THE WHOLE
PROCEEDINGS
OF
JOCKEY AND MAGGY;
IN FIVE PARTS.
|
I. Jockey and Maggy's Courtshp as they were coming from the Market. |
IV. How Jocky and his Mother went away to see his Bastard Child. |
|
Carefully Corrected and Revised by the Author.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE FLYING STATIONERS.
———
1839.
THE WHOLE
PROCEEDINGS
OF
JOCKEY AND MAGGY;
IN FIVE PARTS.
|
I. Jockey and Maggy's Courtshp as they were coming from the Market. |
IV. How Jocky and his Mother went away to see his Bastard Child. |
|
Carefully Corrected and Revised by the Author.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE FLYING STATIONERS.
———
1839.
JOCKEY AND MAGGY'S COURTSHIP,
As they were coming from the Market.
PART I.
Jockey. Hey Maggy wilt thou stay and tak kent fouk hame wi' ye the night?
Maggy. Wiltu come awa' than Johnny, I fain wad be hame or the kye come in; our meikle 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 bra' time woman; And how is a' your fouks at hame.
Mag. 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.
Jock. But Maggy, they tell me we're gawn to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth, the laird's gard ner.
Mag. 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 ha' hacn me tak him, but my mither wadna let; there was an odd debate about it. My guidame wad ha' sticked my mither wi' the grape, if my father hadna' chanc'd to founder her wi' the beetle.
Jock. Hech, woman! I think your father was a fool for fashing wi' him, auld slavery duse, he wants naething of a cow but the clutes: your guidame may tak him hersel; twa auld tottering stumps, the tane may fair the tither fu' well.
Mag. Ach man! I wad hae taen thee or ony body to hane them greed again: my father held my guidame's nose, and my guidame brake my mither's thumb; the neighbour's came a'rinning in, but I had luck to haud my father's hands till yence my guidame plotted him wi' the broe that was to make our brose.
Jock. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you, an ye wadna he angry at it.
Mag. O Johnny, there's my hand I'se no be angry at it, be what it will.
(Shake hands for fear of an Outcast.)
Jock. Indeed Maggy, the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town say, we are gawn to be married; What say'st thou?
Mag.I wish we ne'er do war, O Johnny! I dream'd o' you lang syne, and I liket you ay after that.
Jock. O Maggy! Maggy! dost thou mind since I came to your father's bill, wi' mither's cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye helped me to haud her; ay after that they scorned me tbat I wad be married on a you.
Mag. 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.
Jock. Nor at mine, but my mither bad me kiss ye.
Mag. Indeed sall ye Johnny, thou's no want twa kisses man, ane on every side o' the mouth man.
Jock. Ha! ha! Maggy, I'll hae a merry night o' kissing you shortly.
Mag. Ay, but Johnny, ye man stay till that night come; it's best to keep the feast until the feast day.
Jock. Dinna be angry. Maggy, my wife to be, but I have beard my mither saying in her daffing, that fouk soud ay try gin their house will haud their plenishen.
Mag. Ay, but Johnny, a wife is ae thing and a house anither, a man that's amind to marry a woman he'll no mak her a whore.
Jock. It's a' true Maggy, but fouks may do it yence or they be married; and no hae ony ill in their minds.
Mag. Aha Johnny money a ane has been beguil'd wi' yence, and do it yence ye may do it ay; what, and we get a bastard, and hae to suffer for the foul act of fornieation.
Jock. Ay but my mither says, if dinna get thee wi' bairn, I'll not get thee; so it's the surest way of wooing.
Mag. Indeed Johnny, I like you better than ony lad I see, and I sall marry you yenee my father's muck were out; my mither douna work at the midden.
Jock. A Maggy, Maggy, I fear you beguile me, then my mither will murder me for being so silly.
Mag. My jo Jockey, tell your mi her to provide a'things for the bridal, and I shall marry you in three oucks after this; but we maun gie in siller to the Presenter, a groat and a drink to the Bellman, and then the kirk wa's maun hear o't three Sundays or it come
Jock. But Maggy , I'm no to mak a blin bargain wi' you nor ony body; I maun ken of your things, and ye sall ken o' miue.
Mag. I ken well what I was to get, and gin my mither like the bargain well, she'll make it better; but an' my father be angry at the match, I dare not meet you to be married.
Jock. I see na how he can be angry; I wat well I'm a' gay sturdy fellow, when I laid on a bow and five packs o beer on the Laird's Bawsey, and he's as bilshy a beast as is in the barony.
Mag. Ay, but my mither is ay angry at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it binna them she likes; indeed she bade me tak ony body if it were na auld tot'ring Tommie; for his beard is a brown wi' sucking tobacco, and slavers a' the breast o' his jacket.
Jock. 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 o' sunks; the hens, an the gawn gear were to be divided between me and my mither; and 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 it's happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky and the black Mare, the ha'f o' the cogs, three spoons, four pair o' blankets and ca n'as; she's to big twa beys to her ain gable to be a ⟨dwelling⟩ house to me and my wife; and I'm to get the wee byre at the end o' the ra' to haud my cow an twa couties: the hafc o' the barn and a bed o' the kailyard as lang as she lives, an when she dies am to pay for the earding o' her honestly; an a' the o'er come is to be my ain. And by that time I'll be as rich as e'er my father was before me.
Mag.Truly, Johnny, I'se no say meikle to the contrair, but gin 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.
Jock. I wat well I'm courting in earnest, tell me what you hae, an we'll say no more but marry ither.
Mag. I'se tell you a' I ken o', whate'er my guidame gies ye's get it.
Jock. That's right, I want nae mair, it's an unco thing to marry a naked woman and get nathing but twa bare legs.
Mag. O John, ye're in the right o't, for mony a ane is beguiled and gets neathing, but my father is to gie me forty pounds Scots that night I am married, a lade o' meal, a furlet o' groats; auld Crummie is mine since she was a cafe 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 ca'fbed, twa bowsters and three cods, with three pair o' blankets, an a covering; forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me creesh to them, and ye ken the butter is dear now.
Jock. Then fareweel the night Maggy? the best o' friends maun part, and sae maun thy twa legs yet.
Mag. I wish you well Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married. And then lad!
Hame gaed Maggy and telled her Mither.
Maggy. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye manna tell my father.
Mither.Dear Maggy! and what is that?
Mag. Deed mither, I'm gawn to be married, gin the muck were out.
Mith. Dear Maggy, and wha is thou gawn to get? it's no auld bubly Tammie.
Mag. Na, na, he’s a bra' young man, and has mare gier than ilka body kens o'; guess and I'll tell you. it's Johnny Bell, and his mither sent him to the market just to court me.
Mith. Deed Maggy, ye'll no be ill yoket wi' him he's a gay well gawn fellow, right sprush, amaist like an ill-far'd gentleman. Hey guidman, do ye hear that our Maggy is gawn to be married gin the muck were out.
Fat. Na, na, I'll no allow that until the peets be cuffen and hurl'd.
Mag.Father, it's dangerous to delay the like o' that, I like him, and he likes me; it's best to strike the iron when it's hot.
Fath. An wha is she gawn to get guidwife.
Mith. An wha do you think guidman.
Fath.A what wat I herie? an she please hersel and you, I'm pleased already.
Mith. Indeed she's gawn to get Johnny Bell, as clever a young fellow as in a' the barony where he bides.
Fath. A well, a well herie, she's your's 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 good turn ye done me, and this will be the best I think.
Hame gaed Jockey to his Mither Crying.
Jock.Mither! Mither! I made it ont, her mouth is sweeter than milk, my heart plays a whilue whaltie, when I kiss her.
Mith. Fair fa' thee my son Johnny, thou's gotten the gate o't at last: and when is thou gawn to be married?
Jock. When I like mither, but get masons the morn, to big 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 kill'd the black bull horned yeal ewe that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule fitted cock to prevent the riples, five pecks o' maut masket in the meikle kirn, a pint o' tryke to mak it thicker and sweeter an mumer for the mouth: five pints o' whiskey wherein was garlic and spice, for raising o' the wind and clearing o' their water; the friends and good neighbours went a' wi' John to the kirk, where Maggy chanc'd to meet him, and was married by the minister; the twa companies joined together and came hame in a croud, 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 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 mither presented ⟨to⟩ them a piping hot haggies, made of the crish of the black bull horn'd ewe, boiled in the meikle bag, mix'd with bear meal, onions, spice and mint; this haggies being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor set Johnny's belly abizing 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 girt bits, scythed through his teeth: his mither cried to spence him, and bed him wi' the bride; his breeks being filled, they wash'd baith his hips, laid him in his bed, pale and ghostly was his face, and closed were both 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 jag'd him wi' a needle, till he began to rouse himself up and rap out broken words. Mither, mither, whar am I now? Where are you now my bairn? says his mither, ye're bebet, an I'll bring the bride to lie down wi' you. Na, na, said he, I'll no lye with that unco woman indeed, if it binna heads an thraws, the way I lie with my mither? O gie, dinna affront yoursel. The bride ga's a crying, O mither! mither! was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man of manners and better mettle? poor thing, Meg, thou's cau'd thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market says his mither, a shame fa' you and her baith he's wordy o' her tho' she were better nor what she is, or e'er will be. His friends and her friends being in a mixed multitude, some took his part an 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 granads.
The crook, bowls and tongs were all employed as weapons of war; till down came the bed with a great mu' of peets. So this disturbet their treading.
PART II.
The wonderful Works of our John, &c.
Now though all the ceremonies of Jockey and Maggy's wedding were ended, when they were fairly bedded, before a wheen rattling unruly witnesses, wha dang down the bed aboon them; the battle still increased, and John's work turn'd out to he very wonderful, for he made Janet, that was his mither's lass thc last year, grew like an elshin haft, and got his ain Maggy wi' bairn forby.
The hamsheughs were very great, until auld uncle Rabby came in to red them, and a sturdy auld fallow he was, stood stievely wi' a stiff rumple, and by strength of his arms rave them sundry, flinging the ane east and the ither west, until they stood a' round about, like as many breathless forsoughten cocks, and no ane durst steer anither for him, Jockey's mither was driven o'er a kist, and bragget a her hips on a round heckle, up she gat, and running to fell Maggy's mither wi' the ladle, swearing she was the mither of a' the mischief that happened; unele Rabby ran in between them, he ha'ing a great long nose like a trumpet, she racklessly 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 snuff bubbles at it; O! then he gaed wode, and looked as waefu' like as he had been a Toplowrie com'd fre' 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; then wi' chitten and chappen, down comes the clay hallen and the hen bawk wi' Rob Reid the fiddler, who crept up aside the hens for the preservation of his fiddle.
Ben comes the bride when she got on her coat, clappet Robby’s shoulder and hade him spare their lives, for there is blood enough shed in ae night, quoth she, and that my beard ean 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 Maggie Simson sat by the fire and picked bones a' the time o' the battle; indeed quoth she, I think you're a' fools but mysel; for I came here to get a good supper, and ither fouk has gotten their skin well paid.
By this time up got John the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he was married, but could nae get his breeks; yet wi' a horse nail he tacked 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 your heads wi' my auld supple.
Poor Rob Reid the fiddler 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 rainbow frae him, as brown as wort brose.
The hurly-burly being ended, and naething but fair words an shaking o' hands which was a sure sign of an agreement, they begun to cou' their cutted lugs, an 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 an hundred holes dung in my arse wi' the heckle teeth.
Jockey answers, a e'en had you wi' them than mither, ye will e'en be the better sair'd.
Up get uncle Rabby, aud auld Sandy the souter o' Siggyhole, to put every thing in order: they prapet up the bed wi' a rake and rippling kame, the bearers being broken they made a solid bottom of peets, laid on the cauf bed and bowsters, where Jockey and Maggy was beddet the second time.
Jockey not being used to lie wi' a naked 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. I'll bite you, &c. Naething mair remarkable till about half a year and four oucks thereafter, in comes Marion Mushet running barefoot and bareleggit, wi' bleart een and watery cheeks, cursing and banning, greeting and flyting.
Marion enters, crying, and whar's John?
His mother answers. Indeed he's out in the yard powing kill runts.
Marion. A. black end on a him and runts baith, for he's ruin'd me an 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 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, lying lown! I trow our John was ne'er guilty o' sic a sinfu' action; daft woman! I trow it'll be but wind that hoves up the lassie's weam; she'll hae drunken some drink, like raw sowens or rotten milk that makes her sae.
Mar. A wae be to him an his actions haith, he's the father o't, fornicator dog that he is; he's ruin'd me an my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she come till 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 haud your tongue, an no even your bystart to my bairn, for he'll ne'er tak wi't: he, poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look at a lass, be's to lay her down. Fy Maggy. Crying o' John, and let's ratify't wi' the auld rudouch; ay, ye're 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. And what wat 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 laird's, for saw him kiss her at the lammas fair, and let glam at her nonsense.
Mith. Ay, ay, my man Jonnny, that's the way she has gotten her belly fu' o' bairns; its no you, nor the like o you, poor innocent lad, that gets bystart weans; a wheen filthy louns, every ane loups on anither, and gies you the wite of a'.
Mar. You may say what you like about it, (it's easy to ca' a court whar nae body's to say again) but I'll tell you a' I ken about it, and that is what she teld me, and you good wife tell mc some o't yoursel: an gin ye hadna brought in Maggy wi' her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockie and my Jennie had a been man an wife the day.
Jock. I wat well that's true.
Mith. Ye silly sumph and senseless fellow, had yes been muckle deep i' the dirty drab, ye might a said sae, but ye tell'd me lang syne that ye could na lo'e her, she was so lazy and loun like; besides her crooked fit and bow'd legs.
Jock. Ay but mither, do you mind since ye sent me to gie her the parting kiss at the black hole o' the peet stack, she rave the bottom frae my breeks, and wad gar me do't? I'm sure mither, I cou'd ne'er get her wi' bairn and my breeks on.
Mith. Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the weans no your's, ilka ane loups on anither, an you'll get the wyte of a' the bystarts round about.
Up gets Maggy wi' a roar, and rives her hair, claws her back, belly an baith her sides; the weed and gut gaes thro' my flesh like lang needles, nails, or elshin irons. Wae be to the day that e'er I saw his face, I had better hae married a tinkler, or a followed the soger, as mony an honest man's dochter has done, and liv'd a het er life than I do.
Up gets Jockey and runs o'er the rigs for John Roger's wife, auld Katie the howdie, but or he wan back, she parted wi' Patrick through perfect spite, then lay twafold o'er a stool in a swoon.
Jock. A well, a well sirs, since my first born is e'en dead, without seeing the light o' the warld; ye's a' get bread and cheese to the blyth-meat, the thing we shou'd a war d on the banquet will sair the burial, and that will ay be some advantage? Gin Maggay tho' die I maun e'en tak Jenny; the tane is as far a length as the tither; I'se be furnisht 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 thro the town, every auld wife teld anither o't, and a' the light hippet hizies that rins between towns at e'en, turning at their tow rocks, spread it round the kintry; and every bodies mouth was filled wi, Jockey and Jenney, 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 Clinkum Bell the grave maker, to summon Jockey and Jenney to the session, and to 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 himsel' a rubbing his lugs and riving his hair, saying, O gin I were but a halfell higher, I sude be a soger or it be lang: an gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sude kill Frenchmen anow, before I gaed to face yon flyting ministers, an be set up like a warl s wonder on their cock-stool or black-stool, an wha can bide the shame, whan every body looks to them like a piece of auld canvas prickt about a body for naething, but what every body does amaist, or they be married as well as me?
Mith My man Johnny, ye're no the first that has done it, an ye'll no be the last; e'en 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 wad the world stand, if fouks wadna make use o' ither; its 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 t ey be married; its an unco thing till a body to be bound to a business, if they dinna ken whether they're able for it or no.
Mag. Ay, ay, that's your way o' doing and his, but it's no the way o' ither honest fouk; see what the minister will say to it.
Mith The minister is but a mortal man, an there is defections in his members as well as mine.
Mag. Ay, but fouk should ay strive to mortify their members.
Mith An that is your whigry? Will you or ony body else, wi' your mortifying of your members, prevent what's to come to pass? I wish I saw the minister and his elders, but I'se gae him scripture for a' he's done yet; tell na me about the mortifying o' members, gin he had gotten a bysta t, let her and him feed it between them, an they sud gie it soup about; but she maun keep it the first quarter, an by that time muckle black lady 'ill be caust. we shall fell the cause, and foster the wean on the cow's milk. That's a better mense for a faut than a' your mortifying o' your members, and a' your repenting stools; a wheen Papist rites and rotten ceremonies, fashing fouks wi' sack gowns an buttock males, and I dinna ken what; but bide you yet, till I see the minister.
PART III.
The wonderful works of our John, made manifest before the Minister, &c.
Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre and held a private meeting, nane present but auld brockie and the twa brutes, the lats o' couties.
Mith. Ye silly dog an be drown'd to you, how cou'd ye confcss sae muckle to maeslie-shanket Marion, although she be her mither?
Jock. O mither! mither! say nae mair about it, my ain wan has dung me dourly; sadly have I suffered for that, and ye ken a' the misery's com’d oer our Maggy, my mouth's the mither o't, sae haud your tongue I tell you now.
Mith An tell me to haud my tongue? Gin ye had hae hauden your tongue and your tail, and ha'e done as I bid you, ye hadna had sae muckle ado the day, daft silly dog it tu is.
Jock. Mither, mither, gie's nane of 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 shine, and I'se gae whar never man saw my face before, neither wood, water, nor wilderness sall haud me again.
Mith My bra' man, Johnny, you manna do that; stay at hame wi' me, an set a stout heart to a stie brae, I'se gae to the session wi' you, gang whan you like.
Jock. A well mither, I sall do your bidding for ance yet, but when the minister flytes on me, answer ye him, for I canna speak well again.
Mith Say nae mair, I hae a pockfu' o' perfect petitions to louse and put to him and his elders, an if tu maun gae to their black stool, it's no be thee thy lane sall sit.
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 you did it, but say but ance, and that on the terms of marriage, the way that a' our kintry bystarts are gotten.
Now Jocky being three times summoned to the session, and did not appear, the session insist for a warrant from the justice of the peace, which was readily granted, more for diversion nor justice sake; the warrant being given to John King the constable, who went away with Clinkem Bell on Saturday's morning, and catched John just at his breakfast, hauls him awa', ane at ilka oxter, like twa butcher's dogs hinging in a bull's beard. His mither followed, driving him up wi' good counsels.-My bra' man, Johnny, haud up your head, dinna think shame, for a' your fa't is but perfect honesty, you're neither a thief, whore, nor horse stealer.
Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby, and uncle Rabby sent for Sandy the souter of Siggyhole; the souter saddled his mair, and uncle Rabby got aff at a gallop-on his grey powney, west the hags, and owre by White hill-sheugh, the nearest, and was at Sir James the Justice's lang o'er John was brought into judgment.
John enters before the justice with a red, red face like a well pay'd arse, fa's down on his knees, saying; Guideen Mr. Justice, Sir James, and it please your honour, ye manna put me in prison, for I m no malefactor, but a poor honest kintryman, that was born in an ill planet, my mither says't. I had the ill luck of a misfortune to fa' foul wi' fornication, and got my mither s lass wi bairn the last year, an they're gaun 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 year's labour.
Jock. Ay, ay, sir, I have laboured very sair since my father died, but our plough canna get ga'in for frost this four days.
Just. Ay, but John, that's no what I mean, it's the child ye got last year you 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 to the one that's alive.
Jock. O! 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 dyke, what is that to the purpose, when it is of your getting, you must maintain it?
Jock. O! yes, stir, I'm no refusing to gie't meat an meal to maintain it; 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 reason why you should not go, argument it in the session, and clear yourself if you can.
John's mither enters, and addresses herself to the servant lass, thinking she was the justice's lady.
Indeed mistress madam, if ye were a kintry guidewife like mysel, I could tell you a about it, but you that's gentles, I canna use freedom wi' you, because I hae na Latin. But wae's me, we that's poor fouk is born to many feelins an backward faus; this lad is my son, and I'm his mother, he has had the foul fortune to get a bystart bairn, no 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 good wife, 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 shamefu stance the black stool; here's uncle Rabby, an auld Sandy the souter, 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: guid night wi' your honour s lairdship, it's the first time e'er I was before you.
On Sabbath after sermon, the session met, John and his mother is called upon, he enters courageously, saying, Guideen to you master minister, bellman and elders a', my mither and me is baith here.
Mess John. Then let her in, come awa' good wife, what's the reason ye 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 work about it, I think, when he's gi'en the lazy hulk, the mither o t, baith meal and groats to maintain it, ye needna fash him, he's a dutifu' father indeed, weel I wat, when he feeds his bystarts sae weel.
Mess John. Woman, are you a hearer of the gospel, that ye reject the dictates of it? how comes ye 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 throw the Bible and the New testament, and I never saw a repenting stool in't a'; then whar could 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 when any o' them turned whigs, they were put on a four-neuked thing, like a yarn winnel-blads, an rave a' their gouls sindry till they turned papists again, and then for anger they put them on a black stane or stool, in the midst o' the kirk, and the sack gown about them, wi' the picture o' the deil and satan on't; 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 what was the original of your repenting stools. And when the Whigs chased awa' the Papist fouk out o' the kintry, they left a wheen o' their religious pictures and the stool of repentance was amongst the spoil, but ye'se no get my bairn to set upon a thing as high as a hen-bawk, and ilka body to be glowring at him.
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 hae naething ado wi't; I ken my son is a fornicator, an 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 we's pay the buttoek-male and mak nae muckle about it.
Mess John. Good wife, you need not think your son will pass so, more than others that have been before him, he must actually come before the congregation three Sabbaths, before he he absolved from the scandal, and get the benefit of any church privileges like an 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 back frae't and hear what ye hae to say about fornication, twa harmless free bodies passing their tryals to see what they can do, ye that's Whigs may mak enough o't, but I think nae muckle about it.
Mess John. Woman ye may go home and see what you have to do; ye have a very bad tongue; it's not you we are to take an account of
Mith. Ay, ay, ye that's mini ters and modest fouk may say sae, but if my son had tane as good tent of his tail, as I can do of my tongue, there had nae been sae muckle about it; a wheen sill louns kens na what they were made for, or how to guide a thing when 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 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 is 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 married. I need na forget the getting, it was nae sae easy to me.
Mess John. How lang 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, an gin I had never seen her, I had never kend her after sic a fashous fashion.
Mess John. How lang was she serving with your mother?
Jock. Just twa haillerts: I got her wi' bairn about a year after she came, and it's 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.
Messs 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 gets the way of going to it; ye should actually a married the poor woman, when ye cohabited so long together.
Jock. No stir, we didna cowhabit together, tho she kist me, and I kist her, sometimes in the barn, and sometimes in the byre; nane kent o't but my mither, an she wadna let me tak her, but sent me awa' to court our Maggy.
His other cries through the hole of the door: 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 loun like, leepit, lazy sumph, who had neither wit nor wyles, no saw much judgment as wyse the wind frae her tail, but lut it gang a ore fouks.
Up gets the elders, crying, Fy, Fy, Duncan the bellman, drive that wicked wife frae the door, she disturbs us all.
Duncan runs to the door whispering, shame fa you for a wife, gang out o' that; but I'd rather hear you, as them yet.
Mess John. Now John, will ye be so plain as tell me whether ye promist to marry the woman or no, when ye lay wi' her.
Jock. Na stir, I didna lie wi' her, for the herd and me lay in the byre bed, an she lay in a little lang saddle at the halend end.
Mess John. It's all one whether ye lay with her or not, when ye have got her with child, that's what ye confess.
Jock. I kenna whether 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 wi' spiering a thing t 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 an 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 louse than bun to an ill stake.
Mess John. I see it is needless for me to inquire 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, I am very easy about repentance, and for your stool, it's a seat am very indifferent abou', for I'm but bashful and as I was never guilty of getting bystarts, before or sin syne, cxcept in thoughts, words, deeds and actions, I think you may e'en let me pess, I suffered enough wi' the clash o' the kintry, and loss o' my ain wean; it was nae bystart, ye canna gar me stand for that.
Mess John. You appear to be such a stupid fellow, the like o' you should neither have lawful child nor bystart, and I admire that such an idiot as you was allowed to be married to any woman; and you James, who is elder of that proportion, should have given information of this man's capacity, before he was joined to a wife.
Elder. Indeed sir, ye ken very well he answered the questions at the examine better than any other fouks, and I think hc is best married, for he might a gotten more bystarts and a fash'd us.
Jock. Indeed stir, it's very true, for when ance I got the gate o' women, I coudna bide aff them; but our Maggy was unco cunnen, she wadna let me do naething but kiss her an kittle her, till ance we was married.
Mess John. I'll ask no more questions at him: call in his mother, (In she comes), Goodwife, we have ordered your son to appear three Sabbaths on the stool, and there to be reproved before the congregation publicly, and be absolved from the scandal.
Moth. Then the ill thief be in his a-se, Mess John, gin e'er he set a hip 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 an never set a hip on't yet, and he's continually riding on the hissies 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, fornicate, kiss and cuddle a wee wi' ilka body they like, I'll gie you ten marks and gie t to me an my son too.
Mess John. 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.
Mith. Indeed stir, tak your mind o't, as our cat did o' the haggies when she sipped it a' an 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.
How Jockey and his Mother went away to see his Bystart child, &c.
Now Jockey and his mither came hame together, chick for chow, cracking like twa hand guns.
Mith. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field condingly, whan I hae conquered a' the canker'd carles about the kirk.
Jock. Indeed mither, I think you are a better man nor the minister, and gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin to ken the kittle figures, ye may preach as well as he.
Mith. I trow, Jock lad, their Black stool o' sham repentance ne'er got sic a rattle as I hae gien't the day.
Jock. Na, na, mither, a' the whore-mongers that ever set a hip on't kens na sae muckle about the auld foundation on't as ye do.
Mith. But Johnny man, gin thou wad start in the morning, the first o' the daft days, and that's on Munday, ye an I wad gae to see that daft jade Jenny, the mither o't.
Jock. Wi' a' my heart mither: but we maun gie't something, gin it were an auld sarvet or an auld sark to keep the hips o't warm; young weans are aye wet about the arse, ye ken.
Mith. Weel then Johnny, I'se cry to thee when the hens begins to kackle, an that's about the break o' day; and we's be ready to tak the road again Torryburn day light, when we'll ken a t—-d frae a stane.
Up gets auld Maggy. Jock's mither, in the morning, puts on the kittle, an makes her Yool sowens; the mickle pot hung on the fire a' night, wi' the cheek of an auld cow's ⟨head⟩. She skims aff the fat and maks a great cog o' Brose; then 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 my poor lassie coudna done war than she's done, O, gin she had yielded her body to some bit hird laddie he wad a seen her lang or now.
Mith. A dear Marion, what wad ye be at? Do ye thiuk that our John, wha has a wife o's ain, cou'd come and wait on her as if she were a dame of honour, or yet an honest man's wife; poor silly lown it she is; gin he had thought on what he was com'd o', he wad ne'er ha'e offered benevolence to the like o' her.
Marion. Gin ye had been as great an iustrogator against his making her double ribbet, as ye're now against doing her justice for the filthy himcrack he's gien her, ye wadna need to ca' her silly lown the day, and him an honest man. But ne'er an honest man wad hod'ld sae lang on ae poor hizzie, an then gane awa' and a married anither for love of a pickle auld clouts, an twa or three pockfu's o' tow; and she but a silly loun indeed, that lute him or ony rattlescull else, shak their tail sae lang upon her, without his faith, and his troth, and his fist before the minister.
Mith. A cauld be your cast kimmer, do you 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, and our John's father was a farmer; and altho' they hae fa'en foul o' ither, I think nae sairly o't, its but a trick o' youth, and the course of youdeth maun be out; but she may thank good fortune, and tell her friends, ay, an count it credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like o' him; a good, fu', fat farmer's son, but ae step higher nor a laird.
Mar. A wae be to sic a credit it's no worth the cracking o'; and whar was a' his noble equals whan he be't to lay a leg on a my poor lassie, poor clatty cluny it tu is? and if they ware na ae Hand's mak I wad think naething o t; for there warna a needle o' differ between their daddies: and what ware they baith but twa sticket taylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame and counted your bowkail-stocks, as come here to count kindred wi' me.
Jock. ⟨Hut⟩ awa' daft witless wives, I kinna what ye'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 several it is, just like yoursel.
(The child is presented.)
Jock. Mither, mither it has a muckle mouth just like mine, and sees wi' baith its e'en, and bit five days auld yet.
Mith. Dear Johnny thou's no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be blind? the poor thing saw whan it was new born.
Jock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skilled as the houdies, and them that's ay habling weans; but I thought they had a' been like the wee bits o' whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.
Mith. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu', comparing a beast till a woman's ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, and a wean is a chrisen'd creature.
Jock. Na, mither, 'tis no a christened creature yet; for it 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 to meet in the morning, a body wanting a name.
Mith. Hout, out ay, ye it's auld wives is fu' o' frits, an' religious fashions: them that look to frits, frits follow them; but it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an I never kend a Sabbath day by anither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.
Mar. Dear guidwife, what needs ye speak sae loud; Ye fright the wean wi' crying sae,—see, it starts.
Mith. Ay, ay; the bystarts is a' that way: but ken ye the reason o'that?
Mar. Ye that kens the reason of every thing may soon find out that too.
Mith. A deed than woman I'll tell you: the merry begotten weans,—it's bystarts I mean-are red wood, half witet hillocket sort o' creatures; for gif it be not ane amang twenty o' them, they're a' scar'd o' the getting, for there's few, few o' them gotten in beds like honest fouk's bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o' dykes, an kil-logies, whare there's ay some body wandering to scar poor needfu' persons at their job o' journey-wark; for weel ken I the gates 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 black colly came in behind us wi' bow wow, of a great goul just aboon my buttocks; and as I'm a sinner, he gart me loup leveruck height, and yet we got the wean for a' that.
Mith. A weel then, Johnny, that maks my words good yet.
Jenny answers out of the bed-A shame fa' your fashions; ye hae na muckle to keep when ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the gettin o't.
Jock. A shame fa' yoursel, Jenny, for I hae gotten my part o' the shame else; an gin ye hadna teld first there wad nane kend, for nae body saw us but John Gammel's auld colly, and he's no a sufficient witness.
Mar. Now, good-wife, amang a' the tales ye hae tell'd me, how is this wane to be maintained?
Mith. Ill chance on your auld black mouth, Marion, did not I send you my guid sprittled hen, a pound o' butter and sixpence, forby a lippy o' groats, and a furlat o' meal: mak her a good cogfu' o' brose, and put a knoist o' butter in them, to fill up the hole whar the lown came out, and I'll send meal or that be done.
Mar. An it be na better than the last, ye may een keep it to yoursel; your groat meal, and gray meal, sand, dust and seeds, coarse enough to feed cocks and hens, besides a woman in her condition.
Mith. A foul be your gabs, ye're a' sae gash o' your gabbies; a wheen fools that stive up your guts wi' good meat, to gar the worms turn wanton and wallop in your wames; feed yoursels as I do, wi' hack t kail, brose made o' groat meal, gray meal, sand, dust and seeds, and weak shilling; ony thing is good enough to fill the guts, and mak a t—d of.
Jock. Na, na, mither, an the wean wad suck our Maggy, I sud tak it hame in my oxter.
Mith. O ye fool! Maggy's milk is a' mould, salt an sapless lang syne; but I trow she wad keb at it, as the black ewe did at the white ewe's lamb the last year; sae speak nae mair o' Maggy's milk. No to compare a cat to a creature, the yell cats is never kind to kittens, an the maiden's bairns is a' unco weel bred.
Jock. Na, na, ye're a mista'en, mither; Maggy has milk yet, for every pap she has is like a burn pig; I'se warrand you they'll haud pints the piece.
Mith. My man Johnny, let them keep the wean that has the wean; we'll never miss a pockfu' o' meal, now an then I wadna hae my bed pist, and blankets rotten for a bow o' the best o't.
Jock. O mither! I canna lea't, I like it sae weel; it has twa bonny glancing een, just like mine in a looking glass. I wonder how I was able to get the like o't. Indeed mither I think mair o't, nor I do o' my grey horse, Maggy, and the four ky.
Mith. My man Johnny, ye're at nae strait about bairns getting; nae needs to gang to London to learn that auld trade; I ken very weel when ane gets warklums right in their hand, nature will teach them how to fa' on t.
Jock. Now fare you weel, Janet; that wane is weel worth the workmanship, I' warant ye—well a wat is't.
Jenny. Guid night wi' you John; but oh, man! thou's broke my fortune. I'll never get mair o' man nor I hae gotten; and dear, dear, have I suffered for what I hae done! and if thou hadst bestowed thyself on o' me, ye see what a bonny bairn time we wad hae haen.
Mith. Thou says it thou's suffer'd sadly for what thou's done; but tho' they wad tak the hide o'er thy een holes, it wadna tak the inclination out o' thee; for thou'll do't again, but it'll no be wi' my bairn I'se warrand thee. And now Johnny, come awa' hame to thy hauff morrow, and use thy freedom as formerly; thou'll hae weans thick and three fauld; I'll mak thee a decoction of cock stanes, lamb stanes, and chicken broe, will gar thee cock thy tail like a mevies, and canter like a Galloway top.
THE Vth AND LAST PART.
Being an account of Jokcye's Mother's Death and Burial-the baptising of his Two Children, and how he mounted the Stool-with an elegant Elegy and Epitaph on that occasion.
As Jockey and his mither came hobbling hame together on the outside o' the auld doil'd beast, his mither's black mare, a waefu' misfortune befel the. 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 hand harn sark played clash between her legs like a wet dishclout, her teeth gied like a rattle bag till about half gate hame; then she was suddenly seized with a rumbling in her muckle bag, what we kintry fouks ca's a rush i'th the guts. Jockey was fash'd helping her aff an helping her on: foul, fat, and dirty was the road, having like half a t—d at every tadder length.
Jock. Deed, mither, I doubt death has something to do wi you, for there s a rumbling in a' your weame like an auld kirning.
Mith. Hout, tout, I canna hear o't, but they'll be nae fear o' me now. I'm safe at my ain door, thanks to thee and the auld beast it brought me. Heat my feet wi' the bannock stane, and lay me in my bed, fling four pair o' blankets and a canno's on me, I'll be well enough, an ance I were better. Swieth, Maggy, gie me a cogfu' o' milk brose, and a plack's worth o' spice in them; nae fear o' an auld wife, as lang as she's loose behin', an can tak meat.
Jock. Ise be't, mither, a e'en fill up the bows o' your bell, you'd stand the storm better: I'se warran ye never die as lang as ye can tak yer meat.
Ben comes Maggy wi' the brose; but four soups an a flag filled her to the teeth, till she began to bock them back again, an ding away the dish.
Jock. I, mither, mither, I judge there's mair ado wi' you nor a dish to lick: when ye refuse guid milk meat, I'm doubtfu' your mouth be gawn to the muses.
Mith. I, dear Johnny, am no willen to die if I could do better; but this will be a sair wiuter, on auld frail fouks, yet an I wad grow better, I might live this twenty year yet, an be nae auld wife for a' that; but alake a day, there is een mony auld folk dying this year.
Jock. A deed mither there's fouks dying the year that never died before.
Mith. Dear Johnny, wilt thou bring me the doctor? he may do me some gude, for gin my heart warna sick, an my head sae sair, I think I may grow better yet.
Jock. A weel mither, Ise bring the doctor, the minister, the elder, and my uncle.
Mith. Na, na: bring nae ministers to me, his dry cracks 'ill do me little guid. I dinna want to see his pouder'd pow, and I in sic an ill condition; get me a pint o' drams in the mickle bottle, and set it in the hole in the back side o' my bed.
Jock. I deed, mither, ye're in the right o't, for ye want to be weel warmed within, to chase the cauld wind and frosty water out at your backside.
Then awa' he rins to draff Meg's at the Kirktown, and brings a bottle in every hand. Out wi' the cork gaes her ain in o'er, she sets it to her gab and suattles up a mutchkin at a waught, which was like to wirry her, till she fell a rifting and roaring like an auld blunder bush.
Jock. Heck hay, co' she, but that makes an alteration, and wears awa the wind.
Wi' that, her head fell to the cod, an she sought awa' like a very saint or drunken sinner.
Jock. Oh! Maggy, Maggy! my mither's lost her breath, (she'll no live long without it, I dou't she be dead already, and nae body see her but ye and I and ourselves twa; and she had been fair o'erseen it maksna. I'll no haud 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 shake her fit, or wag her mickle tae, it would aye be some satisfaction. But in came the neighbours in a hush, dinging ither down in the door.
Jock. Come away 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 rigat cow; for weel I wat I'll e'en miss her, for she was a bra' spinner o' tow; and could a cardet to twa muckle wheels She had nae faut but ane, and that was her tongue; but she'll speak nae mair. Fy gets a dale or a barn door to straught her on, for ay when she was cauld, she was unco kankert and ill to curch, but I se hae her yerded on Wednesday teen.
Come, come, says Maggy, we 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. I dear John, be at ease, ye ken she mauna be buried the way she is; a sark and winden-sheet is the least she cau get.
Jock. I ha, Maggy, is that what ye mean? She has a guid new winden-sheet, it was never about her shoulder yet; sae, Maggy do't a' yoursel, and I se gar Clinken Bell measure the grave and mak it.
Now when they brought out the corpse, John told the people they were welcome, to had in a cheek oo' his auld mither wast the gate; and being laid right on the spakes, hach had! quoth he, this is a bra' honesty indeed,-it s mair boukie nor my bridal was. But when they came to the grave, it was o'er short and straight about the mouth, which set John in a great passion, saying a foul fa' your naughty fashions, master-Bellman, did not I packshion wi' you for the bried o' my mither's back, and the length o' her carkage, and this hole winna haud her. Thou's get nae mair o' my change if I sude die the morn.
Uncle Rabie. Whisht, whisht, sir! 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? And am I to pay for a hole, and get but half a hole? That's the thing that vexes me. But I'se keep toupence out o' his trencher for't, and sae will I een. But gang ye hame, Uncle to get cog an cap for the deargry, 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 tooth an nail. The ale was handed up in cogs and caps, lashing it down o'er like bletchers watering their webs; John blutter'd in the coag like a cow in warm water, till the barm and bubbles came belching out at his nose, saying a guid health to you all round about, and soon and shortly may we a gang the gate my mither's gane, an I with them a burying amang dogs that speaks against it.
About eight and twenty weeks thereafter, Maggy had a wally weamefu' o' weans to bear, an ay whan she cried, John cried, which made the kimmers and auld Ketty the Howdie laugh heartily to hear them.
Ketty. Here now, John, your wife's brought to bed wi' a bra' lad bairn, gie him your blessing.
Jock. Weel I wat he's no want that; but an there had been as muckle 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 corn-riddle fu' o' the three neuket scons, whang down the cheese like peats, eat and drink to my mither’s deargry, till we forget our sorrow, and then we'll see Mess John about a name to him; since we see its the way o't that the young comes into the world and chases out the auld, we maun crisen them, an 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, sir, a wae worth her, for the wives o' our town and I has gotten a waking night wi' her: but we hae gotten her turn'd an stir'd again. She's born a bra' walley thumping stirra: he'll herd the kye belief to me gin he had huggers on him, and I'm com'd to you to get him a bit name.
Minister. A bit name to him, John: if ye want no more but a name to him, you may gie him that yourself.
Jock. Na, but sir, I want both the words and the water: what you say to ither fouks, say to me.
Minister I, but John, you must give security or satisfaction. You're a man under scandal.
Jock. What the muckle mischief, sir, tho' under scandal, or abune scandal, will you refuse to chrisen my wean that's honestly gotten in my ain wife's bed, beneath the blankets, 'cause I had a bystart! Canna ye crisen 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, sir, I wad think naething to stand a time or twa on't to please you, if there were nae body in the kirk on a ukeday, but you and the elder to flyte a wee on me. But it's waur on a Sunday, to hae a' bodys 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—it's nothing when it's over: we cannot say o'er much to you about it.
Upon Sunday thereafter, John comes with Uncle Rabie's auld wide coat, a muckle grey lang tailed wig and bag bonnet which covered his face, so that he seemed more like an old pilgrim than a young fornicator—mounts the creepy 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 on the second day, 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 tuizie between the twa mothers who would have their names to be John. A weel, weel, says old John, their father to the minister,—deed, sir, ye maun ca' the tane John, and the ither Jock, and that will please both these enemies o' mankind.
Minister. A weel John, suppose ye do, it is still twa Johns nevertheless.
Jock. A deed sir, ye maun gie the wicked a' their will; we'se 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 Johuny, but ye speak indifferently about this matter; ye know not the nature of it.
Jock. A mony thanks to you, mess John. Now, when ye hae christened baith my bairn and my bystart, I hope you'll forgie me the buttock mail.
Minister. John, I desire ye to be silent and to speak none here, you must keep a straight walk in time coming, free of scandal or offence.
Jock. Ay, sir, and how think ye the like o' me can walk straight wi' sic auld shevlin heeled shune as mine, amang sic rough rigs, highs and hows as I hae to harl throw.
Minister. I need not speak to you; ye are but a poor, mean, ignorant person.
Jock. Na, sir, well I wat I'm neither poor, nor yet mean. My mither’s fairly yerded now, guid be thanket, and left a' she had to Maggy and me.
Minister But hear ye this, John, you must not kiss any other women than your own wife, live justly like another honest christian, and you'll come to die well.
Jock. A black end on o' me, sir, gin ever I lay an unlawful leg upon hissie again gin they sud lie down to me while our Maggy lasts; and for dieing there's nae fear o' that. But I'll no' get fair play if ye and a' the aulder fouk o' the parish be not dead before me: so I hae done wi' ye now.
AN EPITAPH.
Here lies the dust of John Bell's mither-
Against her will Death's brought her hither:
Clapt in this hole, hard by his daddy-
Death snatched her up or she was ready.
Lang might she liv'd, wer't not her weime;
But wha can live beyond their time?
There's nane laments her but the souter,
So here she lies looking about her.-
Looking about her! How can that be?-
Yes; she sees her state better than we.
AN ELEGY
On the Death of Jockey's Mither.
Now, be it kend my Mither's dead-
For weel I wat I bore her head,
And in the grave I saw her laid;
It was e'en drole.
For her to change a warm fire side
For a cauld kirk-hole.
But ilka ane tell'st just like a sang,
That yon's the gate we've a' to gang;
For me to do't, I think nae lang,
If I can do better;
For I trow my mither thinks't nae sang-
What needs we clatter
But thanks to Death a' for the suiter,
That did not let her get the souter;-
About her gear there wad been a splutter,
And sae had been,
For he came ay snoaking about her
Late at e'en.
For dear Maggy watched and saw,
My mither's back was at the wa;
But what was mair, hach ha! hach ha!
I winna tell.
She to do yon stood little awe-
Just like mysell.
But to get gear was a' her drift,
And used monie a pinging shift;
About her spinning and her thrift,
Was a' her care,
She’s gotten little o't, boon the lift.Wi' her to ware.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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