# Coalman's courtship to the creel-wife's daughter (Stirling)

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 true Art of courtship.
II. Sawny's Visit to his sweet-heart, and what passed betwixt them. With the curious house where Sawny got drunk-and an account of the terrible misfortunes he met with in consequence.
III. Description of his second Visit to his intended bride—what passed betwixt them; and how Sawny was in danger of losing his sweetheart.—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 occurrennces.
STIRLING:
PRINTED AND SOLD BY M. RANDALL.
THE
Coalman's Courtship
TO THE
CREEL-WIFE'S DAUGHTER.
PART I
ALL you that's curious of Courtship give attention to the 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' chargin', for a the time o' her widowhood there was never a man got a kiss o' her lips, or laid a foul hand on her hind quarters.
Sawny, her son, was a stout young raw loon, full fac'd, wi' flabby cheeks, duddy ​breeks and a ragget doublet; gade always wi' his bosom bare, sometimes had ae gartar, a tingel or strae rape was gude enough for Sawny. His very belly was a' sun-burnt, like a piper's bag, or the head of an auld drum; and yet his beard began to sprout out like herring banes. He took thick brose to his breakfast and baps and ale thro' the day, and when the coals sell'd dear, and the win' was cauld, bought an oven--farl, and twa Dunbar Wadders' or a Glasgow Magistrate, which fish-wives ca' a Waslen herrin'.
His mither, auld Mary, plagued him ay in the morning; she got up when the hens keckled, ringing the ribs, blew her snotter-box, primed her nose, kindled her tobacco pipe, and at every puff breathed out fretting 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 gaes by my door, but few folks looks in to poor Mary!Hoch hey, will I never win out of this wearied life. 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 gi'e the beasts a bite thou minds na' them wat man Grump Grump quo Sawny they got their supper an hour after I got mine. Shut to dead come on them every ​ane, an they get a bit frae me till they work for't.
Sawny. But mither I've been dreamin' that I was married, an' in the bed aboon the bride; I wonder gin it be true? O 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 I've a mind to try; but the saucy hissies will na hae me, ken weel enough.
Mither. Say you lad, ay mony a hungry heart wad be blythe o' you, but there was never a sca'd Jockey but there was a sabbed Jenny till him yet: dinna be scar'd lad.
Sawny. A hech, mither, I'se no be lordly an' I sud tak a beggar wife aff the hi' gate; but I'll tell ye something that I'm aye thinking on, but ye maun na tell the neighbours, for the chiels wad aye jams ⟨me wi't.⟩
Mither. Wad I tell o' thee, lad I wad tell o' mysel as soon.
Sawny. Do ye mind mither, that day I gade to the Pans I came in by auld Mattie's, your countryman's the Fife wife, it cam' out o' the town ye came frae the wife that says Be-go laddie, I gade there, an she was unco kind and made me fat brose out o' the le side o' her kail-pot! there was baith beef and paunches in't; od they smel,d like ony haggis, and shined a' like a gou,d ​facc'd waistcoat: fegs I suppet till I was like to rive o' them, and had a rift o' them the morn a'day; when I came out I had a kite like ⟨a cow⟩ wi calf: she spier'd for you, mither and I said ye was gaily; and she looked to me and leugh and gripped my shakcle-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 lav'rock's egg, if she binna in love wi' thee, and that will be a bargain.
Sawny. An upon my word mither, she's a sturday gimmer, well worth the smoaking after; she has a dimple on every cheek an haunches like a sodjer's hoop; they hobble when she shake, and her paps play niddety nod when she gangs; I ken by her keckling she has a conceit of me.
Mither. But Sawny man, an thou see her mither Matty in the town, auld Be-go laddie as you ca' her, gie her a dram she likes it weel; spout ye a mutchkin o' 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' tau; kittle her and fling her o'er as the chiels do ​the hissies amang the hay; I've seen them gang o'er ither, an' 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 good 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 aye till her now and then wi' a stowen look, and haud your mouth as min and grave as a May-paddock, or a whore at a christening; crack weel o our wealth and hide our poverty.
Sawny. Ay, but mither there is some ither way in courting nor that, or the lassies would na couple so close to them.
Mither. Ay, but Sawny man there's a time for every thing, an that too; when ye sit where naebody sees you you may tak' her head in your oxter, like a creesh pig; dab nebs wi her now and then, but be sure ye keep a close mouth when ye 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 o' courting, the lassie'll no ken what I'm com'd about.
Mither. Ay will she lad, wink and keek ​weel to her, she'll hae a guess; seek a quiet word o' her at the door, and gin it be dark; gie her a wee bit kiss when ye hae tell'd her your errand; and gin they gi'e you cheese and bread, or ony meat, ca't good whether it be sae or no; and for my blessing, be mensfu' wi' your mou and dinna eat o'er muckle, for I've seen you sup as mony milk brose as wad have sar't twa men to carry in a barrow.
Sawney. Aha, but mither ye're lying now, for I never did it but ance, but an they set meat before me, and I be hungry, a de'il claw the clungest an I binna upsides wi't for the same. A deed mither, fouks maun hae meat an they should ne'er get wives, there's some o' them no worth the cursing, an' a body werna letting an oath whether or no; a hear ye that now, when ye put me till't, and gar me speak, ay by my sooth, I wad rather hae a bit good powny and a pound o' cheese, or I were bound to bab after my hissy's buttocks I see yet.
Mither. Wa Sawny man, thou's a fool an that's a fault; gin every ane were as easy about women as thou is, the warld wad be a wilderness in a wee time there wad be nae body to inhabit the earth but brute beasts; cats and dogs wad be worrying ither and every thing wad gae to confusion. Gae to the courting, ye dog, 't ye are, and either do something or naething at a'.
PART II.
Up got Sawny in the morning, and swallowed owre sodded meat flag by flag; and aff he goes to the coals and the courting, lilting and singing like a lavrock in a May morning,-'O to be married, if this he the way
The colliers wonder'd a' to see him sae weel buskit, wi' a pair o wally side auld-fashioned leather breeks o' his father's, an' an auld creeshy hat, mair like a fryin' pan than ony thing else; a lang cravat like a minister, or Bailie Duff at a burial, a clean face and hands, and nae less than a gun-sleev'd 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 dredgy.
But Sawny came aff wi' his coals, whistling, and whipping up the poor beasts, e'en as outrageous as ony ram at riding time; weel might ony body see there was a storm in Sawny's nose, light where it like, for no sooner had he sell'd his coals, than he left his horse to come hame wi' a nibour callan, and gaed keckin up the Cowgate, and thro' the closses, seeking auld Be go, his guid-mither to be; then in thro' the fish-market where he bought twa lang herrin, an' 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 look'd ay to the men's legs or they married them and the weel-legged loons gade ay best aff)
So Sawny cam swaggerin' thro' a the shell wives, but she was nae there; but coming down the town below the guard met auld Be-go just i' the teeth; an sh cries, Hay laddie my dow, how's your mither honest Mary? thank you, quo' Sawny, she's meat ⟨hale⟩, aye working some-how's a' a hame; is Kate and the laddie weel?
Matty. Fu weel, my dow; ye're a braw sonsy dog grown; a wallie fa' me gin I kend ye.
Come come quo' Sawny, and I'll gi'e ye a nossock to heat your wame, it's a cauld day, and ye're my mither's countryman.
Na, fair fa you, Sawny, I'll ne refus't; a dram's 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 dark stair, to ane o' the how houses, beneath the yird, where it was mirk as in a coal heugh, and they had a great fire. Sweet be wi' me quo Sawny, for it miuds me o' the ill part; an' a muckle pot his a little cauldron, seething kaill and roasting flesh, the wife forked them out as fast as she could into ​cogs and caps for there came in a wheen sutor like fallows, wi' black thumbs an' creeshy aprons, that cutted them a' up in a wee time, but they ne'er fash'd wi, us, nor we wi' them; we first got a giil, and then a het pint. A vow, said I, Matty, is Kate gaun to get a man, yet?
Matty. A man, laddie! wha wad hae her? a muckle, lazy, useless jade; she can do naething but work at husband work, card and spin, wash ladies rooms, and scour a 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 might make it up.
Matty. A fisher, laddie! haith the fishers wad rather hae a piekle good bait to their hooks, and twa three bladders to their lines, than put up wi the like o' her, a stinking, prideful jade, altho I bore her, ay scourin and washin at hersel, prickin and prinnin keept her face ay like a Flanders baby, and nae less than ribbons and rings, and her shoon made o' red clouts; a de'il stick pride, when our auld guidams ran barefoot, and our gutchers gade wi' bare hips. Gie her a man! ill theif stap a gouk in her arse first, that may cry cuckow whene'er she speaks o't; she can do naething but scour ladies' pishpots, and keep clean the tirlie-weirlies that hang about the fire; ​haith she's o'er gentle brought up to be a poor man's pennyworth.
Heigh how, quo' Sawny, and 'tis e'en a great pity, for she's a weel-far'd lusty hissy; had a great kindness for her.
Matty. A well-a-wat she's no lingletailed, she may be a caff bed to a good fallow but an thou had seen me at her age, I was a sturdy gimmer; there was nae a Hyne in a Dabbyside could lay a corpen to a creel wi me, the fint a fallow in a Fife but I wad a laid on the bread o' his back, an' a his gear uppermost, I was nae a chicken to chatter wi' indeed laddie, for I had a flank like an ox, an' a pair of cheeks like a chapman s arse.
Sawny. Nae douts but ye had a pair-o' beefy buttochs, for your very cheeks hing like leather bags to this day but I'll tell you what I'm gaun to tell you—do ye think that your Kate wad tak' me, an I would come to court her?
Matty. Tak you, laddie, tak' you, faith she'll tak you for she wad tane a poor button thing o' a half blind tailor, wartna me; a poor, blind, bowly, scabbit like creature; I've seen the day I wad carried him in my pouch Wode I se warrant her jump at you, like a fish at a fly, wad I say tak you and she winna tak you, I se tak you mysel, but she an I cust out the day 'bout her ​cock-ups and black caps, gar'd me say muckle o' her; but she's my sonsy dowty for a' that; weel-a-wat she's a weel natured ⟨lassie⟩, and gin 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 please, an ye're pleased an I'm pleased; wode I'm sure to get her an the tailor has nae bridled her, or ⟨tane⟩ a trying trot o' her.
Matty. But Sawny man, I'll tell you what we'll do, I'll hame and broach her tee night on't, an come ye the morn. ⟨we'll⟩ mak it fu' fast in a wee time, so thou's get mair tocher than a Cramon, gammon to gammon; she has baith blankets and sheets, a covering, and twa cods o' caff, 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'll part wi', I kenna what I may need yet—'tis 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 Sawny thought every body had| wa heads and four een, and more noses than they needed; while in the dark house he sometimes thought it was the morning of a new day: a hech said he, when was I a night frae my mither before; she'll think I am put in the guard, tane wi' ​the deil or the doctors, or else married and working at the wanton trade o weans making.
Matty. Hute, daft laddie, the soup drink s in your head, and gars ye think sae, this ⟨day⟩ and yesterday is a' day ye'll be hame in braw time yet.
Sawny. A well, a well 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 if it comes nae farther, it maun e'en stick there.
Off he goes, tacking about like a ship against the wind, as if he would knock holes in the wa s and windows wi his elbows; he looked as fierce as a lion with a red face like a trumpeter, and his nose was like a bubbly jock's neb, as bluw 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 wall, when auld Mary thought it was their nibours sow, he was sae bedaubed wi' dirt; by the time she got 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 to: an marriage be as mortifying and murdering, the deil may be married for me.
​Mither. Wa' Sawny, man, what's come o'er thee now? thou hast gotten skaith a some auld wife has witcht thee, or the deil has dung thee o'er in some dirty midden; where hast thou been, or what hast thou seen; they een reel like a wild cat's, and the sweat is hailing o'er thy nose; thou a witcht, thou's witch't, O man, what will I do.
Bock, bock gaed Sawney; but it could na win up for bubbles an' herrin banes, Oh, quo' he, keep me in my bed for my days will soon be done; a curse on your courting work, for it has 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' it is like to poison me.
Sawny Gin herrin' and het ale be poison, there'll no be mony left alive. Bock, bock. Oh, quo, Sawney the bed's filed!
Mither O my bairn, thou was ay a cleanly bairn till now; thou's surely lost thy seuses when thou files where thou lies, like the brute beasts: thou ne'er did the like o' this before since thou left rocking o' the cradle.
PART III.
POOR Sawny had a terrible night o't, i' a sair head and a sick heart, his een stood in his head, his wame, caddled like ony cow's milk, and his puddings crocket like a wheen paddocks in a pool: his mither rocket and wrung her hands, crying, a 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 ca dron, my curse come on them and their whisky-pots, it's brunt him alive; ay, ay, my bairn he's gone.
But about the break of day, his wind brak like the bursting of a bladder. O happy deliverance, cried Mary his mither: though dirt bodes luck, and foul farts file the blankets, I wish ne'er waur be among us. The next thing that did Sawny good, was three mutchkins of milk made into thin brose' and a pickle fine pepper in them; yet he had a soughing in his lugs like a saw-mill, and every thing gade round about wi' him a' that day; his mither gat him out of bed, an' put him in the muckle chair, wi a' pair of blankets about his shoulders, a cod at his back, and a het brick to his soles, to gar him trow he was nae well, and there he sat like a lying-in wife, cracking like a ​Holladdie, and ate twa dead herrin' and a crust, telling a' the outs and ins about the bridal, and when it was to be; for he had gotten every bodys 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, I'm the main thing myself, aye she's but a member; the men maun aye be foremost—an what way it will, I'se bethe uppermost.
Mither, But Sawny man, what way is thou gaun to do? will ye make a pay penny ⟨wedding⟩; or twa or three gude neebours, a peck o' meal baken, wi' a cheese and a barrel o ale; will that do?
Sawny. Na na mither, I'll take a cheaper gale nor ony o' them; I'll gar half-a-crown and half a mutchkin, or a ⟨rake⟩ of coals do it a', then a body has nae mair to do ⟨but⟩ piss and tumble into bed.
Mither, N na, my man Sawny, I hae mony a time heard thy honest father, say that never a ane woul do well t at capstrided the kirk or cuckol'd the minister.
Sawny. A tell na me, mither o' the minister, they're aye for their ain end as well as ither fouks, an' if a poor beggar body had a bit wean to christen, the deil a beit they'll seik him o't.
Mither Hute awa man, there's na body has weans but what has siller to pay the ​christening o' them; or if they be that poor, they sudna get nae weans, and they wadna be fash'd syne.
Sawny. Ha ha mither. the poor fouk's like the lice, ay when they meet they marry, and maks nae' of them: and I think the ministers might christen their bits of weans for naething, the water's no sae scant; they are weel paid for their preaching, they may very weel baith marry and christen a' the poor fouks into the bargain, by the way of a maggs.
Mihter. Ay, ay, my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young fouk, and the bed undefiled.
Sawny. What the vengeance, mither, do ye think a body's to file the bed every night because they did it ance.
Mither. Na, na that's no what I mean; it is the happiness that fouk hae that's married, beside the wearied lonesome life that I ha', lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane: O sirs, but a man in bed be a usefu' body, an it were but to claw ane's back, as for a body's foreside they can claw it themselves.
Sawny. Ah mither, mither, ye hae fun astring again; I think ye might a wanted a' your days, when ye hae wanted sae lang: ye hae plenty o' baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco; but ye smell at the crack o' the ​whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet, for I've seen her fit waggan this lang time.
Mither, A dear Sawny, man an' thou were ance fairly aff the fodder, I'll be cast into a hole o' house by mysel, where I'll just ly and break my heart and weary myself o death; but an I could get a bit honest weaver, a cobler, or some auld tailor by the tail, I would tackle to him yet let the country clash as they please about it.
Sawny. A well, a well mither, tak your ain flight, there's nae fool like an auld fool; for the morn I'll be aff or on wi' the hissy I hae in hand.
So on the morrow Sawny got a' his claise clean'd, his hair kamed and greased wi' butter, and his face as clean as if the cat had licket it, and away he goes singing:
I will buy a pound o' woo', I will wash't and mak a plaidy, I'm gaun ower the muir to woo, Carlin, is your daughter ready.
Now poor Sawny, although he sang, was as pale as a ghost from the grave; his face was whitly white, like a weel-bleached dishclout, and he look'd as if he had been eaten and spued again; but at length he came to the bride's door, and in he goes wi a brattle crying How's a' here the day? and what s ​com'd o' thy mither, lassie? O Saunders said the bride, she's awa to the town; what came o ye yesterday, she waited on you the whole day, ye gart her lose a day's trade, lad; and she s away this morning cursing like a heathen, and swearing Bego that ye hae gien her the begunk
Sawny. A dole woman, I took a sudden blast in the hame gaun, and was never sae near dead in my life.
And wha think you was in company wi Kate the bride, but the wee button of a tailor, who sat and sew'd on a table, cocking like a t--d on a trencher; but when he kent wha was come, he leaped down on the floor, coost a dash o' pride like a little bit prince, bobbet about, and so out he goes, with the tear in his eye, and his tail between his feet like a half worried dog.
Sawny. Now, Katie, do ye ken what I'm com'd about?
Kate. O yes, my mither tell'd me; but I'm no ready yet; I hae twa gowns to spin and things to make.
Sawny. Hute, things, to mak ye hae as mony things as ye'll need, woman; canna ye spin gowns in your ain house wi' me, as weel as here, wi' an auld girning mither?
Kate. But dear Saunders, ye maun gie a body time to think on't—twad be ill-far'd to rush thegither just at the first.
​Sawny. And do ye think I hae naething ado but come here every i'her day hoiting after you, it'll no do! I maun be either aff or on wi' you, either tak me or tell me, for I ken of ither twa. and some of you I'll hae, for as I'm a sinner, my mither is gaum to be married too, an she can get ony bit man o' ony shape or trade.
Kate. Indeed, then, Saunders, since you're in such haste, ye maun e'en tak them that's readiest, for I'm not ready yet.
Sawny. Dear woman, when your mither and my mither's pleased, and I am willing to venture on ye, what a sorrow ails you?
Kate. Na, na, I'll think on't twa or three days; 'tis o'er lang a term to see without a thought.
Sawny. Wode I think ye're a camstrerie piece o' stuff; it's true enough what your mither said o' ye, that ye're no for a poor man.
Kate. And what mair said she o' me?
Sawny. Wode, she said ye could do naething but wash mugs, and scour gentleman's bonny things, but hissies that is bred amang gentle houses, minds me of my mither's cat; but ye're far costlier to keep, for the cat wastes neither sape nor water, but spits in her lufe and washes her ain face, and wheens 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 come hame?
Sawny. I ve staid lang enough for ony thing I v be the better; and I'm nae sae short as your totum of a tailor, that I could stap in my shoe, sae could I e'en.
Hame he goes in a passion, and to his bed he ran, crying, O death! death! I tho't the jade wad a jumped at me; no comfort nor happiness mair for me. O mither, gae 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, who had left her daughter in tears for slighting o' Sawny, and hauls him and his mither awa' to get a dinner o dead fish; where a' was agreed upon, and the wedding to be upon 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 the r penny and a guid drink wish'd t em joy, and gade his wa's. Now said auld Be-go, i 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 de'il a hate; ye might cracket lufes on't, ta'en ane anither's word, a kiss and a hoddle at a hillock side, and been as well, if no better: I hae seen some honest man say mair o'er their brose nor what he said a' the gither; but an ye be pleased. I'm ​pleas'd, a bout in the bed ends a' and maks sure wark—so here's to you, and joy to the bargain———tis ended now, weel I wat.
FINIS.
The Sinners and the Sculls
A TALE,
By Peter Pindar.
A pair of youths, too fond of missing, That is, of one sad crime call d kissing, Could never let the girls alone; For ever busy with their lips——— Of Adam's block two nice young chips As good for love as e'er was known.
To expiate these kissing crimes, Committed, Lord, a thousane times, The Priest; enjoin'd them penance twenty nights——— Each in his bed a human scull, Cheek by jowl, To try what good might be perform'd by frights
In a few days the Sinners met— 'Pierre, wasn't thcc in a dev'ish sweat, To sleep so near a c———d old stinking head, My senses all were nearly lost; I dreamt of nothing but a ghost; ​Lord I thought I should have died with dread.
Well was not thine a dismal sight? How did thy spirits bear the fright? Why, very pleasantly, faith, (answer'd Pierre); So far from seeing ghosts and hell, I ne'er lik d penance half so well: And yet the head was all night at my ear.
"Why, how the deuce is this? (quoth Paul) 'You mean to laugh at me, that s all- Dost take me for an ass so every dull, Then to convince thee, Paul, (quoth Pierre) A trifling whisper in thine ear— I had a female body to my scull.
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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