye angry at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it dinna them she likes, indeed she bade me tak ony body, if it wasna auld tottering Tammy; for his bread is aye brown wi' suckling tobacco, and slavers a' the breast of his fecket.
Jock. O Maggy, take me and I'll tell ye what I hae. First my father left me, when he died fifty merks, twa sacks, twa pair of sunks; the hens and the gaun gear was to be divided between me and my mither, aud if she died first, a' her gear was to come in among mine, and if I died before her, a' my gear was to come back to her again, and her to marry anither man if she could get him But since 'tis sae, she is to gie me Brucky and the black mare, the half of the cogs, three spoons, and four pair of blankets anda cannas: she's too big twabey to her ain gravel, to be a dwelling house to me and my wife, and I'm to get the wee byre at the end of the raw, to haud my cows an twa couties; the half of the barn, and a bed of the kail-yard, as lang as she leaves, and when she dies. I'm to pay for the yerding honestly; and a' the o'ercome is to be my ain; and by that time I'll be as rich as e'er my father was before me.
Mag.Truly, Johnnie; I'se no say mickle to the contrait, but an ye hae a mind to tak me wi' what I hae, tell me either now or never, I'se be married or lang be.
Jock. I wat weel I'm courting in earnest, tell me what you hae, an we'll say na mair, but marry ither.
Mag. I'se tell you a' I ken of, whate'er my guidame gies ye's get it.
Jock. That's right, I want nae mair, 'tis an unco thing to marry, a naked woman, and get naething.
Mag. O Jonny, ye're in the right o't, for mony a ane is beguiled and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pounds Scots that night I am married, a lade of meal, a furlet of groats: auld Crummie is mine since she was a calf, and now she has a stirk will tak the bill ere Belton yet; I hae twa stane of gude lint, and three pockfu's of tow, a gude ca'f bed, twa bowsters and three cods, with twa pair of blankets, and a covering, forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me creesh to them, and ye ken the butter is now dear.
Jock. Then fareweel the nicht, Maggy; the best of friends maun part.
Mag. I wish you weel Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married, and then, lad.
Hame gaed Maggy and telled her Mither.
Mag. O mither! I hea something to tell ye, but ye mauna tell my father?
Mith. Dear Maggy, and what is that?
Mag. Deed, mither, I'm gaun to be married an the muck were out.
Mith. Dear Maggy, and wha'st thou gaun to get, 'tis no auld bubly Tammie?
Mag. Na, na, he's a braw young man, and I'll tell you, 'tis Johnny Bell; and his mither sent him to the market just to court me ance errand.
Mith. Deed Maggy, ye'll no be ill yoked wi' him, he's a gay well gaun fellow, right spruce, maist like an ill-faured gentleman. Hey gudeman, do you hear that our Maggy is gaun to be married an the muck were ance out.
Fath. Na, na, I'll no allow that until the peats are custen and hurled.
Mag. O father! 'tis dangerous to delay the like of that, I like him, and he likes me; 'tis best to strike the iron when 'tis hot.
Fath. And wha's she gaun to get, gudewife?
Mith. And wha think ye, gudeman?
Fath. A what wat I, here and she please hersel, I'm pleased already.
Mith. Indeed she's gaun to get Johnny Bell, as clever a little fellow as in a' the barony whare he bides.
Fath. A-weel, a-weel herie, she's your's as well as mine, gie her to wha ye please.
Mith. A-weel, Maggy, I'se hae all things ready to hae thee married or a month.
Mag. Thanks to ye Mither, mony a gude turn hae ye done me, and this will be the best.
Hame gaed Jockey to mither crying.
Jock. Mither! mither I made it out, her mouth is sweeter than milk; my heart played a whilkie whaltie, whan I kissed her.
Mith. Fair fa' thee, my son, Johnny, thou's gotten the geat o't at last. And whan art thou gaun to be married?
Jock. Whan I like, mither; but get the masons the morn to big me my hoose, for I'll hae a' things in right good order.
Mith. Thou's want for naething, my bairn, to get thee ready for marriage.
The wooing being over and the day being set, Jockey's mither killed the black boul horned yeal ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule-fitted coc; to prevent the ripples, five pecks of maut masked in the ripple kirn, a pint of treacle to make it thicker and sweeter, and mamier for the mouth; five pints of whiskey, wherein was garlic and spice, for raising the wind. The friends and good neighbours went alang wi' John to the kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him, and was married
by the minister. The twa companies joined thegither and came hame in a crowd; and 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 couped him up, and proved him detrimental to the same.
So hame they came to the dinner, where his mither presenting to them a piping het haggis, made of the creesh of the black boul horned ewe, boiled in the meikle pot, mixt with bear meal, onions, spice and mint. This haggies being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor set John's belly a-bizzing like a working fat. His mither cried to spence him, and bed him with the bride. Pale and ghostly was his face and closed were baith his een. Ah! cries his mither, a dismal day indeed, his bridal and his burial may be in ae day. Some cuist water in his face, and jag'd him wi the needle, till he began to rouse himself up, then lisp out some broken words. Mither, mither! cried Jockey, war am I now? Whar are you now, my bairn, says his mither, ye are bedet, and I'll bring the bride to you. Beded, says Jockey, and is my bridal done else? Ay is't, said his mother, and here is the bride says Jockey, I'll no lie wi' an unco woman indeed, come to lie down beside ye, man. Na na, mither and it binna heeds and thraws, the way I lie wi' you mither. O fye, John, says his mither, dinna affront yoursel' and m,e bath, tak' her in o'er the bed ayont ye, and kiss her, and clap her, and daut her till ye fa' asleep. The bride fa's a-crying oot, O mither! mither! whar are ye, mither? Poor thing, Meg thou's ca'd thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market! says Jockey's mither; a shame fa' you and her baith he is worth of her though she were better nor what she is, or e'er will be,—His friends and her friends being a mixed multitude some took his part, some took her's, there did a battle begin 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, trenchers, were flying like bombs and granadoes; the crook, bouls, and tangs, were all employed as weapons of war, till down came the bed, with a great mou of peats! So this distubed a' the deversions at Jockey's bedding, and the sky was beginning to break in the east before the hurly-burly was over.
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 doon the bed aboon them; the battle still increased, and John's work turned out to be very wonderful, for he made Janet, that was his mither's servant lass last year, grew like an elshen haft and got his ain, Maggy wi' bairn forby. The humsheughs were very great, until auld uncle Rabby came in to redd them; and a sturdy auld fellow he was; he stood lively with a stiff rumple, and by strength of his arms rave them aye sunder, flinging the taen east and the tither west, till they stood a' round about like as many for foughten cocks and no ane durst steer another for him. Jockey's mither was caed o'er a kist, and brokit a' her hip on a round heckle, up she gat, and running to fell Maggy's mither with the ladle, swearing she was the mither of a' the mischief that happend. Uncle Rabby ran in between them, he having a muckle nose like a trumpet, she recklessly came o'er his lobster neb a drive wi' the laddle, till the blood came, ran down his old grey beard, and hang like snuffy bubbles at it. O then he gaed wud, and looked as waeful like as he had been a tod-lorie come frae worrying lambs, wiht his bloody mouth. With that he gets an auld flail and rives awa the supple, then drives them a' to the back of the door, but nane wan out; then wi' chirting and clapping of hands down comes the clay hallen' and the henbawk wi' Rab Reid the fiddler, who had crept up beside the hens for the preservation of his fiddle.
Ben comes the bride, when she got on her coat, clappet Rabby on the shouther, and bade him spare their lives, for their was blood cnough shed in ae night, quoth she; and that my beard can witness quoth he. So they all came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his supple made their pows baith saft and sair that night; but daft Maggy Simpson sat by the fire and picked banes a' the time of the battle. Indeed quoth she. I think ye're a' fools, but myself, for I came here to get a good supper, and ither folk hae gotten their skin well paid.
By this time up got Jock, the bridegroom that was Jockey before he was married, but couldna get his breeks; and rampling he cries, Settle ye, or I'll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften your heads wi' an auld supple.
Poor Rab Reid, the fiddler, took a sudden blast; some said he was maw turned wi' the fa', for he brocked up a' the barley, and then gar'd the ale gae like a rainbow frae him, as brown as wort brose.
The hurly-burly being ended, and naething but fair words an shaking of hands which was an a sure sign of an agreement, they begun to cow their cutted lugs, and wash their sairs, a' but Jockey's mither, who cried out, A black end to you and your wedding baith, for I hae gotten a hundred holes dung in my back wi' the round heckle teeth.
Jockey answers, A e'en haud you wi' them then mither, ye will e'en be the better sair'd.
Up get uncle Rabby, aud auld Sandy, the souter, of Seggyhole, to put everything in order: they prapet up the bed wi' a rake, and ripsling kame; the stoops being broken, they made a solid foundation of peats, laid on the caff bed and bowsters, and Jockey and Maggy were bedet the second time.
Jockey not being used to lie wi' a woman, except heads and thraws wi' his mither, gets his twa hands about the bride's 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.
Naething mair remarkable happened till about half a year and four ouks thereafter, when in comes Marion Mushes, rinning barefitted and barelegged, wi' bleart cheeks and a watery nose, cursing and banning, greeting and flyting.
(Marion enters, crying,) And whar's John?
Mith. Indeed he's out in the yard pouting kail runts.
Mar. A black end on a him and his runts baith, for he's ruined me and my bairn.
Mith. Ruined you! it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you ill, by night or be day, what gars you say that?
Mar. O woman! our Jenny is a rowing like a pack of woo; indeed she's wi' quick bairn, and your John is the father o't.
Mith. Our John the father o't! haud, there's enough said, lieing lown? I trow our John was ne'er guilty of sic a sinfu' action. Daft woman I trow it'll be but wind; she'll hae drucken some sour drink, raw sowens, or rotten milk, makes her so ill.
Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father o't, fornicator dog that he is, he's ruined me an 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 could pit on anither's claes, or tak a louse of ither.
Mith. I bid you haud your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he'll ne'er take wi't; he, poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look to a lass, be's to lay her down. Fy, Maggy, cry in John and ane let's ratify't wi' the auld ruddoch; aye, ye're no blate to say sae.
Mar. Be angry or be well pleased, I'll say't in of your faces, and I'll call you before your betters ere lang gae.
John enters. A what want ye now! our brose ready yet?
Mith. Ay, brose! black brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here's Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi' bairn.
Jock. Me mither, I never lay in a bed with her dochter a' my days; it'll be the young Laird's for a saw him kiss her at a Lammas fair and let glaum at her nonsense.
Mith. Ay, ay, my man, Jonnny, that is the way; 'tis no you, nor the like of you, poor innocent lad; 'tis a wheen rambling o'erfull lowns ilka ane of them loups on another, and gies the like of you the wyte o't.
Mar. Ye may say what you like about it it its easy to ca' a court whar there's nae body to say again; but I'll let you ken about it, and that is what she tell't me, and you gudewife tell't me some o't yoursel'; and gin ye hadna brought in Maggy wi' her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockey and my Jenny wad hae been man an wife that day.
Jock. I wat weel that's true.
Mith. Ye filthy dog that ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi' a bystard, and it no yours? Dinna I ken as weel as ye do wha's aught it, and wha got the wean.
Jock. Aye, mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt it will come to my door at the last.
Mith. Ye silly sumph and senseless fellow, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the nasty drab, ye might hae said sae, but ye tell't me langsyne that ye could na lo'e her, she was sae lazy and lown like, besides her crooket fit and bowed 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 peak-stack.
Mith. Na, na, poor simple lad; the wean's no your's, ilka ane loups on o' anither, and ye'll get the wyte of a' the bystarts round about the country.
Up gets Maggy wi' a roar, and rives her hair and cries, O her back, her belly! and baith her sides! The weed and gut gaes through my flesh like lang needles, nails, or elshin irons! Wae be to the day that e'er I saw his face. I had better married a tinkler, or a followed the sodgers, 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 Bodger's wife, auld Katty and howdy; but or he wan back, she parted wi' Patrick through perfect spite, then lay twa-fauld o,er a stood in a swon.
Jock. A-weel, a-weel, sirs, though my first born is e'en dead without seeing the light of the warld, ye's a' get bread and cheese to the blythe meat, the thing we should a waured on the bauket will sair the burial, and that will aye be some advantage; and should Maggy die, I maun een tak Jenny, the taen is as far a length as the tither; I'se be furnished wi' a wife between the twa.
But Maggy grew better the next day, and was able to muck the byre; yet there gaed sic a tittle tattlin through the town every auld wife tell'd anither o't, and a' the light-hippet hissies that rins between towns at e'en 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 Mes John Hill hears of the foul fact, and sends the Elder of that quarter, and Clinkum-Bell, the grave maker to summon Jockey and Jenny, to the Sessions, and see how the stool of repentance wad set them. No sooner had they entered the door
but Maggy fa's a greeting and wringing her hands, Jockey's mither fell a-flyting, and he himself a-rubbing his lugs and riving his hair, crying out, O gin I were but a half an ell higher, I sud be a sodger or it be lang; gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sud kill Russians anew, before I gaed to face yon flyting Ministers, and be set up like a warld's wonder on their cock-stool or back-stool; and wha can
hide the shame when every body looks to them, wi' their sacken sacks, or gowns, on them like a piece aud canvas prick about a body, for naething but what every body does amaist or they are married; as well as me.
Mith. My man, Johnnie, ye're no the first that has done it, and ye'll no be the last.
Mag. Aye, aye, and that gars your son be so good o't as he is; the thing that's bred in the flesh is ill to put out of the bane.
Mith. Daft woman, what way wad the world stand, if fouks wadna make use of ither.
Mag. Aye, aye, but an they be for the like o' that, they should marry.
Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre and held a private meeting, nane present but ⟨auld⟩ Bruckie and the twa brutes, the bits of couties, ⟨that⟩ she might give him counsel how to behave when he appeared before Mess John, to answer for ⟨his⟩ bystard; which concludes the third and last ⟨part.⟩
PART III.
Aff he goes to the Minister, and owns a' his faut ⟨to⟩ him; and Mess John desired him to appear before the congregation the next Sabbath, to be rebuked for his fau't.
Jock. Indeed, sir, I wad think naething to stan' ⟨a⟩ time or twa on the black stool, to please you, if ⟨there⟩ were naebody in the kirk, on a ouke day, but ⟨you⟩ and the elders to flyte a wee on me; but 'tis waur on a Sunday to have a' bodies looking and ⟨laughing⟩ at me, as I had been codding the peas, ⟨sipping⟩ tho kirn, or something that's no bonny.
Min. A weel John, never mind you these things ⟨but⟩ come ye to the stool it's nothing when it is over, we cannot say o'er muckle to you about it.
On Sunday thereafter, John comes with Uncle Raby's auld wide coat, a muckle grey lang-tailed wig, and a big bonnet, which covered his face, ⟨so⟩ that he seemed more like an old pilgrim than ⟨a⟩ young fornicator! mounts the creepy wi' 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 ⟨any⟩ other seat, so that he passed the first day ⟨unknown⟩ but to very few; yet, or the second it came to ⟨be⟩ well 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 mothers' who would have both their names to be John. A-weel says auld John their father to the minister, A-deed, sir, ye maun ca' the tane John cnd the tither Jock, and that will please baith these enemies of mankind.
Minister. Now John, you must never kiss another woman but your own wife; live justly, like another honest man, and you will come to die well.
Jock. A black end on me, sir, if ever I lay wi' another woman, as lang as our Mggy lasts; and for dying, there's nae fear of that, or I'll no get fair play, if ye and a' the aulder folk in the parish be not dead before me. So I hae done wi' you now, fareweel, sir.
W. R. Walker, Printer, Royal Arcade, Newcastle.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse