# Whole proceedings of Jocky & Maggy's courtship (1)

Author's name is attributed.
THE
WHOLE PROCEEDINGS
OF
JOCKY & MAGGY'S
COURTSHIP,
WITH
THE GREAT DIVERSION THAT ENSUED AT
THEIR BEDDING.
IN THREE PARTS.
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
THE
WHOLE PROCEEDINGS
OF
JOCKEY AND MAGGY'S
Courtship.
PART I.
Jockey. Hey, Maggy, wiltu stay and tak kent folks hame wi' ye the night.
Maggy. Wiltu come awa' then Johnnie, I fain wad be hame or the kie come in; our mickle Riggy is sic a rummeling royte she rins aye thro' the byre, and sticks a' the bits o' couties; my mither isna able to haud her up to her ain stake.
Jock. Hute, we'll be hame in braw time woman. And how's a' your folks at hame?
Mag. Indeed I canna weel tell you man; our gude man is a' gane wi' the gont; my mither is very frail, my father he's aye wandering about, and widdling amang the beasts.
Jock. But dear, Maggy, they tell me we're gaun to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth, the Laird's young gardener.
Mag. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the like o' me; but auld Tammy Tailtree was seeking me; my father wad a hane me to tak him. but my mither wadna let; there was an odd bebate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi' the grape, if my father hadna chanced to founder her wi' the beetle.
Jock. Hech, woman, I think your father was a fool tor fashing wi' him, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a cow but the clutes; your guid me may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the taen may isair the tither fu' weel.
Mag. Hech, man! I wad a tane thee or ony body to hane them greed again; my father bled my guidame's nose, and my guidame brak my mither's thumb, the neighbours came rinning in, but I had the luck to baud my father's hand's, till yence my guidame plotted him wi' the broe that was to mak our brose.
Jock. Dear Maggv, I hae something to tell you, and ye wadna be angry at it. Mag. O, Johnny, there's my hand I'se no be angry at it, be what it will.
Jock Indeed, Maggy, the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town, says we are gaun to be married. What sayest thou?
Mag I wish we ne'er to waun, man. O Johnny, I dream'd of you langsyne, and I liked you aye after that.
Jock, O Maggy, Maggy, dost thou not mind since I came to your father's bull wi' my mother's cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye helped me to hand her; aye after that they scorn'd me, that I wad be married to you.
Mag. It's very true man, it'll be an odd thing an' it be; but it'll no fa' back at my door, I assure you.
Jock. Nor at mine—But my mither bade me kiss ye.
Mag. Indeed sall ye. Johhny, thou's no want twa kisses, ane on every side o' the mouth, man.
Jock. Ha, ha, Maggy, I'll hae a merry night o' kissing you shortly.
Mag. Av, but Johnny, you maun stay till that night come; it's best to keep the feast till the feast day.
Jock, Dinna be angry, Maggy, my wife to be; for I have heard my mither say in her daffin that fouk sud ave try gin their house will haud their plenishing.
Mag. Ay, but Johnny, a wife is ae thing and a house anither; a man that's a mind to marry a woman, he'll no make her a whore.
Jock. 'Tis a true, Maggy, but foulks may do it ance or they be married, and no hae nae ill in their minds.
Mag. Aha, Johnny, mony a ane has been beguiled wi' ance; and do it ance, ye may ​do it aye. What an ye get a bystart, and hae to suffer for the foul act of fornication.
Jock. Ay, but my mither says, if I dinna get thee wi' bairn, I'll no get thee, for 'tis the surest way of wooing.
Mag. Indeed, Johnny, I like you better nor ony lad I see : an I sall marry you an ance my faither's muck were out; my mither downe work at the midden.
Jock. An Maggy, Maggy! I'm feared we beguile me, and then my mither will murder me for being so silly.
Mag. My jo, Johnny, tell your mither to provide a thing for the bridal an' I sall marry you in three ks fien his; but we maun gie m siller to the Precentor, a gro and a drink to the beltman and then the kirk wa's maun hear o' three Sundays or it come.
Jock. But Maggy, I'm not to mak a blind bargain wi you nor naebody ; I maun ken o' your things, and you sall ken o' mine.
Mag. I ken well what I was to get, and gin my mither likes the bargain weel, she'll mak it better ; but an my father be angry at the bargain, I darna speak o' marrying.
Jock. I seens how he can be angry, I wat we'll I'm a gay sturdy fallow, when I laid a bow and five pecks o' beer on the Laird's Bawsy, and he's as bilshy a beast as in a' the barony.
Mag. Ay, but my mither is aye angry ​at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it binna them she likes, indeed she bade me tak ony body, if it wasna auld tottering Tammy ; for his beard is aye brown wi’ sucking tobacco, and slavers a' the breast o’ his fecket.
Jock. O Maggy tak’ me, and I'll tell youwhat I hae. First my father left me, when he died, fifty merks, twa seeks, twa pair o‘ sunks; the hens and the gaun gear was to be divided between me an 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 ‘tis happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky and the black mare, the half o’ the cogs, three spoons, four pair o’ blankets, and a cannas : she’s to big a twabey to her ain gavel, to be a dwelling house to me and my wife, and I’m to get the wee byre at the end of the raw, to hand my cow and twa couties; the half o’ the barn, and a bed o’ the kail-yard, as lang as she leaves, and when she dies, I’m to pay for the yerding o’ her honestly, and a’ the o’ercome is to be my ain ; and by that time I’ll be as rich as e’er my lather was before me.
Mag. Truly, Johnnie; I’se no sae meikle to the contrair, but an ye hae a mind to tak’ me wi’ what I hae. tell me either now or never, for I’se be married or lang be.
​Jock. I wat weel I'm courting in earnest tell me what you hae, an we'll say nae mait 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, 'tis an unco thing to marry a naked woman, and get naething but twa bare legs.
Mag. O Johnny, ye're in the right o't, for mony a ane is beguiled and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pound Scots that night I am married, a lade o' meal, a furlet o' groats: auld Crummie is mine since she was a calt, and now she has a stirk will tak the bill ere Beltan yet; h hae twa stane o' gude lint, and three pockfu's o' tow, a gude ca'f bed, twa bousters and three cods, with twa pair o' blankets, and 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 farewell the night, Maggy; the best o' friends maun part.
Mag. I wish you well, Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married. and then, lad, Hame gaed Maggy and telled her Mither.
Mag. O mither! hae something to tell ye. but ye maunna tell my father?
Mith. Dear Maggy and what is that?
Mag. Deed, Mith, I'm gaun to be married an the muck were out.
Mith. Dear, Maggy, and wha'st thou gaun to get, 'tis no auld bubly Tammie?
​Mag. Na, na, he's a braw young man, and I'll tell you, 'tis Johnny Bell ; and his mither sent him to the market just to court me ance errand.
Mith. Deed, Maggy, ye'll no be ill yoked wi' him, he's a gay well gaun fellow, right spruce, maist like an ill-faured gentleman. Hey gudeman, do you hear that our Maggy is gaun to be married an the muck were a' ance out.
Fath. Na, na, I'll no allow that until the peats he custen and hurled.
Mag. O father ! 'tis dangerous to delay the like o' that, I like him and he likes me; 'tis best to strike the iron when 'tis het,
Fath. And wha's she gaun to get, gudewife?
Mith. An' wha think ye gudeman ?
Fath. A what wat I, here. an' she please hersel, I'm pleased already.
Mith Indeeed she's gaun to get Johnny Bell, as clever a little fellow as in a' the barony whare he bides
Fath. A-weel, a-weel, herie, she's yours as well as mine, gae her to wha you please.
Mith. A-weel Maggy, I'se hae a' things ready, to hae thee married or a month.
Mag. Thanks to ye mither, mony a guid turn hae ye done me, and this will be the best.
Hame gaed Jocky to his mither crying. Jock. Mither ! mither I made it out ​her mouth is sweeter than milk: my heart play'd a‘ whilkie whaltie whan I kissed her.
Mith. Fair fa‘ thee, my son, Johnny, thou‘s gotten the geat o‘t at last. And whan art thou gaun to be married?
Jock. Whan I like, mither; but get the masons the morn to big me my house, for I‘11 hae a‘ things in right good order.
Mith. Thou's want for naething, my bairn, to get the ready for marriage.
The wooing being over and the day being set, Jockey’s mither killed the black boul horned yeal ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule-fitted cock, to prevent the ripples, 5 pecks o' maun masked in the muckle kirn, a pint o' treacle, to mak it thicker, and sweeter, and mamier for the mouth; 5 pints o' whiskey, wherein was garlic and spice, for raising the wind, and the clearing their water. The friends and good neighbours went wi' John to the Kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him, and was married by the minister. The twa companies joined thegither, and came hame in a crowd; and at every change-house they chanced to pass by, Providence stopt their proceeding with full stouns, bottles, and glasses, drinking their healths, wishing them joy, ten girls and a boy. Jockey seeing so many wishing well to his health coupt up what he got for to augment his health, and gar him live long, which ​afterwards couped him up, and proved detrimental to the same.
So hame they came to the dinner, where his mither presented to them a piping het haggis, made of the creesh of the black boul horned ewe, boiled in the meikle pot, mixt with bear-meal, onions, spice, and mint. This haggis being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor set John’s belly a-bizzing like a working fat; and he playing het-fit to the fiddler, was suddenly seized with a hocking and rebounding, which gave his dinner such a backward ca’, that he lost a‘ but the girt bits, which he scythed thro' his teeth. His mither cried to spence him, and bed him with the bride. His breeks being filed, they washed both his hips and laid him in his bed. Pale and ghostly was his face, and closed were baith his een. Ah! cries his mither, a dismal day indeed ; his bridal and his burial may be in ae day. Some cuist water in his face, and jag'd him wi‘ a needle, till he began to rouse himself up, and then lisp out some broken words. Mither, mither! cries Jockey, whar am I now ? Whar are you now, my bairn, says his mither, ye’re bedet, and I'll bring the bride to you. Bedet, says Jockey, and is my bridal done else? Ay is't said his mither, and here’s the bride come to lie down beside you, my man. Na, na mither, says Jockey, I’ll no lie wi' an unco ​woman indeed, and it binna heads and thraws, the way that I lie wi’ you, mither. O fy, John, says his mither, dinna affront yoursel’ and me baith, tak hei in o'er the bed ayont ye, and kiss her, and clap her, and daut her till ye fa’ asleep. The bride fa's a-crying out, O mither! mither! was this the way my fait her guided you the first night ? Na, na, thy father was a man of manners, and better mettle; poor thing, Meg, thou's ca'd thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market! says Jockey’s mither ; a shame fa' you and her baith, he's wordy o' her though she were better nor what she is, or e'er will be.——— His friends and her friends being a mixed multitude,some took his part, some took her’s, there did a battle begin in the clap of a hand,being a very fierce tumult, which ended in blood: they struck so hard with stones, sticks, beetles, and barrow trams; pigs, pots, stoups, and trenchers, were flying like bombs and granadoes; the crook, bouls, and tangs, were all employed as weapons of war, till down came the bed, with a great mou of peats! So this disturbed a’ the diversion at Jockey's bedding, and the sky was beginning to break in the east before the hurly-burly was over.
PART II.
Now, though all the ceremonies of Jockey and Maggy's weddding were ended, when they were fairly bedded before a wheen rattling un-ruly witnesses, who dang down the bed aboon them; the battle still increased, and John's work turned out to be very wonderful. for he made Janet, that was his mithers servant lass the last year, grew like an elshen haft and got his ain Maggy wi bairn forty. The ham-sheughs were very great until auld uncle Rab-by came in to redd them ; and a sturdy auld fallow he was; he stood lively with a stiff rumple, and by strength of his arms rave them aye sundry flin in the taen enst and the tither wast, till they stood a' round about like as many jorfoughten cocks and no ane durst steer anither for him. Jockey's mither was caed o'er a kist and brokit a' her hips on a round heckle, up she gat, and running to fell Maggy's mither with the ladle swearing she was the mither of a' the mischief that happened. Uncle Rab-by ran in between them, he having a muckle nose, like a trumpet she recklessly came o'er his lobster neb a drive wi the laddle till the blood came, ran down his old grey beard, and hang like snuffy bubbles at it. O then he gaed wud, and looked as waefu like as he had been a tod-lowrie come frae worrying lambs, with his bloody mouth. With that he gets an auld flail, and rives awa' the supple, then ​drives them a' to the back of the door, but yet nane wan out ; then wi' chirting and clapping down comes the clap hallen, and the hen bawk wi' Rab Reid the fiddler, who had crept up beside the hers, 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 was blood enough shed in ae night, quoth she; and that my beard can witness, quoth he. So they all came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his supple made their pows baith saft and sair that night but daft Maggy Simpson sat by the fire and picked banes a' the time of the battle: Indeed, quoth she I think ye're a‘ fools but myself, for I came here to get a good supper; and ither folk hae gotten their skin well paid.
By this time up got Jock, the bride-groom, that was Jockey before he was married, but couldna get his breeks; yet wi a horse-nail he tacked his sark-tail be-tween his legs, that name might see what every body should hide ; and ramplingly he cries, Settle ye, or I'll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften your heads wi' an auld supple.
Poor Rab Reid, the fiddler, took a sud-den blast; ssme said he was maw turned wi the fa', for he bocked up a' the barley, ​and then gar‘d the ale gae like a rainbow frae him, as brown as wort-brose.
The hurley-burly being ended, and naething but fair words and shaking o’ hands, which was a sure sign o‘ an agreement, they began to cow their cutted lugs, and wash their sairs, a’ but Jockey's mither. who cried out, A black end to you and your wedding baith, for I hae gotten a hunder holes dung in my arse wi‘ the round heckle teeth.
Jockey answers, A e'en hand you wi’ them then, mither, ye will e'en be the better sair'd.
Up gets auld Rabby, and auld Sandy, the souter o' Seggyhole, and put every thing in order; they prapet up the bed wi’ a rake and rippling kame; the stoups being broken they made a solid foundation o’ peats, laid on the caff bed and bowsters, and Jockey and Maggy were bedet the second time.
Jockey not being used to he wi’ a naked woman, except heads and thraws wi’ ⟨his⟩ mither, gets his twa hands about the ⟨bride’s⟩ neck, and his hough out-o’er her hurdies saying, I ne'er kist wife nor lass naked before, and for fainness I’ll bite you, &c.
Naething mair remarkable happened ⟨till⟩ about half a year and four oukes ⟨thereafter⟩ when in comes Marion Mushet, rinnin barefitted and barelegged, wi’ bleart ⟨cheeks⟩ and a watery nose, cursing and ⟨banning⟩ greeting and flyting.
​(Marion enters, crying,) And whar’s John?
Mith. Indeed he’s out in the yard pouing kail runts.
Mar. A black end on him and his runts baith, for he‘s ruined me and my bairn.
Mith. Ruined you! it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you ill, by night nor by day, what gars you say that?
Mith. O woman! our Jenny is a rowing like a pack o‘ woo ; indeed she's wi‘ quick bairn, and your John is the father o't.
Mith. Our John the father o't! haud, there's enough said, lieing 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 lasses wame; she'll hae drucken some sour drink, raw sowens, or rotten milk, makes her so ill.
Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he's the father o't, fornicator dog that he is, he's ruined me and my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she came to you: her father died, and left me wi' four o' them; there wasna ane o' them could pit on anither’s claes, or tak a louse aff ither.
Mith. I bid you baud your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he'll ne'er tak wi't: he, poor silly lad, he wad ne'er look to a lass, be's to lay her down. Fy, Maggy, cry in John and let's ratify't wi’ the auld ruddoch; aye, ye're no blate to say sae.
​Mar. Be angry or be well pleased, I'll say't in o’ your faces, and I’ll ca' you before your betters ere lang gae.
John enters. A what want ye now! is our brose ready yet?
Mith, Ay, brose! black brose indeed for thee, wy bairn; her’s Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi’ bairn.
Jock. Me, mither! I never lay in a bed wi‘ her dochter a‘ my days ; it‘ll be the young Laird‘s for a saw him kiss her at the Lammmas-fair and let glaum at her nonsence.
Mith. Ay, ay, my man, Johnny, that‘s the way she has gotten her belly full o‘ bairns ; ‘tis no you nor the like o‘ you, poor innocent lad, that gets bastard weans; 'tis a wheen rambling o'erfull lowns, ilka ane o‘ them loups on anith’er, and gies the like o‘ you the wyte o‘t.
Mar. Ye may say what you like about it, ‘tis easy to ca‘ a court whar there's naebody to say again; but I'll let you ken about it; and that is what she tell‘t me and your gudewife tell't me some o‘t yoursel‘; and gin you hadna brought in Maggy wi‘ her muckle tocher atween the twa your Jocky and my Jenny wad hae been man and wife that day,
Jock, I wat weel that's true.
Mith. Ye filthy dog that ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi‘ a bystards, and it ⟨nae⟩ yours? Dinna I ken as well as ye do wha‘ aught it, and wha got the wean.
​Jock. Aye, but mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt it will come to my door at the last.
Mith Ye silly sumph, and senseless fel-low, had ye been knuckle deep wi' the nasty drab, ye might hae sail sae, but ye tell't me lang syne that ye couldna lo'e her, she was sae lazy and lown like, besides her crooket fit and bowed legs.
Jock. Ay, but mither do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss at the black hole o' the peat-stack; she rave the button trae my breeks, and wad gai me do t ; and could flesh and blood refuse to do ‘t; I'm sure mither, I could ne'er get her wi' bairn wi' my breeks on.
Mith Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean's no yours, ilka ane loups on o‘ anither, and ye'll get the wyte o' a' the bytarts that are round about the country.
Up gets Maggy wi' a roar, and rives her hair, and cries, O her back! her belly! and baith her sides! The weed and gut gaes through my flesh like lang needles, nails, or elshin irons! Wae be to the day that e‘er I saw his face. I had better married a tinkler, or followed the sodgers, as mony an honest man‘s dochter has done, and lived a better life than I do.
Up gets Jockey, and rins over the rigs for John Rodgers wife, auld Kitty and ​howdy; but or he wan back, he parted wi‘ Patrick through perfect spite, and then lay twa-fauld o'er a stool in a swoon.
Jock. A-weel, a-weel, sirs, though my first-born is e‘en dead without seeing the light o’ the warld, ye‘s a‘ get bread and cheese to the blythemeat, the thing we should a waured on the bauket will sair the burial, and that will aye be some advan-tage; and should Maggy die, I maun een tak Jenny, the taen is as far a length as the tither; I‘se be furnished wi’ a wife between the twa.
But Maggy grew better the next day, and was able to muck the byre ; yet there gaed sic a tittle-tattlin through the town, every auld wife tell’d anither o‘t, and a‘ the light-hippet hissies that rins between towns at e’en tugging at their tow rocks, spread it round the kintry, and every body’s mouth was filled wi’ Jockey and Jenny and how Maggy had parted with bairn.
At last Mess John Hill hears of the foul fact, and sends the Elder of that quarter and Clinkum-Bell, the grave-maker to summon Jockey and Jenny, to the 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 himself a-rubbing his lugs, and riving his hair, crying out, O gin ​were but half an ell higher, I sud be a sod-ger or it be lang; and gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sud kill Frenchmen anew, before I gade to face yon flyting Ministers, and be set up like a warld’s wonder, on their cock-stool, or black stool: and wha can hide the shame when every body looks to them, wi’ their sacken sarks, or gowns, on them, like a piece of auld canvas prickt about a body, for naething but what every body does amaist or they are married; as well as me.
Mith. My man, Johnnie, ye're no the first that has done it, and ye’ll no be the ast; e'en mony o’ the ministers hae done t themselves; hout aye, e‘en your father and I did it mony a time.
Mag. Aye, aye, and that gars your son ⟨be⟩ so good o't as he is; the thing that:s red in the flesh, is ill to pit out of the ane.
Mith. Daft woman, what way wad the warld stand if folks wadna mak use of ither? Tis the thing that's natural bairns ⟨getting;⟩ therefore it s no to be scunner'd at.
Mag. Aye, aye, but an they be for the ⟨like⟩ o' that, they should marry.
Mith. But I think there's little ill though hey try it ance or twice or they be ⟨married⟩; ‘tis an unco thing for a body to be ⟨bound⟩ to a business or they ken whether ⟨they⟩ be able for it or no.
​Mag. Aye, aye, that's your way of doing and his, but it‘s no the way of ither honest fouk; see what the Minister will say to it.
Mith. The Minister is but a mortal man, and there's defections in his members as well as in mine
Mag. Aye, but fouk should aye strive to mortify their members.
Mith. Aye, aye mortify their members that's your Whiggery indeed. But 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, I'se gie them Scripturs for d' his done yet. Tell nae me about the mortifying of members, gin he has gotten a bystart, let her and him feed it be-tween them, an they gie't soup about; but she maun keep it the first quarter and by tha time muckle black Lady will becauft; we ⟨sall⟩ sell the ⟨cauf⟩ and foster the wean on the cow's milk; that s better mense for a faut, that a' your repenting stools; a wheen Papist rites and rotten cerimonies, fashing fouks wi' sack gowns and buttock-mails, and I dinna ken what. But bide ye will I see the Minister.
Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre and held a private meeting, none present but auld Bruckie and the twa brutes the bits o' couties, that she might give him counsel how to behave when he appeared before ​Mess John, to answer for his bastart; which concludes the third and last part.
PART III.
Now, Jockey having been three times summoned to the Session but did not appear, the Session insisted tor a warrant from the Justice of the Peace, which was, readily granted more for diversion than justice. The warrant was given to John King, the Constable who went away with Clinkum Bell on Saturday's morning, and catched John just at his brose: They hauled him away, ane at ilka oxter, like twa butcher-dogs hining at a bill s beard; his mither fallowed driving him up with good counsel, and words of encouragement saying, 'My braw man Johnny, haud up your head and dinna think shame, for a your fauts is but perfect honesty, you're neither thief, whore, nor horse-stealer, a' your crime is common.
Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby; and uncle Hubby sent for Sandy the souter of Soggy- hole ; the Souler saddled his mane, and uncle Rabby got off at the gallop on his grey powney, west the Hags, and o'er by White-hill-sheugh, the nearest road, and was at Sir James the Justice long or John was brought into judgement.
John enters before the Justice with a red red face, like a well-paid arse, fause down on his knees, saying, Gude'en Mr Justice, ​Sir James, an‘t please your honour, you manna put me in prison, for I‘m no a malefactor but a poor honest kintryman. that was born under an ill planent, my mither says; I had the ill luck o’ a misfortune to fa‘ foul wi‘ fornication, and got my mither’s lass wi‘ bairn the last year, and they're gaun to father't on me the year.
The Justice, smiling, answered, indeed John, I think it is but very just and reasonable, that you be accountable this year for your last year's labours.
Jock, Aye, aye, Sir, hae laboured very sair since my father died, but our plough canna get gaun for frost these four days.
Just. Aye, but, John, that's no what mean, ‘tis the child you got last year, ⟨you⟩ must be answerable for this
Jock. A-deed, Sir, there was twa ⟨of⟩ them, but there is one o' them dead.
Just. A-well then, John, you’ll have ⟨the⟩ more to give the one that’s alive.
Jock. O but, Sir, it’s my ain wean that's dead, the ane I got wi' my wife; I dinn ken whither the tither he mine or no.
Just. Your's or no, sir! when you ⟨told⟩ me you got it; if you should get it wi' beggar wife at the back o' a dyke, ⟨what's⟩ that to the purpose? When it is of ⟨your⟩ getting, you must maintain it.
Just. O yes, Sir, I'm no refusing to ⟨gie⟩ meat and meal to maintain it; but ⟨my⟩ ​mither winna let me gae to the black stool.
Just. O John you must go to the black stool, when you have been guilty of such a siuful action as deserves it: If you have any reasons why you should not go, argument it in the Session, and clear yourself if you can; to which Jockey was obedient
Aff he goes to the minister, and owns a' his faut to him; and Mess John desired him to appear before the congregation the next Sabbath, to be rebuked for his fau't.
Jock. Indeed, Sir, I wad think nae-thing to stan' a tims or twa on the black stool, to please you, if there were nae-body in the kirk, on a ouke-day, but you and the elders to flyte a wee on me; but 'tis waur on a Sunday to have a' bodies look-ing and laughing at me, as I hand been codding the peas, sipping the kirn, or some-thing that's no bonny, like pissing the bed.
Minist. Aweel John, never mind you these things, but come ye to the stool it's nothing when it's over, we cannot say o'er muckle to you about it.
Upon Sunday thereafter, John comes with Uncle Rabby's auld wide coat, a muckle grey lang-tail d wig. and a big ⟨bonnet⟩, which covered his face, so that he seemed more like an old Pilgrim than a young fornicator! mounts the creepy wi' a stiff, stiff back, as he had been a man of sixty! Every one booked 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 it ⟨came⟩ to be so well known, that the whole parish and many more, came to see him; which caused such a confusion, that he was ab-solved, and got his children baptised the next day,— But their happend a tullie between the twa mothers' who would have both their names to be John. A-weel says auld John their father to the Minister. A-deed, Sir, ye maun ca' the tane John and the tither Jock, and that will please baith these enemies of mankind.
Minist. Now John, you must never kiss and other Woman but your own wife; live justly, like another honest man, and you'll cmoe to die well.
Jock. A black end on a me, Sir, if ever I lay an unlawfu' leg upon a hissy again, an' they sud lie down to me, as lang as our Maggy lasts; and for dying, there's nae fear o' that, or I'll no get fair play, if ye an' a' the aulder folk in the parish be not dead before me. So I hae done wi' ye now, farewell Sir.
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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