# Coalman's courtship to the creel-wife's daughter

THE
COALMAN'S COURTSHIP
TO THE
Creel-Wife's Daughter.
IN THREE PARTS.
I. Containing a very curious dialogue ⟨between⟩ the Carter and his Mother, who ⟨instructs⟩ him in the real art of courtship.
II. Sawny's visit to his sweet-heart, and ⟨what⟩ passed betwixt them. With an account of the house where Sawny got ⟨drunk⟩, and of the terrible misfortunes he met with in consequence.
III. Description of his second Visit to ⟨his⟩ intended bride—and who Sawny was ⟨in⟩ danger of losing his Sweet-heart.—⟨how⟩ her mother got all parties pleased ⟨again⟩; with an account of the wedding of ⟨this⟩ happy—couple the whole abounding ⟨with⟩ the most laughable occurrances.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
THE
YOUNG COALMAN'S COURTSHIP
TO A
CREEL-WIFE'S DOUGHTER.
———.x.———
ALL you that’s curious of courtship give attention to this History of ⟨Mary⟩ and her son Sawny, a young ⟨Coalman⟩, who lived in the country, a ⟨few⟩ miles from Edinburgh.
Mary his mither, was a gay ⟨hearty⟩ wife, had mair wantonness nor ⟨wealth⟩ was twelve years a married wife, ⟨nine⟩ years a widow, and was very chaste ⟨in⟩ her behaviour, wi' her ain tale, ⟨for⟩ want o' charging, for a' this time ⟨of⟩ her widowhood, there was never a ⟨man⟩ got a kiss of her lips, or laid a foul ⟨hand⟩ on her hind quarters.
Sawney her son, was a stout ⟨young⟩ raw loun, full faced, wi' flabby ⟨cheeks,⟩ gade always with his bosom bare, some times had ae gartan, a lingle or ras(illegible text) rape was good enough for Sawny; ⟨His⟩ ​⟨very⟩ belly was a' sun burnt, and brown ⟨like⟩ a piper's bag, or the head of an old ⟨drum⟩; and yet he was a ruddy lown in ⟨the⟩ face, and his beard began to sprout ⟨out⟩ like herrin banes. He took thick ⟨brose⟩ to his breakfast, and baps and ale ⟨through⟩ the day, and when the coals ⟨sold⟩ dear, and the win' was cauld, ⟨bought⟩ an oven-farl, and twa Dunbar-(illegible text)eathers, or a Glasgow Magistrate, which fish-wifes ca' a wastlin herrin'.
His mither, auld Mary, plagued him ⟨ay⟩ in the morning, got up when the ⟨hens⟩ keckled, ringed the ribs, blew her ⟨snotter⟩-box, primed her nose, kindled ⟨her⟩ tobacco-pipe, and at every puff ⟨breathed⟩ out frettings against her hard ⟨fortune⟩ and lanely single life. O but a ⟨widow⟩ be a poor name; but I live in a ⟨wilderness⟩ in this lang lonen, mony a ⟨man⟩ gangs by my door, but few folks looks ⟨in⟩ to poor auld Mary, hoch hey, will I never win out o' this weary'd life. Wa' Sawny man, wa' Sawny man, wilt thou na rise the day; the sun's up, and a' the nibours round about; Willie and Charlie ⟨is⟩ to the hill an hour syne, and half gate ⟨hame⟩ again. Wilt thou rise an gie the beasts a bite, thou minds na them, I wat them.
​Grump grump, co' Sawny, they ⟨got⟩ their supper an hour after I got ⟨mine⟩. Shute to dead come o'er them, an' ⟨they⟩ get a bit frae me till they work for't.
Sawny. But mither I've been dreaming that I was married, an' in the ⟨bed⟩ aboon the bride, I wonder gin it ⟨be⟩ true? Od, I ne'er got sic fun: ⟨what⟩ will't be, think ye? how auld am I mither? do you think I could man ⟨a⟩ hissy yet? Fegs am a mind to try; but the saucy hissies will na hae me, ⟨I⟩ ken weel enough.
Mither. Hae you lad, ay mony ⟨a⟩ hungry heart wad be blythe o' ye, ⟨but⟩ there was never a sca'd Jockey but ⟨there⟩ was a scabbit Jenny till him yet: dinna be feared lad.
Sawny. A hech, mither, I'se no ⟨be⟩ lordly an I sud tak a beggar wife ⟨aff⟩ the hi'-road; but I'll tell you ⟨something⟩ it'm ay thinking on, but ye mauna tell the nibours, for the chiels wad ay ⟨bang⟩ me wi't.
Mither. Wad I tell o' thee lad? I wad tell o' mysell as soon.
Sawny. Do ye mind mither, that day I gade to the Pans I came in by auld Matty's, your kintrywoman's the Fife-wife, it cam' out o' the town you ​came frae, the wife that says "Be-go laddie", I gade there, an she wasna in, and her doughter kent me; she was unco kind and made me fat, fat brose out o' the lee side o' her kail pot: there was baith beef and paunches in't; od they smell'd like ony haggis, and shin'd a' like a gould fac'd waist-coat: figs I suppet till I was like to rive o' them and had a rift o' them the morna'day; when I came out she spier'd for you, mither, and I said ye was gaily. And she looked to me and leuch ay, and gripet my shake-bane, and said I would be a sturdy fallow yet.———I looked to her, and thought I liked her, and thinks on't aye since syne, she leugh, and bade me seek out a coal driver for her, for she didna like to carry a fish creel.
Mither. Forsooth, Sawny, I'll gie my twa lugs for a lavrock's egg, if she binna in love with thee, and that will be a bargain.
Sawny. An' upon my word mither, she's a sturdy kimmer, well worth the sneaking after; she has a dimple in every cheek, an ane on her chin, twa legs like twa posts, and haunches like ​a sodger's lady's hoop, they hobble when she shakes, and her paps play nidity nod when she gangs; I ken by her keeking she has a conceit o' me.
Mither. But Sawney man, an thou see her mither Matty in the town, auld Be-go laddie as you ca' her, gi'e her a dram, she lik'st weel; spout ye a mutchkin of molash in her cheek, ye'll get her mind, and speed the better.
Sawny. But mither, how sud I do when I gang to court her, will I kiss her, an cantittle her and fling her o'er as the chiels does the hizzies among the hay. I seen them gang o'er ither, and o'er ither, and when they grip them by the wame, they' cry like a maukin when the dogs is worrying them.
Mither. Hout awa, daft dog that thou is, that's no the gate; thou maun gang in wi' braw gude manners, and something manfu', put on a Sunday's face and sigh as ye were a saint; sit down beside her, as ye were a Mess John; keek ay till her now and then wi' a stolen look, and haud your mouth as mim, and grave as a May-paddock, or a whore at a christning; crack weel o' our wealth, and hide our poverty.
​Sawny. Ay, but mither there's some other way in courting nor that, or the lassies would never couple so close to them.
Mither. Ay, but Sawny man there is a time for every thing, and that too: when ye sit where naebody sees you, you may tak her head in your oxster, like a creesh pig; dab nebs with her now and than, but be sure and keep a close mouth when you kiss her, clap her cheeks and straik her paps, but for your drowning gang nae farther down; but fouks that's married can put their hand to ony part they like.
Sawny. Aha, but mither, I dinna ken the first word of courting, the lassie'll no ken what I'm come about.
Mither. Ay will she lad, wink and keek weel to her, she'll hae a guess; get a quiet word o' her at the door, and gin it be dark, gie her a wee bit kiss when ye've told your errand; and gin they gie you cheese and bread, or ony meat, ca'd good whether it be sae or no; and for my blessing, be mensfu wi' your mouth, and dinna eat o'er muckle, for I've seen you sup as mony milk-brose as wad have sair'd twa men to carry on a barrow.
​Sawney. Aha, but mither ye're lying now, or it was na a' at ance than, but an' they set meat before me, and I be hungry, a deil claw the cloungest an' I be na upsides wi't for the same. A faith mither, fouks maun hae meat an' they sud ne'er get wives, there's some of them no worth the cursing gin a body were na letting an oath whether or no; a hear ye that now, when ye pit me to it, and gar me speak; ay by my suth I wad rather hae a bit good powny and a pound of cheese, or I were bound to bab after my hissies buttocks I see yet.
Mither. Wa' Sawny man, you are a fool, and that's a faut; and every ane ⟨were⟩ as easy about women as thou is, the warld wad be a wilderness in a we ⟨time, there⟩ wad be naebody to inhabit the earth but brute beats; cats and ⟨dogs wad⟩ be worrying ither, and every ⟨thing wad⟩ gae to confusion. Gae to the courting, ye dog, at ye are, and either do something or naething ava.
PART II.
Up got Sawney in the morning, and swallowed over his sodden meat, slag by slag; and aff he goes to the ​⟨coals⟩ and courting, lilting and singing like a lavrock in a May morning, "O to be married if this be the way".
The colliers all wondered to see him sae weel busket, with a pair of wally side ⟨auld⟩-fashioned leather breeks of his father's, ⟨and⟩ a lang gravat like a minister, or Bailie Duff at a burial, clean face and hands, and no less than a gun-sleeved ⟨linen⟩ sark on him, which made his ⟨cheeks⟩ to shine like a sherney weight, ⟨and⟩ the colliers swore he was as braw ⟨as⟩ a horse gaun to a cow's dredgey.
But Sawny cam off wi his coals, ⟨whistling⟩, and whipping up the poor ⟨beast⟩, even as outrageous as ony ram at ⟨riding⟩ time; weel might ony body see ⟨there⟩ was a storm in Sawny's nose, ⟨light⟩ whare it like, for no sooner had ⟨he⟩ sell'd his coals, than he left his horse ⟨to⟩ come hame wi' a nibour callan, and ⟨gade⟩ keekin up the Cowgate, and thro' ⟨the⟩ closes, seeking auld Be-go, his good-⟨mither⟩ to be; then in thro' the fish-⟨market⟩, whare he bought a lang herring, and twa baps, a pair of suter's auld ⟨shoon⟩, greased black and made new, to ⟨make⟩ his feet feasible like, as he kend ⟨the⟩ lass would look at them, for his mither tell'd him, the women looked ay to ​the men's legs or they married them, and the weel-legged loons gade ay best aff.)
So Sawny cam swaggering through a the shell wives, but she wasna there, but coming down the town beneath ⟨the⟩ guard, meets auld be-go just in the teeth, an she cries, Hey laddie, my dow, ⟨how's⟩ your mither honest Mary? Thank you, co' Sawny, she's meat heal, aye working some; how's a' at hame, is ⟨Kate⟩ and the laddie weel.
Mat. Fu' weel, my dow: you're a braw soncy dog grown, a wally fa' me gin ⟨I⟩ kend ye.
Come, come, quo' Sawny, and I'll ⟨gie⟩ ye a nossuck to heat your wame, ⟨it's⟩ a cauld day, and ye are my ⟨mither's⟩ kintrywoman.
Na, fair fa' you, Sawny, I'll no ⟨refus't,⟩ a dram is better the day than a clap on the arse with a cauld shule, sae follow me my dow.
So awa' she took me, quo' Sawny, down a lang stair, to ane of the bow-houses beneath the yird where it was as mirk as in a coal-heugh, and they had ⟨a⟩ great fire; Sweet be wi' me co' Sawny, for it miuds me of the ill part! and ⟨a⟩ great pot like a little cauldron, seething broth and roasting flesh ​the wife forked them out as fast us she could into cogs and caps, for there came in a wheen sutor-like fellows, wi' black thumbs and creeshy aprons, that cuttied them all up in a wee time, but they never fash'd wi' us, nor we wi' them; we first got a gill, and then got a het pint; a vow said I Matty, is nae Kate gaun to get a man yet?
Matty. A man laddie, wha wad hae her? a great lazy useless jade; she can do naething but work at husband jobs, card and spin, wash ladies' rooms, and scour gentleman's bonny things, she canna tak a creel on her back, and apply to merchandizing as I do to win a man's bread.
Sawny. I think some of the fishers and her may gree about it.
Matty. A fisher, laddie! hech the fishers has a better look out wi' them, the fishers wad rather hae a pickle good baits to their hooks, and twa three bladders to their lines, than put up with such as her, a stinking prideful jade, altho' I bore her ay scraping and prining keeps her face ay as a Flander's baby, and nae less than ribbons and rings, and her shoou made of red clouts; and deil ​stick pride, when our auld goodam ran barefoot, and our gutchers gade wi bare hips. Gie her a man! ill thief stap a gouk in her arse first, that it may cry cuckoo whene'er she speaks o't; she can do naething but scour ladies' pishpots, and keep clean the tirlie wherlies that hangs aboon the fire: heth she's o'er gently brought up to be a poor man's penny-worth.
Heigh how, co' Sawny, and it's een a great pity, for she's a weel-far'd lusty hissy, I had a great kindness for her.
Matty. Weel I wat she's no lingle tail'd, she may be a caff-bed to a good fallow, but an thou had but seen me at her age; I was a sturdy kimmer; there was nae ane about a' the Hyne or Dubby-side, could lay curpen to a creel wi' me, the fient a fallow in a' Fife but I wad a laid on the braid o' his back, and a' his gear upmost, I was a chicken to chatter wi' indeed laddie; for I had a pair of cheeks like a packman's arse and a flank like an ox.
Sawny. Nae doubt co' Sawny, but ye had a pair o' beefy buttocks, for your very cheeks hing like leather-bags to this very day. But I'll tell you what am gaun to say to ye, do ye think that ​your Kate wad tak me, an I would come to court her.
Matty. Tak you, laddie, tak you; a faith she'll tak you, for she wad a tane a poor button thing of a half blind taylor, wartna me, a poor, blier'd scabbit like creature it was; I seen the day I wad a carried it in my pouch. Wode I'se warrant her jump at you like a fish at a flee; wode I sae tak you, and she winna tak you, I'se tak you mysell, but her an I cust out the day about her cockups and black caps, gard me say so muckle ill o' her; but she's my soncy dautie for a' that; weel a wat she's a weel-natured lassie, if she turn an ill-natured wife I canna tell.
Sawny. A well then I'll venture on her as she is, for my mither's pleased, an ye're pleased, and I'm pleased and if she be pleased wode am sure to get her, an the taylor has nae bridled her; or tane a trying trotty o' her.
Matty. But Sawny, man, I'll tell you what we'll do, I'll hame and broach her the night on't, an come ye the morn, we'll mak it fude fast in a wee time, so thou's get mair tocher than a Cramond Gamon to Gamon; she has baith blankets and sheets, a covering ​and twa cods, a caff bed and bowster, and hear'st thou my laddie, I hae a bit auld hogger, and something in't, thou's get it when I die; but by my suth, it will be the last thing that I will part wi': I kenna what I my need yet, It's an auld wife that kens her ain weird.
On this they paid their spout and parted: but when Sawny came out he stoited and staggered like a sturdy stot, molash was chief commander, for he thought every body had twa heads and four een, and mair noses than they needed,; being sometime in the dark house, thought it was the morning of a new day. A hech, said he, whan was I away a' night frae my mither afore? she'll think I am put in the guard, tane wi' the deil or the doctors, or ance married, and working at the wanton wark of wean's getting.
Mat. Hout, daft laddie, the soup drink's in your head, this day and yesterday is a' ae day, ye'll be hame in braw time yet.
Sawny. A weel, a weel then, good day to you, good mither; ye maun gar Kate tak me, or thief tak you a' thegither: I'll hame and tell the length it's come, and it comes nae farther, it maun e'en stick there.
​Off he goes, steering about like a ship against the wind, as if he would make holes in the wa's and windows, with his elbows; he looked as fierce as a lion, wi' a red face like a trumpeter, and his nose was like a bublie-jock's neb, as blue as a blawart: but or he wan half way hame his head turned heavier than his heels and mony a filthy fa' he got, through thick and thin he plashed, till hame he gets at last, grunting and gaping by the wa's, that auld Mary his mither thought it was their neighbour's sow, he was sae bedaubed wi' dirt, gets him to bed, he was in a boiling barrel-fever, and poor Mary grat wi' grief.
Sawny. Hech, hey! but courting be a curst wark, and costly too: an marrying be as mortifying and murdering, the deil be married for me.
Mither. Wa Sawny, man, what's come o'er thee now? Thou's gotten skaith; some auld wife has bewitched thee, or the deil has dung thee o'er in some dirty midden; my bairn's elf-shot; whare has thou been, or what hast thou seen; thy een reels like a wild-cat, and the sweat is hailing o'er thy nose, thou's ​witcht, thou's witch't, O man, what will I do.
Sawny. Bock, bock, co' Sawny; but it couldna win up for bubbles and herrin banes. O co' Sawny, put me in my bed for my days will sune be dune; a curse on your courting wark, for it's killed me, and wives are but wicked things, I ken by the same.
Mither. O dole, dole, my bairn has gotten poison, for the smell o't is like to poison me.
Sawny. Gin herring and het ale be poison, there'll no be mony left alive. Bock, co' Sawny the bed's filled.
Mith. My bairn, thou was ay a cleanly bairn until now; thou's surely lost thy senses, when thou files where thou lies as the brute beasts does, thou never did the like o' this before since thou left cakying o' the cradle,
PART III
POOR Sawny had a terrible night, o't wi' a sair head and a sick heart, his een stood in his head, his wame, caddled like ony mill-trows, and a' his puddings croaked like a wheen paddocks in a pool; his mither rocket and wrang her hands, crying, Wae be to the wife that brew'd it, for I hae lost ​a weel foster'd bairn wi' their stinking stuff, a meikle deil ding the doup out of their cauldron, my curse come upon them and their whisky-pots. It's burnt him it's burnt him alive; ay, ay, my bairn he's gone.
But about the break of day, his wind broke like the bursting of a bladder O happy deliverance, cried Mary his mither, tho' dirt bodes luck, and foul farts file the blankets, I wish ne'er war be amang us. The next thing that did Sawny good, was three mutchkins of milk made in thin brose, and a fine pickle pepper in them, yet he had a soughing in his lugs like a saw-mill, and every thing ran round about with him a' that day. Yet his mither got him out of the bed, on o' the meickle chair, a' pair of blankets about his shoulders, a cod at his back, and a hot brick at his soles, to gar him true he was na weel, and there he sat like a lying-in wife cracking like a Hollander, and ate twa dead herrin and cufe, telling a' the outs and ins about the bridal, and whan it was to be; for he had gotten every body's consent but the bride's about it.
Mither. But Sawny, man, that's the main thing, ye maun hae that too.
​Sawny. Na, na, mither, am the only thing mysel, she's but a member, the men maun ay be foremost, gang what way it will, I'se be the uppermost.
Mither. But Sawny man, what way is thou gaun to do, will you make a penny wedding; or twa three gude nibours, a peck o' meal baken, with a cheese and a barrel of ale, will that do?
Sawny. Na na mither, I'll take a cheaper gate nor ony of them; I'll gar half a crown and a half a-mutchkin, or a rake of coals do it a', then a body has nae mair-a' do but piss and go to bed syne.
Mither. Na na, my maun Sawny, I've mony, mony a time heard thy honest father say, that never a ane would do weel that cap strided the kirk or cuckeled the minister.
Sawny. A tell na me, mither, of the ministers; they're ay for their ain hands as weel as ither fouks, and if a poor beggar body had a bit wean to christen, a deil a ⟨doit⟩ they'll seike him o't.
Mither. Hute awa man, there's nae body has weans but what has siller to pay the christning of them; or if they be that poor, they sud get nae weans, an they wadna be fash'd syne.
Sawny. Ha, ha, mither, the poor ​fouk are like the lice; ay when they meet they marry and maks mae o' them. And I think the ministers might christen their bits o' weans for naething, the water is no sae scant; they're weel paid for their preaching, they might very weel baith marry and christen a' the poor fouks to the bargain by the way of a mags.
Mither. Ay ay my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young folk, and the bed undefiled.
Sawny. What the vengeance mither, do ye think that a body is to file the bed every night an they do it ance.
Mither. Na, na, that's no what I mean; it's happiness that fouk hae that's married, besides the weary lonesome life it I hae, lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane; O sirs, but a man in a bed be a useful body an it were but to claw ane's back, as for a body's foreside they can claw't themsel.
Sawny. A mither, mither, ye hae fun a string again, I think ye might a wanted a' your days, when ye fasted sae lang; ye hae plenty of baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco, but ye smell at the crack of a whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet, for I seed ​her sit wagging her fit this lang time.
Mither, A dear Sawny man, an thou were ance fairly aff the fodder, I'll be cossen into a hole of a house by mysel, where I'll just lie and break my heart, and weary mysel to dead; but an I could get a bit honest weaver, a cobler, or some auld tailor by the tail, I wad tickle to him yet, let the kintry clash as they please about it.
Sawny. A weel, a weel then, mither, tak your ain flight, there's nae fools to an auld fool; for the morn I'se be either aff or on wi' the hissy I've on hand.
So on the morn Sawny got on his clean claise, his hair cam'd and greas'd with butter, and his face as clean as the cat had licked it, and away he goes singing———
I will buy a pund of woo, I will wash and make a plaidy, I'm gaun over the moor to woo, Carline is your daughter ready.
Now poor Sawny although he sang was as pale as a ghost from the grave, his face was entirely white like a ⟨weel⟩ bleached dish clout, he looked just ⟨as⟩ he had been eaten and spued again, but at length he came to the bride's door, and in he goes with a brattle crying ​how is a' here the day; and what is become o' thy mither lassie? O Saunders, said the bride, she is away to the town, what cam of you yesterday? she waited on you the whole day; ye gart her lose a day's trade lad, and she is away this morning cursing like a Heathen, and swearing be-go that ye had gien her the begunk.
Sawny. O dole woman I took a sudden blast in the hame gawn, and was never sae near dead in my life.
And wha think you was in company with Kate the bride, but the wee button of a taylor, who sat and sewed on a table, cocking like a turd on a trencher, but when he kend wha was come, he leaped down on the floor, cust a dash of pride like a little bit prince, he bobet about, and so out he goes with the tear in his ee, and his tail between his feet, ⟨like⟩ a half-worried colly dog.
Sawny Now Katty do ye ken what I'm come about.
Kate. O yes, my mither told me but I'm no ready yet, having two gowns to spin, and things to mak.
Sawny. Tute, things to mak, ye hae as mony things as ye'll need woman, canna ye spin gowns in our ain house, ​wi' me, as right as here wi' an auld girning mither.
Kate. But dear Saunders, ye maun gie a body time to think upon't, 'twad be ill-far'd to rush together at the first.
Sawny. And do ye think I hae naething a do but come here every other day hoiting after you, it'll no do, I maun either be aff wi' you, or on wi' you; either tell me or tak me, for I ken o' ither twa, and some of you I will hae, for as I am a sinner, my mither is gaun to be married too, an' she can get a bit man o' ony shape or trade.
Kate. Indeed then, Saunders, since you're in sic a haste, ye maun een tak them that's readiest, for am no ready yet.
Sawny. A dear woman, when your mither and my mither's pleased, and am willing to venture on ye, what a sorrow ails you?
Kate. Na, na, I'll think on't twa or three days; its o'er lang a term to fee without a thought.
Sawny. Wode I think ye're a cumstrarie piece of stuff; it's true enough your mither said o' ye, that ye're not for a poor man.
Kate. And what mair said she of me?
Sawny. Wode she said, ye could do ​naething but scoure wash mugs, and gentleman's bonny things, but hissies it is bred amang gentle houses, minds me of my mither's cat, but ye're far costlier to keep, for she wastes neither saep nor water, but spits in her lufe, and washes ay at her face, and whins o' you can do nae ither thing;-and up he gets.
Kate. O Saunders, but ye be short, can ye no stay till my mither comes hame.
Sawny. I've staid lang aneugh for ony thing I'll be the better; and am nae sae short as your tottom of a tailor, that I could stap in my shoe.
Hame he goes in a passion, and to his bed he ran, crying, O death! death! I thought the jade wad a jumped at me. No comfort nor happiness mair for poor me. O mither, gar mak my kist, and bake my burial bread, for I'll die this night, or soon the morn. But early next morning in comes auld Be-go his good-mither, wha had left her daughter in tears, for the slighting of Sawny; and hauls him and his mither away to get a dinner of dead fish, where a' was agreed upon and the wedding to be on Wednesday; no bridal fouks but the twa mithers, and themselves twa.
​So according to appointment, they met at Edinburgh, where Sawny got the Cheap Priest, who gave them twa three words, and twa three lines, took their penny and a good drink, wished them joy, and gaed his wa's. Now, said auld Be-go, if that be your minister, he's but a drunken b—h, mony a ane drinks up a', but he leaves naething, he's got the penny for devil haet, ye might hae crackot lufes on't, and been as weel if no better, I have seen some honest man say mair owre their brose nor what he said a' thegither; but an ye be pleased, I am pleased; a bout in the bed ends a', and maks firm wark—so here's to you, and joy to the bargain, it's ended now, well I wat.
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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