# Whole proceedings of Jocky and Maggy

THE WHOLE
PROCEEDINGS
OF
JOCKY and MAGGY:
IN FIVE PARTS.
I. Jocky and Maggy's courtfhip as they were coming from the Market.
II. The wonderful works of our John, ſhewing how he made Jannet like an elſhin ſhaft, and got his ain Maggy wi' bairn forby.
III. The wonderful works of our John made manifeſt before the minister.
IV. How Jocky and his Mother went away to ſee his baſtard child, and what happened.
V. How Jocky had another child, and could not get it baptized until he mounted the ſtool: With an account of his mother death and burial; Alſo an Elegy on the occaſion.
Entered according to Order.
JOCKY and MAGGY'S COURTSHIP.
PART I.
Jocky. HEY Maggy, wilt thou ſtay and tak kent fouks hame wi' you, the night?
Maggy. Will tu come awa' then Johnny, I fain would be hame or the kye come in, our mickle riggy is ſic a runing royte, ſhe rins ay thro' the byre, and ſticks a' the bits of cutties, my mither is nae able to hal her up to her ain ſtaik.
Jocky. Hute, well be hame in bra' time woman; and how's a, your fouks at hame?
Mag. Indeed, I canna' we'el tell ye man our guidam is a' gane wi' the gout; my mither is very frail; my father he's ay wandering about and widdling amang the beaſts.
Jock. But dear Maggy, they tell me we'er gawn to get a wedding o' thee an' Andrew Merrymouth the lairds gardener.
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 a haen me to tak him, but my mither wadna let, there was an odd debate about it, my guidame wad a ſticked my mither wi' the grape, if my father hadna chanc'd to founder her wi' the beetle.
Jock. Hech waman, I think your father was a fool for faſhing wi' him, auld ſlavery duſe, he wants naething of the cow but the clutes, your goodame may take him herſel, twa auld tottering ſtumps, the tane may fair the tither fu' well.
​Mag. Ach! man, I wad a ta'en thee or ony ody to hane them agreed again; my father bled y gudeame's noſe, an my gudame brake my mither's thumb, the neighbours came a running in, but I had the luck to had my father's hands till yance my guidame plotted him wi' the brue that was to make 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
[Shakes hands for fear of an outcaſt.]
Jock. Indeed Maggy, the fouk o' your town ⟨&⟩ the fouk o' our, town ſay we'er gawn to be arry'd; what ſayeſt thou?
Mag. I wiſh we ne'er do war; O Johnny I dream'd of you lang ſyne, an I ay liked you after that.
Jock.O Maggy! Maggy! doſt thou mind ſince I came to your mither's bull w' my mither's cow, ye ken ſhę widna ſtand, an ye helped me to had her: ay after that they ſcorned ed me that I wad be married on a you.
Mag. It's very true man, it'll be an odd thimg if 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 Johny, thou's no want twa kiſſes man ane on every ſide o' the mouth.
Jock. Ha! ha! Maggy, I'll hae a merry night o kiſſing you ſhortly.
Mag. Ay but Johnny, you maun ſtay til ​that night come; it's beſt to keep the feaſt the feaſt day.
Jock. Dinna be angry Maggy, my wife be: but I have heard my mither ſay in daffin, that fouk ſude ay try if their houſe will had the pleniſhen.
Mag. Ay but Johnny a wife is ae thing, an a houſe is anither, a man that's a mind to marry a woman, he'll no make her a whore.
Jock. It's a true Maggy, but fouks may do it yence or they be married, and no hae nae ill in their minds.
Mag. Aha Johnny mony are has been beguild wi' yence, and do it yence we may do it ay; what an we get a byſtart, an hae to ſuffer for the foul act of fornication.
Jock. Ay, but my mither ſays, if I dinna get thee wi' bairn, I'll go get thee; ſo it is the ſureſt way of wooing,
Mag. Indeed Johnny, I like you better nor ony lad I ſee, an I ſall marry you an yence my father's muck were out, my mither downa work at the midden.
Jock. Ah! Maggy, Maggy, I'm ſcar'd ye beguile me, an then my mither will murder me for being ſo ſilly.
Mag. May jo Jockey, tell your mither to provide a' things for the bridal, an I ſall marry you in three ukes after this; but we maun gie in ſiller to the pecentor, a groat and a drink to the bellman an then the kirk wa's maun hear o't three Sundays or it come.
Jock. But Maggy, I'm no to make a blin ​bargain wi' you or nae body, I maun ken o' your things on ye ſall ken of o' mine.
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 our match I darna meet you to be married.
Jock. I ſee na how he can be angry, I wat well I am a gay ⟨ſturday⟩ fallow, when I laid on a bow and five pecks o' bear on the laird's Bawſey an he's as bilſhy a beaſt as in a' the barronry.
Mag. Ay but my mither is ay angry at ony body that evens themſelvs to me, an it binna them ſhe likes; indeed ſhe bade me tak ony body, if it warna' auld tottering Tammy, for his beard is ay brown wi' ſucking tobacco, an ſlavers a' the breaſt of his fecket,
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 of ſunks, the hens on a' the gawn gear was to be divided between me and my mither; an if the died firſt a her gear was to come amang mine, an it I died before her, a' my gear was to come back to her again, an her to marry anither man if ſhe could get him. But ſicne its happened ſae, ſhe is to gie me brucky an the black mare, the half o' the cogs, three spoons, four pair o' blankets an a can'as; ſhe's to big twa' beys to her ain gavel, to be a dwelling houſe to me an my wife, I'm to get the byre at the end o' the raw to had my cow an twa cutties, the haf o' the barn, an a bed o' the kail yard as lang as ſhe lives, an when ſhe dies a'm to pay the ​yearding o' her honeſtly, an 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.
Mag. Truly Johnny, I'se no ay meikle to the contrair, tut an ye hae 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 ye hae, an we'el ſay nae mair 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 naket woman, an naething but twa bare legs.
Mag. John, ye'er ay in the right o't, for mony ane is beguil'd and get's naething, but my father is to gie me forty pund Scots that night I am married, a lade o' meal, an a furlot o' groats; auld Crummie is mine ſince ſhe was a cauf, an now ſhe has a ſtirk will take the bu l e'er Beltan yet; I had twa ſtane o' good lint, an three pock'u's o' tow, an a good caſt bed, twa kowſters, an 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.
Jock. Then farewel the night, Maggy; the beſt o' friends maun part, an ſae maun thy twa legs yet.
Mag. I wiſh you well Johnny, but ſae nae mair till we be married, an then lad.
(Hame gaed Maggy an tells her mither.)
Mag. O mither! I hae ſomething to tell ye, but ye mauna tell my father.
​Mith. Dear maggy an what is that?
Mag, Deed mither a'm gaun to be married an the muck war out.
Mith. Dear Maggy, an wha is thou gaun to get? it's no auld bubly Tammy?
Mag. Na, na, he's a braw young man, an has mair gear than ilka body kens o', gueſs an I'll tell you; it's Johnny Bell, an his mither ſent him to the market juſt to court me.
Mit. Deed Maggy ye'll no be ill youket wi' him, he's a gay weel gaun fallow, right ſpruſh, amaiſt like an ill far'd gentleman.--Hey guidman! do ye hear that our Maggy is gaun to be married on ance the muck were out.
Father. Na, na, I'll no allow that until the peat's be cuſſen an hurl'd.
Mag. O father! it is dangerous to delay the like o' that; I like him an he likes me, it's beſt to ſtrike the iron while it is het.
Fath. An wha is ſhe gaun 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 Johony Bell as cliver a little fallow, as in a the barronry where be bids.
Fath. A well, a well herie, ſhe is yours as well as mine, gie her to wha you pleaſe.
Mith. A well Maggy, I'ſe hae a' things ready, an I'll hae the married e'er 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 gaes Jocky to his mither, crying.)
Jock. Mither! mither! I made it out; her mouth is ſweeter as milk, my heart plays a whiltie whaltie when I kiſs her.
Mith. Fair fa thee my ſon Johnny, thou's gotten the gait o't at laſt; and when is thou gaun 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 nae want for naething, my bairn, but puſh't foreward as faſt as ye can.
The wooing being o'er on the day being, ſet Jockey's mither kill'd the black boul horned ewe, that loſt her lamb the laſt year, three hens an a gule fitted cock, to prevent the ripples; five pecks o' maut maſked in the meikle kirn, a pint o' trykle to mak it thicker an an ſweeter an maumier for the mouth; five pints o' whiſky, wherein was garlick an ſpice, for raiſing o' the wind, an clearing o' the waters. The friends an good neighbours went a wi' John to the kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him, an was married by the miniſter. The twa companies joined together, an came hame in a crowd; at every change houſe they chanc'd to paſs by, providance ſtopt their proceeding, with full ſtoups bottles and glaſſes, drinking their healths wiſhing them much joy, ten girls and a boy: Jocky ſeeing ſo many wiſhing well to his he lth, coupt up what he got, for to augment his health, and gar him live lang which afterwards coupt up him, an prov'd detrimental to the ſame.
​So home they came to the dinner, which his mither preſented to them a piping hot haggies, made o' the creiſh o' the black boul horn'd ewe, boild the meikle bag, mixt with bear meal and ingans, ſpice an mint; this haggies being ſpout warm, the foaming ſwats an ſpice in the liquor, ſet John's belly a' bizzing like a working fat an he playing het fit to the fiddler, was ſuddenly ſeized with a backing an rebounding, gave his dinner ſuch a backward ca' that he loſt a', but the grit bits he ſcythed thro' his teeth. His mither cry'd to ſpence him, an bed him wi' the bride; his breeks being filled, they waſhed baith his lips, laid him in his bed, pale and ghoſtly was his face, an cloſed were baith his een; Ah! cries his mither, a diſmal day indeed; his brithal an his burial may be baith on ae day. Some cuiſt water in his face, an jagged him wi' a needle, till he began to rouſe himſelf up, an rap out broken words, mither, mither, mither, whar am I now? Whar are ye? my bairn, ſays his mither, ye'er beddet, an I'll bring the bride to you. Beddet an is my bridal dune elſe? Ay, ſaid ſhe, here's the bride to ly down wi' you. Na, na, ſaid he, I'll no ly down wi' that unco woman indeed, if it binna heads an thraws, the way I lay wi' my mither. O fy dinna affront yourſel.
The bride fa's a crying, O mither, mither, was this the way my father guided you the firſt night? Na, na, thy father was a man o' mettle; poor thing, Meg, thou's ca'dd 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 in a mixt multitude, ſome took his part, and 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, and trenchers were flying like bombs and hand granades. The crook, bouls and tongues were all employed as weapons of war; till down came the bed wit a mou o' peats. So this diſturbed a' their treading.
PART. II.
The Wonderful Works of our John.
Now house cerimonies of Jockey and Maggy's wedding was ended, when they were fairly beddet before a wheen rattling unrouly witneſſes, who dang down the bed aboon them; the battle ſtill increaſed and John's work's turned out to be very wonderful; for he made Janet, that was his mithir's laſs the laſt year, grow like an elſhin ſhaft, an got his ain Maggy wi' bairn forby.
The hamſheughs were very great until auld uncle Rabby came in to red them, an a ſturdy ​auld fallow he was, ſtood ſlively wi' a ſtiff rumple, an by main ſtrength o' his arms rave them ſundray, flinging the ane caſtſ and the ither weſt, till they ſtood a'round about, like as mony breathleſs cocks, an no ane durſt ſteer anither for him; Jockey's mither was driven o'er a kiſt, an brogget a' her hips on a round heckle, up ſhe gat and rinning to ſell Maggy's mither wi' the laidle, ſwearing that ſhe was the mither o' a' the miſchief that happened, uncle Rabby ran in between them, he having a great lang noſe like a trumpet, the reckleſly came o'er his lobſter neb a drive wi' the ladle, until the blood ſprang out an ran down his auld grey beard an hang like a ſnuffy bubble at it: O! then he gaed wood and an looked as waefu' like, as he had been a tod lowrie, com'd frae worrying lambs, wi' his bloody mouth. Wi' that he get's an auld flail, an rives awa the ſupple, then drives them a' to the back o' the door, but yet nane wan out; then wi' chirting an claping, down comes the clay hallen, an the hen bauk, wi' Rab Reid the fidler, who creepet 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 bade him ſpare their lives; for their is blood enough ſhed in ae night, quo ſhe; and that my beard can witneſs, quo he. So they all came in obediance to uncle Rabby, for his ſupple made their pows faſt an fair that night. But daft Maggy Simpſon ſat by the fire, an pi ked banes at the time o' the battle; indeed, quo ſhe, ​⟨think⟩ ye'er a fools but myſel; for I came here ⟨to⟩ get a guide ſupper, an other fouk has gotten their ſkin weel paid.
By this time up got John the bridegroom, ⟨that⟩ was Jocky before he was married, but ⟨should⟩ not get his breeks; yet wi' a horſe nail ⟨he⟩ tacked his ſark tail between his legs, that ane might ſee what every body ſhould hide, ⟨and⟩ rambling, he cries Settle ye, or I'll gar ⟨my⟩ uncle ſettle ye, an faſten ye're heads wi' ⟨my⟩ auld ſupple.
Poor Rab Reid the fiddler, took a ſudden daft; ſome ſaid he was maw turn'd wi' the a' for he bocked up a' the barley an then ⟨gar'd⟩ the ale gae like a rain-bow frae him, as ⟨brown⟩ as wort broſe.
The hurly burly being ended, an naething ⟨but⟩ fair words and ſhaking o' hands, which was a ſure ſign o' an agreement; they began ⟨to⟩ cow their cutted lugs an' waſh their fairs, ⟨a'⟩ but Jockey's mither, wha cries out, a black ⟨end⟩ on you and your wedding baith; for I hae gotten a hunder holes dung in my arſe wi' ⟨the⟩ heckle teeth.
Jocky anſwers. A e'en had you wi' them than mither, ye will e'en be the better fair'd,
Up gets uncle Rabby, an auld Sandy the ⟨ſutor⟩ of Seggyhole, to put every thing in order; they prappet up the bed wi a rake an a rippling kame; the bearers being baoken they made a ſolid foundation of peats, and laid on the cuff beddan bowſters, where Jockey an Maggy was beddet the ſecond time.
​Jockey no being uſed to ly with a naked woman, except heads and thraws wi' his mither, gets his twa hands about the brides neck, an his hough out our the brides hurdies, ſaying I ne'er kiſt wife nor laſs naket before, an for fairneſs I'd bite you, I'II bite you, I'll bite you, &c.
Naithing mair remarkable till about half a year an four ukes thereafter, in comes Marion Muſhet, rinning bare-foot an bare legget wi' bleart cheeks an a wattery noſe, curling, greering and flyting.
Marion enters. Crying, and whar's John.
His mither anſwers, Indeed he's out in the yard powing runts.
Mar. A black end on him and his runts baith, for he's ruind me and my bairn.
Mith. Ruin'd you! it cannot be; he never did you ill, nor ſaid you ill. by night or by 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, an your John is the father o't.
Mith. Our John the father o't! haud, there enough ſaid. lying lown I true our John was ne'er guilty o' ſic a ſinfu' action: Daft woman! I true it ill be but wind that hoves up the laſſies wame; ſhe'll hae drunken ſome four ſowans, or rotten milk, that makes her ſae.
Mar A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father oft, fornicator dog that he is, he's ruined me an my bairn; I bore her an ​nrought her up honeſtly, till ſhe came to you: her father died an left me four o' them, there warna ane o' them cou'd put on anithers claes, or tak a louſe aff ither.
Mith. I bid you hand your tongue, an no even your byſtards to my bairn, for he'll never tak wi' it; he, poor ſilly lad he wad ne'er look to a laſs, be as to lay her down, Fy Maggy cry in on John, an lets ratify it wi' the auld roddoch; ay, ye're no blate for ſaying ſae.
Mar. Be angry or well pleaſed, I ll ſay it in a' your face, 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 Marrion Muſhet ſaying ye hae gotten her toughter wi' bairn.
Jock. Me mither! I ne'er lay in a bed wi' her doughter a' my days, it ill be the young, laird, for I ſaw him kiſs her at th Lamas fair an let glam at her nonſenſe.
Mith. Ay, ay, my man Johnny, that's the way ſhe has gotten her belly fat of burns it s no you nor the like of you, poor innocent lad, that gets byſtard weans: a wheen filthy lowns, every ane loups on anither, au gies you the wyte o' it a',
Mar. You may ſay what you like about it, it is caſy to ca' a court whar there is nae body to ſay again, but I'll tell you ⟨and⟩ ken about it, an that is what ſhe tell'd me, and you guidwile tell'd 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 a been man an wife the day.
Jock. I wet well that's true.
Mith. Ye filthy dog at ye are, are ye gaun to confeſs wit'a byſtard, an it no yours dinna I ken as well as you do wha's aught it.
Jock. Ay but mither may deny as we will about it, but I doubt it will come to my door at laſt.
Mith. Ye ſilly ſumph and ſenseleſs fallow had ye been knuckle deep wi' the dirty drab ye might a ſaid ſae, but ye telld me lang ſyne that ye coudna' lo'e her, ſhe was ſo lazy and lown like, beſides her crooket ſit and bow'd legs.
Jock. Ay but, 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, an wad gar me do't, an bade me do't. an cou'd fleſh and blood refuſe to do't? I'm ſure 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 anither, an you get the wyte o' a' the byſtarts round about.
Up get's Maggy wi' a roar, an rives her hair, cries her back, belly, an baith her ſides; ahe weed an gut goes 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 married a tinkler, or followed the fogers as ​mony a honeſt man's dochter has done, an liv'd a better life than I do.
Up gets Jocky an rins o'er the riggs for John Roger's wife, auld Katty the howdy, but or he wan back the parted wi' Patrick thro' perfect ſpite, an' then lay twa fauld o'er a ſtool in a ſwoon.
Jock. A weel, a weel, ſirs, ſince my firſt born is e'en 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 fair the burrial, an that will be ſome advantage: an if Maggy ſhou'd die, I maun e en tak Janny, the tane is as far a length as the tither: I'ſe be furniſh'd wi' a wife atween the twa.
But Maggy turn'd better the next day, an was able to muck the byre; yet their gaed ſic a tittle tattling thro' the town, every auld wife tell't anither o't; an a the light hippet huſſies that rins between towns at een, tugging at their tow rocks, ſpread it round the kintry, an every body's mouth was filled wi' Jocky an Jenny, an 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 Jocky and Jenny to the ſeſſion, and ſee how the ſtool of repentance wad let them. No ſooner had they catered the door but Maggy fa s a greeting an wringing her hands; Jockey's mither fell a flyting an be himſelf a rubbing his lugs, and riving his hair, ſaying, ​O gin I were but ae haf ell higher, I ſud be a ſoger or it be lang, an gie me a gude flail or a cor fork: I ſud kill Frenchmen enew, before I gaed to face yon flytting miniſters, an be ſet up up like a werald's wonder, on their cock ſtool or black ſtool an' wha can bide the ſhame, when every body looks at them, wi' their ſack-ca farks or gowns on them, like a piece of an auld can's 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, e'en mony o' the miniſters has done it themſelves: hout ay, your father an I did it mony a tine.
Mag: Ay ay, an that gars your fou be ſo goed o't as he is: the thing that is bred in the fleſh is ill to pick out o' the bane.
Mitb. Daft woman! what way cou'd tha warld ſtand, if fouks wadna make uſe o' ither? it's the thing that's natural, bairns getting, therefore it's no to be ſcunner'd at.
Mag. Ay, ay, but an they be for the like o' that, they ſhould marry.
Mich, But I think there's little ill tho' they try it yence or twice or they be marry'd; It's an unco thing til a body to be bund to a busineſs, if the dinna ken whether they be able for it or no.
Mag. Ay, ay that's your way o' thinking an his, butit' 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's⟩ defections in his members as weel as in ⟨mine.⟩
⟨Mag.⟩ Ay, but fouk ſhould ay ſtrive to ⟨mortify⟩ their members,
Mith. An is that your whigry? Will you or ⟨ony⟩ body elſe. wi' your mortifying o' your ⟨members⟩, prevent what is to come to pa's? 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' your members, an ⟨ſin⟩ he hae gotten a byſtart, let him an her ſeed ⟨it⟩ atween them, an they ſude gie it ſup about; ⟨but⟩ ſhe maun keep it the firſt quarter, an by ⟨that⟩ time muckle black lady ill be cauſt, an ⟨we⟩ ſal ſell the cauf, an foſter the wean on the ⟨cows⟩ milk; that's a better menſe for a faut ⟨than⟩ a the mortifying o' your members, an a' our repenting ſtools: a wheen papiſt rites ⟨in⟩ rotten cerimonies, faſhing fouks wit ſack ⟨gowns⟩ and buttock meals, an 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, an held a private meeting, ​nane preſent but auld bruckie, an the twa brutes the bits o' cutties.
Mith Ye ſilly dog and be drown'd to ye how cou'd ye confeſs ſae muckle to miſt ſhaunket Marion, altho' ſhe be her mither.
Jock O mither, mither, ſay nae mair ⟨about⟩ it, my ain wand has dung me doutly; ſarl hae I ſuffered for that, an ye ken a' the miſery com'd o'er our Maggy, an my mouth's ⟨the⟩ mither o't a'; ſae haud your tongue I tell ye now.
Mith. An tell ye me to haud my tongue! ⟨an⟩ ye had a hauden your tongue an your ⟨tail⟩ an done as I bade you do, you hadna hae ſae muckle to do the day, daft ſilly dog ⟨that⟩ thou is.
Jock. Mither, mither, gies nane o' you mocks nor malice, for tho' I got the ⟨wean⟩ ye hae as muckle the wyte o't as I hae. Ga and ſeek out my three new ſarks and Sunday ſhune, an Iſe gae whar ne er man ſaw my face before, neither wood, water, nor wilderneſs ſae haud me again.
Mith. My bra man Johnny, ye maunna ⟨ca⟩ that; ſtay at hame wit me and ſet a ⟨ſtone⟩ heart till a ſtay brae, I'ſe gae to the ſeſſion ⟨wi'⟩ you, gang when you like.
Jock. A well, mither, I ſall do your bidden for ance yet, but when the miniſter flytes ⟨on⟩ me, anſwer yo him, for I cannn ſpeak wea again.
​Mith. Say nae mair, I hae a pouchfu' o' ⟨perfect⟩ petitions to louſe and put to him an ⟨his⟩ elders, an if thou maun gae to their black ⟨ſtool⟩, its no be thy lane that ſall ſit upon't.
Jock. But mither, whither 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 ⟨yence⟩, an that was on the terms o' marriage, ⟨the⟩ way that a our kintry byſtarts is gotten.
Now Jocky being three times ſummoned to ⟨the⟩ ſeſſion, and did not appear, the ſeſſion ⟨inſiſted⟩ for a warrant from the juſtice of the ⟨peace⟩, which was readily granted more for ⟨diverſion⟩ than juſtice ſake: The warrant being ⟨given⟩ to John King the conſtable, who went ⟨away⟩ with Clinkum Bell on Saturday's morning, and catched John at his breakfaſt, hauls ⟨him⟩ awa' ane at ilka oxter, like twa butcher ⟨hogs⟩, hinging at a bulls beard; his mother ⟨followed⟩, driving him up witn good counſels, ⟨my⟩ bra man Johny, had up your head, dinna ⟨think⟩ ſhame, for a' your fauts is but perfect ⟨honeſty⟩, you're neither a thief, whore nor horſe-dealer.
Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby, and uncle ⟨Rabby⟩ ſent to Sandy the ſutor of Seggyhole; ⟨the⟩ ſutor ſaddled his mare, an uncle Rabby ⟨set⟩ aff at the gallop on his grey powney waſt ⟨the⟩ haughs, an o'er by White-hill ſhough the ​neareſt, an was at Sir James the juſtice's lang or John was brought into judgment.
(John enters before the juſtice, with a red, red face.)
Goode'en Mr Juſtice, Sir James, an it pleaſe your honour, ye maunna put me in priſon, for am no a malefactor, but a poor honeſt klntry-man, that has been born in an ill plannet; my mither ſay'ſt, I had the ill luck of a misfortune to fa' full wi' furnication, an got my mither's laſs wi' bairn the laſt year, an they are gawn to father it on me the year again.
The juſtice ſmilling, anſwered, 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, ſtir, I have laboured very fair ſince my father died, but our plough canna get gane for froſt this four days.
Juſt. Ay, but John, that's no what I mean, it's the child you got laſt year, ye muſt be anſwerable for this.
Jock. A deed ſtir, there was twa of them but there's ane of them dead.
Juſt. A well than John, you'll have the more to give the one that is alive.
Jock. O! but ſir 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 you told me you got it, if you ſhould get it wi' a beggar wife at the back of the dyke, what's that to the purpoſe; when it's of your getting you moſt maintain it.
Jock. O! yes, ſtir, am no refuſing to gie ⟨creſt⟩ and meal to maintain it, but my mither winna let me to the black ſtool.
Juſtr. 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 in the ſeſſion, and clear yourſelf, if you can.
(John's mither enters, and addreſſes herſelf to the ſervant laſs, thinking the was the Juſtices lady.)
Indeed miſtreſs madam, if ye were a kintry goodwife, like myſel, I could tell you a' about it, but you that's gentiles, I canna uſe freedom wi' you cauſe I hae nae Latin. But waes me, wi' that's poor fouk is born to mony fealins an back ward it's this lad is my ſon, an am his mither, he has had the foul fortune to get a byſstart wean, nae doubt but we hae been gilty o' ⟨his⟩ muckle, an ne'er a word about it; a what ⟨ſay⟩ ye madam?
Off goes the laſs, ſaying, Foul fa' the wife or 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 baſtard, gets the black ſtool to the bargain and as he is in my hands now, he muſt ſin caution that he will anſwer the ſeſſion, and be ſubject to the law.
Mith. Ony thing ye like, ſtir, but the ſhameful ſtance the black ſtool; here's ⟨encle⟩ Robby, an auld Sandy the ſutor, will be ⟨caution⟩ that we's face the ſeſſion on Sunday; ⟨the⟩ lad's wae enough that he did it, but he ⟨canna⟩ help it now, the wean's born and by-hand ſae good night wi' your honours ladyſhip, ⟨an⟩ the firſt time e'er I was before you.
On Sabboth after ſermon the ſeſſion ⟨met.⟩ John an his mither is call'd upon; he ⟨entered⟩ couragiouſly, ſaying goode'en to you maſter, miniſter, bellman, and elders a'; my mither ⟨an⟩ me is baith 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 ⟨fin⟩ 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 whan he's gie the lazy hulk the mither o't. baith meal ⟨an⟩ grots to maintain it ye needna faſh him; ⟨he is⟩ a dutiful father indeed weel I wat, whan ⟨he⟩ feeds his byſtards ſae weel.
Meſs John. Woman, are ye a hearer of the goſpel, that ye reject the dictates of it? ⟨How⟩ ​come 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 an the New Taſtement, an I never ſaw a repenting ſtool in't a; than whare cou d the firſt of them come frae, the Apoſtles had nane of them. But a daft hiſtory tells me that the firſt o' them was uſed about Rome amang the papiſts, an ay whan ony o' them turn'd whigs, they were put on a four neuked thing, like a yarn winnle-blads an rave a their gouls ſindry, till the turned papiſts again; an then for anger, they put them on a black ſtane or ſtool, in the mids of the kirk an the ſack gown opon them, wi' the picture o' the deil an Satan on't; a ſweet be wi' us, we ſudna ſpeak of the ill thief in the kirk but it's a mercy the miniſter's here an he come; but that was the original of your repeating ſtools an whan the whigs chac'd awa the papiſt fouk out o' the kintry, they left a wheen o' their religious pictures, an the ſtool of repentance was amang the ſpoil; but ye ſe no get my bairn to ſit upon a thing as high as a hen-bank, an ilkin body glouring at him.
Meſs John. Woman, I told you formerly that any who refuſes ſubmiſſion to the government of the church, is liable to excomunication: and that we are to put the law in execution againſt adultry and fornication, or the ſin thereof lies partly on our head.
Mith. As for your ſin of adultry, I have naething ado with; I ken my ſon is a ​fornicator, an ye can neither make him better nor war nor he is, there' nae man can keep a ſtanding in their own hand, fortune I mean, if it be a ſin let him confeſs't, an forſake it, an we's pay the buttock meal an mak nae mair words about it.
Meſs J. 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 can be abſolved from the ſcandal, and get the benifit of any church privileges like any other honeſt man.
Mith. Indeed Meſs John, my ſon will never ſet his hips upont; if he maun come before you, Iſe gar him ſtand a bit back frae't; an hear what ye hae to ſay about fornication; twa harmleſ free bodies paſing their trials to ſee what they can do, ye that's whigs may make enough o't, but I think na muckle about it.
Meſs J. Woman, you may go home and ſee what you have to do; ye have a very bad tongue it's no you we have to take account of.
Mith. Ay, ay, ye that's miniſters an modeſt fouk may ſay ſae, but if my ſon had taen as good tent o' his tail, as I can do o' my tongue, there hadna been ſae muckle about its a wheen ſilly lowns kent nae what they were made for, or how to guide a thing whan they get ane.
Meſs J. Put her out ſhe is going to ſpeak bawdy.
Mith. O ay, ſtir, I'ſe gang out, but I'll hae my baira out wi' me.
​Meſs J 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 kept in, and his mother put out)
Meſs J. Well John, you muſt tell us whither this child was gotten lang or you was married, or ſince: for I ſuppoſe by the time o' the birth it is much about the ſame time.
Jock. Hout ay, ſtir, it was gotten lang or I was married, I needna forget the getting o't, it was na ſae eaſy to me.
Meſs J. How long is it ſince ye was firſt acquaint.
Jock whan ſhe came to be my mither's laſs, I never ſaw her but ance before, an gin I had ne'er ſeen her, I had never kend her after ſic a faſhious faſhion.
Meſs J. How long was ſherving your mother?
Jock. Juſt twa hail years; an I gat her wi' bairn about a year after the came, an' its no a year yet ſince I was married.
Meſs J. 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 J. A John, John, I find you ont to be a ſinful liver; you and that woman has had carnal dealings for ſometime: it is ill to keep the cow out of the corn, if ſhe once get a way o ​going to it; ye ſhould actually a married the poor woman, when ye cohabited ſo long together.
Jock. No ſtir, we did not habit together, tho' ſhe kiſt me, an I kiſt her, ſometimes in the ba'n, an ſometimes in the byre, nane kent o't but my mither, an ſhe wadna let me take her but ſent me away to court our Maggy.
(His mother cries through the hole of the door;) O ye ſilly ſumph, is that the thanks I get for counſelling you to do well, warna me ye wad a been married on a loun like leiper, lazy lump, who had neither wit nor wiles, no ſae much judgment as wiſe the wind frae her ain tail, but lute it gag afore fouk. Up gets the elders crying, Fy, fy, Duncan the bellman drive that wicked wife to the door, ſhe diſturbs us all.
Duncan rins to the door whiſpering Shame fa' you for a wife gang out o' that; but I wad rather hear you as hear them yet.
Meſs J. Now John will you be ſo plain as tell me whether you promiſ'd to marry the woman or no, when ye lay with her.
Jock. Na ſtir, I didna ly with her; for the herd and me lay in the byre bed, an ſhe lay in the lang ſaddle at the hallen end.
Meſs. J. It is all one whether you lay with her or not, when you have got her with child that's what you 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 J. But the queſtion is, whether or no did you promiſe to marry her, when that child was gotten?
Jock. Hout, tout, ſtir ye wad faſh fouk ſpearing a thing, it was her that promiſe to marry me for the getting o't.
Meſs J. An did you not do the like to her?
Jock. A what needed I do the like, when ſhe and my mother did it a', but the wean getting ſhe coudna do that
Maſs J. Indeed John ye ſeem to have been a parcel of louſe livers altogether.
Jock. A Louse ſtir. I wiſh I were louſe yet; better be louſe than to an ill ſtaik.
Meſs J. I ſee it needleſs for me to enquire any further into the matter, I find you are guilty therefore you muſt appear publicly on the ſtool of repentance, on Sabath next, and the two following thereafter, or ye be abſolved from the ſcandal.
Jock Indeed maſter miniſter, am very eaſy about repentance, an for your ſtool, it's a feard am very eaſy about for I'm but baſhfu', an' as I was never guilty of getting byſtarts, cither before, or ſinſye, except in thoughts, words, deeds, an' actions, I think ye may even let me paſs; I ſuffer'd enough wi' the claſh o' the kintry, an' loſs of my ain wean it was nae byſtart, ye canna gar me ſtand for that.
Meſe J. You appear to be ſuch a ſtupid fellow, the like of you ſhould neither bave laful 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 an elder of that proportion, ſhould have give information of that 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 fouk, and I think he's beſt married, for he might a gotten mae byſtarts, an a faſht us.
Jock. Indeed ſtir it's very true, for whan 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 kitle her till ance we was married.
Meſs J. 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, and there to be reproved before the congregation publicly, and be abſolved from the ſcandal.
Mith. Then the ill thief be in his arſe. Meſs John, gin c'er he ſet his hip upon't: my bairn on your black ſtool! an wadna it 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 ne'er ſet a hip on't yet, an he's continually ridding on the huſſies to this day, an them that wadna' let him, he rives their duds, an kicks their doups. A dear Meſs John, on ye gie gentle fouks a toleration to whore, to fornicate, kiſs, an cuddle a wee wi' ilka body they like, I'll gie you ten nerks an gie't to me an my ſon too.
​Mes J. And what ſhall we do with theſe odious perſons?
Elders. Indeed, ſir we ſee not what we can make o' them.
Meſs J. Make of them! we'll exclude them from all church boneſit, and lay them under the leſſer excomunication.
Mith. Indeed ſtir, tak your mind o't, as our cat dit o' the haggis, when ſhe ſupped it a' an than crap into the bag. If ye winna chriſen the wean, ye canna hinder us to ca a cog fu' o' water on't, an ca it ony thing we like.
So out ſhe goes, ſhutting Jocky before her, ſo John went and piſht on the auld miniſter's widow's gavel, and there was nae mair about it that day.
How Jocky and his mother went to ſet his baſtard.
NOW Jockey and his mither came hame together, chick for chew, cracking like twa hand guns. I true I hae fought a battle this day, and won the field accordingly, whan I hae conquered a' the kankard caules about the kirk.
Jock. Indeed mither I think ye'er a better man nor the miniſter; an gin ye had aritmattock an Latin, to ken the kittle figures you may preach as well as he.
Mith. 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 at the whoremongers that e'er ſet a hip on't kens na ſae muckle about the auld foundation o't as ye do.
​Mith. But Johnny man, an thou wad ſtart in the daft days, an that's on manunday, ye an I wad gae an ſee the daft jade, Jenny the mither o't.
Jock. Wi' a' my heart mither: but we maun giet ſomething, an it were but an auld ſervet, to keep the hips o't warm, young weans is ay wet about the arſe ye ken.
Mith. A weel then Johnny, I'ſe cry to thee whan the hens begins to keckle, and that's about the break o' day; an we's be ready to tak the road again by Torryburn, be day light, when we'll ken a turd by a ſtane.
Up gets auld Maggy, Jock's mither in the morning, puts on the kettle, an makes her Youl-ſowens, the meikle pot hung on the fire a' night wi' the cheek o' an auld cows head, ſkims aft the fat, and mak's a great couge o' broſe then pours on a chappen o'clean crieſh like oil, which made a bra' ſappy breakfaſt for Jock an his mither, an Maggy got the cog to feart. The broſe being done, an a' things ready he halters the black mare, lays on the funks an a covering; fine furniture for a country wife.
Jocky mounts, an his mither behind him, trots awa', till coming down the brae abune John Davie's well; the auld beaſt being unfiery o' the feat ſhe sundered before, the girth an curple brake; Jocky tumbled o'er her lugs an his mither out o'er him in the well wi' a flung.
Jock. Ay, ay, mither, tho' I fell ye needna fa'n abune me, an gin ye had lyen whar ye lighted firſt, ye wadna tumbled into the well ​It's an unco thing a body canna get a fa' buby fa' abune them; auld ruddoch that thou is, thou might a hauden better by the rump'e, an ye wadna a bruiſed a' my back wi your auld hard banes, nor a wat a' yourſel ſae, an ſee how you hae drummel'd a, John Dav'es well.
Mith. Hech, quo ſhe, I wonder ger I be kill'd! Thou was wount to get the word of a good rider, baith upon huſſies an horſes, an this be thy managment thou's little worth; fell'd the auld benes that bore thee! ſic a bath as I hae gotten to my yool: thou coudna a gien me a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld morning. Wae be to thee on that ill gotten get o' thine O! let never better tounty 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 bee now wi' your auld taunts about byſtarts getting, or I'ſe gie you the wind o the mear's tail, an gar you wammel hame an a' your wat coats about you.
Mith. Na, na, my man Johnny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, wi' came the gither, an we's gang the gither, we ſall ſee the byſtard an it's nither or wi' gang hame.
Jock. Wi' a' my heart, mither, but yonder the houſe and the hens on't, th lum's reeking rairly, but little ken they wha's coming.
At length they came to Jenny's mither's door,
In goes his mither and in goes the mare.
Himſelf follows after, crys hows a' here?
​Mith. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet.
Her mother anſwers, Weel I wat ſhe's in her bed an cauld, cauld, and comfortleſs is her lying. byſtarts getting is juſt like lent gear, ſeldom or never weel paid back again, but my poor laſſie coudna done war nor ſhe's done, O gin ſhe had yeilded her body to ſome bit herd laddie, he wad a ſeen her lang or now.
Mich. A dear Marrion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John wha has a wife of his ain, coud come and wait on her as if ſhe were a dame o' honour, or yet an honeſt man's wife, poor ſilly lown that ſhe is, an had he thought on what he was com'd of he wad ne'er a offer'd benevolence to the like o' her.
Mar. An ye had a been as great an inſtrogater againſt his making her double ribbet, as ye are now againſt doing her juſtice, for the filthy jimerack 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 hoodl'd ſae lang on ae por huſſie an then gaen awa' an married anither for love o' a pickle auld clouts an twa or three pockfus o' tow and ſhe is but a ſilly lown indeed that lute him or ony rattle ſcull elſe, ſhake their tail ſae ling upon her, without his faith and his troth, as his nieve before the miniſter.
Mith. A cauld be your caſt kimmer, do ye think it your daddling doughter is a match for my ſon John, I think leſs may ſair. her father was but a poor cotter carle, an our John's father ​was a farmour, an it's but a trick o' youth an the courſe o' youth maun be out; but ſhe may thank her 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 farmour's ſon, but ae ſtep laigher nor a laird.
Mar. A wae be to ſick a credit it's nae worth the cracking o, an whar was a his noble epuals whan he bute to lay a leg on my poor laſſie, poor clarty clunny that thou is, and if they were na baith ae man's mak, I wadna think naething o't; for there warna a needle o' differ between their daddies, an what war they baith but twa ſticket taylors at the beſt? ye had as good a gaen hame and a counted your bow-kail ſtocks as 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 all ye John, you'll ſee your ain picture for little filler, a muckle mouth'd haveral juſt like yaurſel.
(The child is preſented.)
Jock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth juſt like mine, an ſees we baith o' it's een an bit five days auld yet.
Mith. Dear Johony thou's no wife man, wad tu hae the waen 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 hoblin ​wens; but I thought they had a been like the wee bits o' wha'pies, nine nights auld before they had ſeen ony.
Mith. Awa, awa, ye witleſs widdyfu'; comparing a beaſt to a woman's ain bairn; a dog is a brute beaſt, as a wean is a chriſtoned creature.
Jock. Na mither, it's no a chriſtoned creature yet, for it has neither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little do I ken how to ca' it yet.
Mar. I wat weel its an onco uncanny thing to keep about a houſe, or yet to meet in a morning a body wouting a name.
Mith. 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 ſax an thrity years ſince I was a married wife, an I never kend ſabbath day by anither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.
Mar. Dear guid wife what needs ye ſpeak ſae loud, ye fly the wean wi' crying ſae, ſee how the wean ſtarts.
Mith. Ay, ay the byſtarts is at that way, but ken ye the reaſon o' that?
Mar. Ye that kens the reaſon o' 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, it red wood, half witted hallocket fort of creatures; for an it binna ane among twenty o' them they're a ſcar'd o' the getting, for there's few o' them gotten in beds like honeſt fouks bairns, baks o' dykes, an kill logies; whar ​there is ay ſomeboby wandering to ſcar poor neadfu' perſons, at their job o' journey wark; for weel ken I the gait's o't, experiance gars me ſpeak.
Jock. A deed mither that's very true, for whan I was getting that waen at the black hole o' the peat ſtack. John Gammel's muckle colly came in behind us wi' a bow wow o' a great goul juſt abune my buttocks, an as am a ſinner, he gart me loup levrock hight, an yet wi' got a wean for a that.
Mith. A weel than Johnny that makes my words good yet.
Jenny Answers out o' the bed. A ſhame fa' your faſhions ye hae na muckle to keep whan ye tell how it was gotten or what was at the getting o't.
Jock. A ſhame fa' yourſell 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 Gammels auld colly, an he's no a suſſicent witneſs.
Mar. Now guidwife amang a' the tales ye hae tell'd me, how is this wean to be mantained.
Mith I'll chance on your auld black mouth Marrion, did not I lead you my good ſpirtled hen a pund o butter an a ſaxpence, forby a lippy o' groats an a furlot o' meal; mak her a good cogefu' o' broſe, an put a knoiſt o butter in them, to fill up the hole whar the lown came out, an' i'll ſend you mair or that be done.
Mar. An it be nae better nor the laſt ye may een keep it to yourſel, your groat meal an gay ​meal, and duſt and feeds, courſe enough to feed cocks an hens beſides a woman in her condition.
Mith. A foul be your gabs, ye'er a ſae gaſh o' your gabbies; a wheen fools that ſtuffs up your gutſes wi' hacket kail broſe made o' groat meal and gray meal, ſands ſeeds duſt an weak ſhilling, ony thing is good enough to fill the guts, an make t---ds of.
Jock. Na, na, mither as 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 true ſhe wad neb at it as the black ewe did at the white ewes 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 kittlens, an the maidens bairns is unco weel bred.
Jock. Na, na, ye'er a' miſtane mither, Maggy has milk yet, for every pap ſhe has is like a pint pig, I'ſe warrant they'll haud pints the piece.
Mith. My man Johnny let them keep the wean that has the wean, weel never miſs a pockfu' o' meal now an than I wadna hae my bed piſht, an my blankets rotten for a bow of the beſt o't,
Jock. O mither! I canna leav t I like it ſae weel, it has twa bonny glancing een, juſt like mine in a kikan glaſs, I wonder how I was able to get the like o't, indeed mither I think mair o't, nor of my grey horſe, Maggy an the four Kу.
Mith. My man Johnny ye're at nae ſtrait about bairns getting, nane needs gang to London ​to learn that auld trade; I ken very weel when ane gets warklooms right to their hand, nature will teach them how to fa' too.
Jock. Now fare you well Jannet that weans weel worth the warkmanſhip I'll warrand ye, weel I wat iſt.
Jenny. Guidnight wi' you john, but O man thou has broken my fortune, I'll neer get mair o' man nor I hae gotten, dear, dear, hae I ſuffered for what I hae done, an if ye had a beſtowed thy ſelf on a me, ye ſee what a bonny bairn time we wad a haen.
Mith. thou ſays that thous ſuffered ſadly for what thous done, but tho they wad tak thy hide o'er the een holes it wadna take the inclination out o' thee; for thou'll do't again, but it's no be wi' my bairn i'ſe warrand thee, and now johnny come awa' hame to thy hauf marrow, an uſe thy freedom as formerly, thou'll hae weans thick and three faull; I'ſe mak thee a decoction of cock ſtanes, lamb ſtanes, an chicken brue. will gar the cock thy tail like a Galloway toop-
The Vth and laſt PART.
Being an account of Jocky's Mithers death and ⟨burrial⟩
AS jocky an his mither came hobling hame together on the outſide of the auld doil'd beaſt, his mithers black mare, a waefu' misfortunr bfel them; Her hinder lots being wickedly wet in john Davies well that morning, an it ​being a froſty night, her coats was a frozen about her, and the hard haren ſark plaid claſh between her legs like a wet diſhclout, her teeth gaed like a rattle bag till about half gaet hame, than ſhe was ſiiezed wi' a rumling in her meikle bag what wi' kintry fouks ca's a ruſh i' the guts Jocky was faſh'd helping her aff and helping her on, foul fat and dirty was the road, having like half a l---d at every tadder length.
Jock Indeed mither, I doubt death has ſomething to do wi' you, for there is a rumbling in a your wame like an auld wife kirning.
Mith. Hout, tout I canna hear o't, by they'll be nae fear o' me now, I'm ſafe at my ain door, thanks to the and the auld heaſt it brought me; heat my feet wi the bannock ſtane, an lay me in my bed, fling four pair o' blankets and a caunes on me, I'll be weel enough ance I were better, ſweith Maggy gae make me a cog fu' o' an a plack's worth o' ſpice in them, nae fear o' an aul wife as lang as ſhe's louſe behind, an can tack meat,
Jock, I ſe be't mither, a e'n fill up the boſs o' your belly, you'll ſtand to the ſtorm the better, I'ſe warrant ye never die as lang aa ye can take your meat.
Ben comes Maggy wi' the broſe; but four ſoups and a flag filled her to the ⟨teeth⟩, till ſhe began to bock them back again, an ding awa' the diſh.
jock. I mither, mither, I doubt there's mair ado wi' you nor a diſh to lick; whan ye refuſe good milk mea, I am doubtfu' your mouth be gaun to the mules.
​Mith. O dear Johnny I'm no willing to die if I could do better; but this will be o ſair winter on auld frail fouks, yet an I would grow better I might live theſe twenty years yet, an be an auld wife for a' that; but alake a day there is mony auld fouk dieing this year.
Jock. A deed mither there's fouk dieing the year that never died before.
Mith. Dear Johnny wilt thou bring me the doctor, he may do me good, for an my heart warna ſick an my head ſae fair, I think I may grow better yet.
Jock. A weel I'ſe bring the doctor the miniſter an my uncle.
Mith. Na, na, bring nae miniſters to me, his dry cracks will do me but little guid, I dinna want to ſee his powdered pow, an I in ſic an ill condition, get me a pint o' drams in the muckle bottle an ſet i' the hole of the backſide o' my bed.
Jock. A deed mither ye'ere in the right o't for ye want to be weel warm,d within; to chace the culd wind and froſty water out o' your backſide,
Then awa' he rins to daft Meg at the kirk town, an brings a bottle in every hand, out wi' the cork an gies her ane in o'er, ſhe ſets it to her gab, and ſquartles up a mutchkin at a waught, which was like to worry her, till ſhe fell a rifting and roaring, like an auld blunder-buſh. Hech hey co' ſhe, but that makes an alteration, an wears away the wind. Wi' that her head fell to the cod, and ſhe fought away like a very faint or drunken ſinner.
​Jock. O! Maggy, Maggy my Mither's lost her breath, (ſhe'll no live lang without it) I doubt ſhe's dead already, an nae body ſeen her but ye an I an ourſels tho an ſhe had been fair o'er ſoen it maxna, I'll no had this a fair ſtrae death indeed, fy Maggy cry in a the neighbours to ſee her die altho' ſhe be dead. O an ſhe wad but ſhake her fit or wag her muckle tae, it wad be ay ſome ſatisfaction; but in came the neighbours in a huſh dinging ither o'er in the door. Come awa ſirs, for my mither's as dead's a mauk guid be thanker; but I had rather it had been the black mare or the mukle rigget cow, for weel I wat I'll e'en 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 deal or a barn door to ſtraight her on, for a y whan ſhe was cauld ſhe was unco kinckert an ill to curch, but I'ſe hae her yerdet or Wedneſday teen.
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 again.
Mag. A dear John be at eaſe, ye ken ſhe mauna be burried as ſhe is, a ſark and a winding ſheet is the leaſt ſhe can get.
Jock. Ah ha, Maggy is that what you mean ſhe has a good new winding ſheet, it was never about her ſhoulders yet, ſae maggy do it a' yourſel and I'ſe gar Clinkum Bell meaſure the grave an make it.
​Now when they had 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. ha, ha, quo he, this is a bra honeſtly indeed, it's mair boukie nor my bridal was: bnt 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 paction wi you for the bread o' my mithers back an the length o' her carkage? an this hols winna haud her, thou's get nae mair o' her change if I ſud die the morn.
Uncle Rabbi. Whiſht, whiſht, this ſud be a day o' mourning for your mither, dinna flyte here.
Jock. What the vengance uncle, ſhoudna fouks die when they're auld? an am I to pay for a hole an get but half a hole; that's the thing it vexes me, but I'ſe keep twopence out his trencher for't, an ſae will I e'en; but gang ye hame uncle to get a cog an a cap for the dragdey, an I'll ſee her get fair play or I gae.
Hame they came in a croud and fell to the cheeſe an cheeks of lewes teeth an nail, the ale was handed about in cogs an' caps laſhing it down o'er like bleatchers watering their webs; John blurtered in the cog like a cow in warm watter till the barm an' bubles came bubling out at his noſe, ſaying a good health to you a' round about an ſhoon an ſhortly may we a' gang the gate my mither's gane, and I wiſh them a burrying amang dogs that ſpeaks againſt it.
​About eight and twenty weeks thereafter Maggy had a wally wame fu' o bairns to bear, an ay whan ſke cry'd John cry'd, which made a the kimmers, an auld Kitty 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. Weel I wat he's no want that, but an there had a beeu as muckle din at the getting o' him, as at the bearing o' him, it ſud ne'er a been gotten for me; Come, come gets in uncle Rabby, the corn riddle fu' o' the three ncuket ſcons, whang down the cheeſe like peats, eat and drink till wi' forget ſorrow, and then weel ſee meſs John about a name till him; ſince we ſee it is the way o't that the young comes and chaces out the auld, wi' maun chriſten them, an they maun burry us:
Now John an his uncle goes to the miniſter he enters, ſaying guideen to you maſter Miniſter ye dinna ken my mither's dead.
Min, Yes John I heard ſo but how is your wife?
Jock. My wife ſtir a wae worth her, for the wives o' our town and I hae gotten a wauking night wi' her; but wi' hae gotten her room'd and ſtill'd again, an ſhe's born a bra' wally thumping ſtirra, he'll herd the kye belive to me an he had hoggers on him, an am come to you to get a bit name to him.
Min. A bit name to him John, if ye want no more nor a bit name to him, you may gie him that yourſelf.
​Jock. Na but ſtir I want baith the words an the water, what ye ſay to ither fouk ſay to me.
Min. A but John you muſt give ſecurity or ſatisfaction you're a man under ſcandal
Jock. What the muckle miſchief ſtir, tho' under ſcandal or abune ſcandle, will ye refuſe to chriſten my wean that's honeſtly gotten in my ain wife's bed beneath the blankets; caus I had a byſtart canna ye chriſten the weel com'd ane, let the byſtard ſtand for it'e ain ſkaith without a name.
Min. No John you have been very ſlakly 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 it's 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 piſhing the bed.
Miu. A well John never mind you theſe things come ye to the ſtool, it's nothing whin it's over we connot ſay o'er much to you about it,
Upon ſunday thereafter John comes with uncle Rabbies auld wide coat, a muckle great grey lang tail'd wig an a bonnet, which cover d his face, ſo that he look d more liker an old pilgrim than a young fornicator; mounts the creepy with a ſtiff ſtiff back, as if he had been a man of ſixty, every one looked at him, thinking he was ſome old ſtranger, who new not the ſtool of repentance by annother feat, ſo that he paſſed ​the firſt day unknown but to very few. yet on the ſecond it came to be known that the whole pariſh and many more came to ſee him; which cauſe ſuch a confuſion, that he was abſolved, an got his childeren baptized the next day.
But there happened a tullie between the twa' mithers who would have both their names to be Johns, a weel a weel ſays old John their father to the miniſter, a deed ſtir ye maun cal the taen John and the tither Jock, and that will pleaſe baith theſe enemies of mankind,
Min. A weel John ſuppoſe ye do, it is two Johns nevertheleſes.
Jock. A deed ſtir ye man gie the wicked a' their will, wi s ca' the byſtard Jocky and my ſon Johnny Bell, on wi't ſome way an let her ca't as ſhe likes.
Min 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 cauſe ye hae chriſtend baith my bairn, an my byſtart, I hope you ll forgive me the buttock male.
Min. John I deſire you to be ſilent and ſpeak none here; you muſt keep a ſtraight walk in time coming, free of ſcandal or offence.
Jock, Ay ſtir and how think ye the like o' me can walk ſtraight wi' ſic auld baucheld ſhoon as mine, among ſic rugh rigs, highs an' hous as I hae to harle through.
Min. I need not ſpeak to you, you are but a poor mean ignorant perſon.
​Jock. Na ſtir, weel awat I'm neither poor nor mean, my mither's fairly yerdet now gude be thanket, an le t a' ſhe had to Maggy an me.
Min. But here ye this John, ye muſt not kiſs any other woman nor your own wife, live juſtly like another honeſt chriſtian, and you'll come to die well.
Jock. A black end on me ſtir, in ever I lay a unlawful leg upon a hiſſie again, an they ſude ly down to me while our Maggy leſts; an for dieng there's nae fear of 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.
HERE lays the duſt of Joh Bells Mither,
Againſt her will death brought her hither, Clapt in this hole, hard by his daddy, Death ſnatch'd her up or ſhe was ready, Lang might ſhe lived wer't not her wame, But wha can live beyond their time? There's none laments her but the Suter, So here ſhe lies looking about her, Looking about her! how can that be? Yes, ſhe ſees her ⟨ſtate⟩ better then we.
An Elegy on the death of Jocky's Mither.
NOW a body kens my mither's dead, For weel I wat I bore her head, And in the grave I ſaw her laid, It was e'en right drole, For to change a warm fire ſide; For a cauld kirk hole, But every ane tell'ſt juſt like a ſang, That yon's the gate wi' have a' to gang. For me to do't I think nae lang, If I can do better, For I true my mither thinks it nae ſang, What needs we clatter. But thanks to death ay for the future, That did not let her get the ſuter, For about her gear there wad been a ſplutter, An ſae had been, For he came ay ſnoaking about her Late at e'en. For our Maggy watch't an ſaw. my mither's back was at the wa', But what was hach ha, ha, ha, I winna tell. She to do yon ſtood little aw' Juſt like myſel. But to get gear was a' her drift, An uſed mony a cunuing ſhift. About her ſpinning her thrift, Was a' her care, She's gotten but little o't abnue the lift, Wi' her to wear.
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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