{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_64219/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_64219","id":"gutenberg_64219","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64219","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Chapbooks, Scottish","Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746","Jacobites","Popular literature -- Scotland","Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Sources"],"text":"TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTE\n\n  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.\n\n  Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have\n  been placed at the end of the book.\n\n  Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.\n\n\n\n\n  COLLECTED WRITINGS\n\n  OF\n\n  DOUGAL GRAHAM.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF DOUGAL GRAHAM\n\n_From Early Chap Book._\n\n  _Frontispiece to Vol. II._]\n\n\n\n\n  THE\n\n  COLLECTED WRITINGS\n\n  OF\n\n  DOUGAL GRAHAM\n\n  \u2018SKELLAT\u2019 BELLMAN OF GLASGOW\n\n\n  EDITED WITH NOTES\n\n  _Together with a Biographical and Bibliographical Introduction, and\n  a Sketch of the Chap Literature of Scotland_\n\n\n  BY\n\n  GEORGE MAC GREGOR\n\n  _Author of \u2018The History of Glasgow\u2019 and Member of the Glasgow\n  Arch\u00e6ological Society_\n\n\n  _IN TWO VOLUMES_\n\n  _VOL. II._\n\n\n  For Subscribers and Private Circulation\n\n  GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON\n  MDCCCLXXXIII\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOLUME II.\n\n                                                                PAGE\n\n  JOCKEY AND MAGGY\u2019S COURTSHIP                                     7\n\n      PART I.--_Jockey and Maggy\u2019s Courtship as they were coming\n      from the market_                                             9\n\n      PART II.--_The Wonderful Works of our John_                 15\n\n      PART III.--_The Wonderful Works of our John made manifest\n      before the Minister, &c._                                   22\n\n      PART IV.--_How Jockey and his Mother went away to see\n      his bastard child, &c._                                     31\n\n      THE VTH AND LAST PART.--_Being an Account of Jockey\u2019s\n      Mother\u2019s Death and Burial: With an Elegant Elegy\n      and Epitaph on that occasion--The Baptizing of his two\n      Children, and how he mounted the stool_                     37\n\n\n  THE COALMAN\u2019S COURTSHIP                                         47\n\n      PART I.                                                     49\n\n      PART II.                                                    53\n\n      PART III.                                                   58\n\n\n  COMICAL TRANSACTIONS OF LOTHIAN TOM                             65\n\n      PART I.                                                     67\n\n      PART II.                                                    70\n\n      PART III.                                                   73\n\n      PART IV.                                                    76\n\n      PART V.                                                     79\n\n      PART VI.                                                    81\n\n      THE PLOWMAN\u2019S GLORY; OR, TOM\u2019S SONG                         84\n\n\n  HISTORY OF JOHN CHEAP THE CHAPMAN                               87\n\n      PREFACE                                                     89\n\n      PART I.                                                     89\n\n      PART II.                                                    96\n\n      PART III.                                                  102\n\n\n  LEPER THE TAYLOR                                               109\n\n      PART I.                                                    111\n\n      PART II.                                                   118\n\n\n  THE GRAND SOLEMNITY OF THE TAYLOR\u2019S FUNERAL                    125\n\n      _The Taylor\u2019s Last Will_                                   130\n\n\n  THE HISTORY OF HAVEREL WIVES                                   131\n\n  JANET CLINKER\u2019S ORATION                                        145\n\n  THE COMICAL AND WITTY JOKES OF JOHN FALKIRK                    155\n\n  THE SCOT\u2019S PIPER\u2019S QUERIES; OR, JOHN FALKIRK\u2019S CARICHES        165\n\n  _An Account of John Falkirk, the Scots Piper_                  167\n\n\n  THE COMICAL SAYINGS OF PADY FROM CORK                          179\n\n      PART I.                                                    181\n\n      PART II.                                                   188\n\n      PART III.                                                  193\n\n      _A New Catechism_                                          199\n\n      _Pady\u2019s Humble Petition, or Supplication_                  203\n\n      _A Creed for Romish Believers_                             204\n\n\n  SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES                         205\n\n\n  THE ANCIENT AND MODERN HISTORY OF BUCK-HAVEN                   217\n\n      PART I.                                                    219\n\n      PART II.                                                   225\n\n      PART III.                                                  229\n\n      _The Minister and Mussel Mou\u2019d Harry_                      237\n\n\n  THE WITTY AND ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS OF GEORGE BUCHANAN         239\n\n      PART I.                                                    241\n\n      PART II.                                                   248\n\n      PART III.                                                  256\n\n      PART IV.                                                   263\n\n      PART V.                                                    269\n\n      PART VI.                                                   277\n\n\n  GLOSSARY                                                       281\n\n\n\n\n_JOCKEY AND MAGGY\u2019S COURTSHIP._\n\n\n  [This chap-book was one of the most popular of Graham\u2019s\n  productions. It is reprinted here from a unique copy formerly\n  belonging the late Dr. David Laing, and now in the possession\n  of George Gray, Esq. It is in five parts. The title-page bears\n  that it had been \u2018carefully corrected and revised by the Author.\u2019\n  It was printed in 1779 by J. and J. Robertson, Glasgow, and is\n  perhaps the earliest copy extant.]\n\n\n\n\nJOCKEY AND MAGGY\u2019S COURTSHIP AS THEY WERE COMING FROM THE MARKET.\n\n\nPART I.\n\nJockey. Hey Maggy, wilt thou stay and tak kent fouks hame wi\u2019 ye\nthe night?\n\nMaggy. Wiltu come awa than Johny. I fain wad be hame or the ky come\nin, our meikle Riggy is sic a rumbling royte, she rins ay thro\u2019 the\nbyre, and sticks a\u2019 the bits a couties; my mither is nae able to\nhad her up to her ain stake.\n\nJockey. Hute, we\u2019ll be hame in bra\u2019 time woman: and how\u2019s a\u2019 your\nfouks at hame?\n\nMaggy. Indeed I canna well tell you man, our guidame is a\u2019 gane\nwi\u2019 the gut; my mither is very frail, my father he\u2019s ay wandering\nabout, and widdling amang the beasts.\n\nJockey. But dear Maggy they tell me we\u2019re gawn to get a wedding of\nthee and Andrew Merrymouth the laird\u2019s gardener.\n\nMaggy. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the\nlike o\u2019 me, but auld Tammy Tailtrees was seeking me, my father wad\na haen me to tak him, but my mither wadna let, there was an odd\ndebate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi\u2019 the grape,\nif my father hadna chanc\u2019d to founder her wi\u2019 the beetle.\n\nJockey. Hech woman, I think your father was a fool for fashing wi\u2019\nhim, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a cow but the clutes,\nyour guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the\ntane may sair the tither fu\u2019 well.\n\nMaggy. Ach man! I wad a tane thee or ony body to hane them greed\nagain, my father bled my guidame\u2019s nose, and my guidame brake my\nmithers thumb; the neighbours came a\u2019 rinning in, but I had the\nluck to haud my father\u2019s hands till yence my guidame plotted him\nwi\u2019 the broe that was to mak our brose.\n\nJockey. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you an ye wadna be\nangry at it?\n\nMaggy. O Johnny, there\u2019s my hand I\u2019se no be angry at it, be what it\nwill.\n\n      [Shakes hands for fear of an outcast.][1]\n\nJockey. Indeed Maggy the fouk of your town and the fouk of our\ntown, says, we are gawn to be married: What say\u2019st thou?\n\nMaggy. I wish we ne\u2019er do war, O Johny, I dream\u2019d o\u2019 you lang syne,\nan I liket you ay after that.\n\nJockey. O Maggy! Maggy! dost thou mind since I came to your\nmither\u2019s bill, wi\u2019 my mither\u2019s cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye\nhelped me to haud her; ay after that they scorned me that I wad be\nmarried on a you.\n\nMaggy. It\u2019s very true man, it\u2019ll be an odd thing an it be; but it\u2019s\nno fa\u2019 back at my door, I assure ye.\n\nJockey. Nor at mine, but my mither bad me kiss ye.\n\nMaggy. Indeed sall ye Johny, thou\u2019s no want twa kisses man, ane on\nevery side o\u2019 the mouth, man.\n\nJockey. Ha! ha! Maggy, I\u2019ll hae a merry night o\u2019 kissing you\nshortly.\n\nMaggy. Ay but Johny, you maun stay till that night come: it\u2019s best\nto keep the feast until the feast day.\n\nJockey. Dinna be angry Maggy, my wife to be, but I have heard my\nmither saying in her daffing that fouk sud ay try gin their house\nwill haud their plenishin.\n\nMaggy. Ay but Johny, a wife is ae thing, an a house anither, a man\nthat\u2019s a mind to marry a woman he\u2019ll no mak her a whore.\n\nJockey. It\u2019s a\u2019 true Maggy, but fouks may do it yence or they be\nmarried and no hae nae ill in their minds.\n\nMaggy. Aha Johny, mony a are has been beguil\u2019d wi\u2019 yence, and do it\nyence ye may do it ay, what an we get a bystart, and hae to suffer\nfor the foul act of fornication.\n\nJockey. Ay but my mither says, if I dinna get thee wi\u2019 bairn, I\u2019ll\nno get thee; so it\u2019s the surest way of wooing.\n\nMaggy. Indeed Johny I like you better nor ony lad I see, and I sall\nmarry you an yence my father\u2019s muck were out, my mither downa wirk\nat the midden.\n\nJockey. A Maggy, Maggy, I\u2019m fear\u2019d ye beguile me, an then my mither\nwill murder me for being so silly.\n\nMaggy. My jo Jockey, tell your mither to provide a\u2019 things for the\nbridal, and I sal marry you in three uks after this, but we maun\ngie in siller to the Precentor, a groat an a drink to the bellman,\nand then the Kirk wa\u2019s maun hear o\u2019t, three sunday\u2019s or it come.[2]\n\nJockey. But Maggy am no to make a blin bargain wi\u2019 you nor nae\nbody, I maun ken o\u2019 your things an ye sall ken o\u2019 mine.\n\nMaggy. I ken well what I was to get, an gin my mither like the\nbargain well, she\u2019ll make it better; but an my father be angry at\nthe match, I darna meet you to be married.\n\nJockey. I see na how he can be angry. I wat well I\u2019m a gay sturdy\nfallow, when I laid on a bow and five pecks o\u2019 bear on the laird\u2019s\nBawsey, an he\u2019s as bilchy a beast as in a\u2019 the barronry.\n\nMaggy. Ay but my mither is aye angry at ony body that evens\nthemselves to me, an it binna them she likes, indeed she bad me tak\nony body if it were na auld tottering Tammie, for his beard is ay\nbrown wi\u2019 sucking tobacco, and slavers a\u2019 the breast o\u2019 his fecket.\n\nJockey. O! Maggy tak me an I\u2019ll tell you what I hae; first my\nfather left me when he died, fifty merks, twa sacks, twa pair of\nsunks, the hens, an the gawn gear was to be divided between me and\nmy mither, and if she died first, a\u2019 her gear was to come amang\nmine, and if I died before her, a\u2019 my gear was to come back to her\nagain, an her to marry anither man if she cou\u2019d get him. But since\nit\u2019s happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky an the black mare, the\nhaf o\u2019 the cogs, three spoons, four pair o\u2019 blankets an a can\u2019as,\nshe\u2019s to big a twa bey to her ain gavel to be a dwelling house\nto me an my wife, am to get the wee byre at the end o\u2019 the raw\nto haud my cow and twa couties; the haf o\u2019 the barn an a bed o\u2019\nthe kailyard as lang as she lives, an when she dies am to pay the\nearding o\u2019 her honestly, and a\u2019 the o\u2019ercome is to be my ain: an by\nthat time I\u2019ll be as rich as e\u2019er my father was before me.\n\nMaggy. Truly Johny, I\u2019se no say meikle to the contrair, but an ye\nhae a mind to tak me wi\u2019 what I hae, tell me either now or never,\nfor I\u2019se be married or lang gae.\n\nJockey. I wat weel I am courting in earnest, tell me what you hae,\nan we\u2019ll say nae mair but marry ither.\n\nMaggy. I\u2019se tell you a\u2019 I ken o\u2019, whate\u2019er my guidame gies ye\u2019s get\nit.\n\nJockey. That\u2019s right, I want nae mair, it\u2019s an unko thing to marry\na naket woman and get naething but twa bair legs.\n\nMaggy. O Johny ye\u2019re ay in the right o\u2019t, for mony ane is beguil\u2019d\nand gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pund Scots,\nthat night I am married, a lade of meal, a furlet of groats, auld\nCrummie is mine since she was a cauf, and now she has a stirk\nwill tak the bill e\u2019er beltan yet, I hae twa stane o\u2019 good lint,\nand three pockfu\u2019s o\u2019 tow a good cauf bed, twa bowsters and three\ncods, with three pair o\u2019 blankets, an\u2019 a covering; forby twa pair\nto spin, but my mither wadna gie me crish to them, an ye ken the\nbutter is dear now.[3]\n\nJockey. Then farewel the night Maggy; the best o\u2019 friends maun\npart, and so maun thy twa legs yet.\n\nMaggy. I wish you well, Johny, but sae nae mair till we be married,\nand then lad.\n\n      Hame gaed Maggy and tell\u2019d her Mither.\n\nMag. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye mauna tell my\nfather.\n\nMither. Dear Maggy an what is that!\n\nMag. Deed Mither, am gawn to be married an\u2019 the muck were out.\n\nMith. Dear Maggy an wha\u2019s thou gawn to get, it\u2019s no auld bubly\nTammy.\n\nMag. Na, na, he\u2019s a bra young man, and has mair gear nor ilka body\nkens o\u2019, guess an I\u2019ll tell you, it\u2019s Johny Bell, and his mither\nsent him to the market just to court me.\n\nMith. Deed Maggy ye\u2019ll no be ill youket wi\u2019 him, he\u2019s a gay we\u2019ll\ngawn fallow, right spruch, amaist like an ill-far\u2019d gentleman. Hey\nguidman, do ye hear that our Maggy is gawn to be married an the\nmuck were out.\n\nFather. Na, na, I\u2019ll no allow that until the peats be cussen and\nhurl\u2019d.\n\nMag. O father it\u2019s dangerous to delay the like o\u2019 that, I like him,\nan he likes me, it\u2019s best to strike the iron whan it\u2019s het.\n\nFath. An wha is she gawn to get guidwife?\n\nMith. An wha think ye guidman?\n\nFath. A what wat I herie, an she please hersel, am pleas\u2019d already.\n\nMith. Indeed she\u2019s gawn to get Johny Bell, as cliver a little\nfallow, as in a the barronry where he bides.\n\nFath. A well, a well herie, she\u2019s yours as well as mine, gie her to\nwha ye please.\n\nMith. A well Maggy, I\u2019se hae a\u2019 things ready, an I\u2019ll hae thee\nmarried or this month be done.\n\nMag. Thanks to ye Mither, mony a good turn ye done me, an this will\nbe the best, I think.\n\n      Hame gaed Jockey to his mither, crying.\n\nJock. Mither! Mither! I made it out, her mouth is sweeter na milk,\nmy heart plays a whiltie whaltie whan I kiss her.\n\nMith. Fair fa\u2019 thee my son Johny, thou\u2019s gotten the geat o\u2019t at\nlast, and whan is thou gawn to be married?\n\nJock. Whan I like mither, but get the masons the morn, to big me my\nhouse, for I\u2019ll hae a\u2019 my things in right good order.\n\nMith. Thou\u2019s want for naething, my bairn, but pusht forward as fast\nas ye can.\n\nThe wooing being o\u2019er and the day being set, Jockey\u2019s mither killed\nthe black boul horn\u2019d yeal Ewe, that lost her lamb the last year,\nthree hens and a gule fitted cock, to prevent the ripples, five\npecks o\u2019 maut masket in the meikle kirn, a pint o\u2019 trykle to mak\nit thicker an sweeter an maumier for the mouth; five pints o\u2019\nwhisky wherein was garlic and spice, for raising o\u2019 the wind, an\nthe clearing o\u2019 their water; the friends and good neighbours went\na\u2019 wi\u2019 John to the kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him and was\nmarried by the minister; the twa companies joined togither and came\nhame in a croud, at every change house they chanced to pass by,\nprovidence stopt their proceeding, with full stoups, bottles and\nglasses drinking their healths, wishing them much joy, ten girls\nand a boy: Jockey seeing so many wishing well to his health, coupt\nup what he got, for to augment his health and gar him live long,\nwhich afterwards coupt up him and proved detrimental to the same.\n\nSo home they came to the dinner, where his mother presented to\nthem a piping het haggies, made of the creish of the black boul\nhorn\u2019d Ewe, boil\u2019d in the meikle bag, mixt with bear meal, onions,\nspice and mint: this haggis being supt warm, the foaming swats and\nspice in the liquor set John\u2019s belly a bizin like a working fat,\nand he playing het fit to the fidler, was suddenly seized with a\nbocking and rebounding, gave his dinner such a backward ca that he\nlost a\u2019 but the grit bits scythed through his teeth; his mother\ncried to spence him, and bed him wi\u2019 the bride, his breeks being\nfill\u2019d, they washed both his hips, laid him in his bed, pale and\nghostly was his face, and closed were baith his een, ah, cries\nhis mither, a dismal day indeed, his brithal and his burial may\nbaith be on ae day: some cuist water in his face, and jagg\u2019d him\nwi\u2019 a needle; till he began to rouze himself up, and rap out broken\nwords, mither, mither, whar am I now? Whar are ye my bairn says\nhis mither, ye\u2019re beddet, and I\u2019ll bring the bride to you. Beddet,\nand is my brithel done ells? Ay, said she, here\u2019s the bride come\nto ly down wi\u2019 you: na, na, said he, I\u2019ll no ly wi that unco woman\nindeed, if it binna heeds and thraws, the way that I lay wi\u2019 my\nmither; O fy dinna affront yoursel. The bride faus a crying. O\nmither, mither, was this the way my father guided you the first\nnight? Na, na, thy father was a man o\u2019 manners and better mettle,\npoor thing Meg, thou\u2019s caud thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny\nmarket, says his mither, a shame fa you and her baith, he\u2019s worthy\no\u2019 her tho\u2019 she were better nor what she is, or e\u2019er will be. His\nfriends an her friends being a mixt multitude, some took his part\nsome took her\u2019s, there a battle began in the clap of a hand, being\na very fierce tumult which ended in blood, they struck so hard with\nstones, sticks, beetles, and barrow trams, pigs, pots, stoups,\ntrunchers, were flying like bombs and granades.\n\nThe crook, bouls and tongs were all employed as weapons of war:\ntill down came the bed with a great mou of peats. So this disturbed\nthe treading.[4]\n\n\nTHE WONDERFUL WORKS OF OUR JOHN.\n\nPART II.\n\nNow though all the ceremonies of Jockey and Maggy\u2019s wedding were\nended, when they were fairly bedded before a wheen rattling unruly\nwitnesses, who dang down the bed aboon them; the battle still\nencreased, and John\u2019s works turned out to be very wonderful; for he\nmade Janet, that was his mither\u2019s lass the last year, grow like an\nElshin shaft, and got his Maggy wi\u2019 bairn forby.\n\nThe hamsheughs were very great until auld uncle Rabby came into\nredd them, and a sturdy auld fallow he was, stood stively wi\u2019 a\nstiff rumple, and by strength of his arms rave them sindry, flingin\nthe tane east and the tither west, until they stood a round about\nlike as many breathless forfoughen cocks, and no ane durst steer\nanither for him, Jockey\u2019s mither was driven o\u2019re a kist, and\nbrogget a her hips on a round heckle, up she gat and rinning to\nfell Maggy\u2019s mither wi\u2019 the ladle, swearing she was the mither of\na\u2019 the mischief that happened, uncle Rabby ran in between them, he\nhaving a great lang nose like a trumpet, she recklessly came o\u2019er\nhis lobster neb a drive wi\u2019 the ladle until the blood sprang out\nand ran down his auld grey beard and hang like snuffy bubbles at\nit; O! then he gaed wood, and looked as waefu like, as he had been\na tod lowrie, com\u2019d frae worrying lambs, wi\u2019 his bloody mouth. Wi\u2019\nthat he gets an auld flail, and rives away the supple, then drives\nthem a to the back o\u2019 the door, but yet nane wan out; than wi\u2019\nchirten and chappen, down comes the clay hallen and the hen bauk\nwith Rab Reid the fidler, who had crept up aside the hens for the\npreservation of his fiddle.\n\nBen comes the bride when she got on her coat, clappet Rabby\u2019s\nshoulder and bad him spare their lives: for their is blood enough\nshed in ae night, quoth she, and that my beard can witness, quoth\nhe. So they a\u2019 came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his supple\nmade their pows baith saft and sair that night; but daft Maggy\nSimson sat by the fire and picket banes a\u2019 the time o\u2019 the battle:\nindeed quoth she, I think ye\u2019re a\u2019 fools but mysel; for I came here\nto get a guid supper, and other fouk has gotten their skin we\u2019ll\npait.\n\nBy this time up got John the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he\nwas married, but could na get his breeks; yet wi\u2019 a horse nail he\ntacket his sark tail between his legs, that nane might see what\nevery body should hide, and rambling he cries settle ye, or I\u2019ll\ngar my uncle settle ye, and saften ye\u2019re heads wi\u2019 my auld supple.\n\nPoor Rab Reid the fidler took a sudden blast; some said he was\nmaw-turn\u2019d wi\u2019 the fa\u2019; for he bocked up a the barley and then\ngar\u2019d the ale go like a rain bow frae him as brown as wort brose.\n\nThe hurly burly being ended, and naething but fair words and\nshaking o\u2019 hands, which was a sure sign o\u2019 an agreement, they began\nto cow their cuttet lugs, and wash their sairs, a but Jockey\u2019s\nmither, who cries out a black end on a you and your wedding baith:\nfor I hae gotten a hunder holes dung in my arse wi\u2019 the heckle\nteeth.\n\nJockey answers, A e\u2019en had you wi\u2019 them than mither, ye will een be\nbetter sair\u2019d.\n\nUp gets uncle Rabby, and auld Sandy the sutor o\u2019 Seggyhole, and\nput every thing in order; they prappet up the bed wi\u2019 a rake\nand rippling kame, the bearers being broken, they made a solid\nfoundation of peats, laid on the cauf bed and bowsters, where\nJockey and Maggy was beddet the second time.\n\nJockey no being used to lie wi\u2019 a naked woman, except heads and\nthraws wi\u2019 his mither, gets his twa hands about the brides neck\nand his houghs out o\u2019er her hurdies, saying, I ne\u2019er kist wife\nnor lass naked before, and for fainness I\u2019ll bite you, I\u2019ll bite\nyou, &c. Naithing mair remarkable till about haf a year and four\nukes thereafter, in comes Marion Mushet rinning barefoot and bare\nlegget, wi\u2019 bleart cheeks and a watery nose, cursing and banning,\ngreeting and flyting.\n\n      Marion enters. Crying, and whar\u2019s John.\n\nHis mither answers. Indeed he\u2019s out in the yard powing Kail runts.\n\nMarion. A black end on a him and his runts baith, for he\u2019s ruin\u2019d\nme and my bairn.\n\nMith. Ruin\u2019d you! it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you\nill, be night or be day, what gars you say that?\n\nMar. O woman! our Jenny is a\u2019 rowing like a pack o\u2019 woo; indeed\nshe\u2019s wi\u2019 quick bairn, and your John is the father o\u2019t.\n\nMith. Our John the father o\u2019t! had, there enough said, lying lown,\nI trow our John was ne\u2019er guilty of sic a sinfu action: Daft woman,\nI true it ill be but wind that hoves up the lasses wame; she\u2019ll hae\ndrunken some sour drink like sour sowens, or rotten milk that mak\u2019s\nher sae.\n\nMar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he\u2019s the father o\u2019t\nfurnicator dog that he\u2019s, he\u2019s ruin\u2019d me and my bairn; I bore her\nand brought her up honestly, till she came, to you; her father died\nand left me wi\u2019 four o\u2019 them, there wasna ane o\u2019 them cou\u2019d pit on\nanither\u2019s claes, or tak a louse aff ither.\n\nMith. I bid you had your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my\nbairn, for he\u2019ll ne\u2019er tak wi\u2019t: he, poor silly lad, he wad ne\u2019er\nlook to a lass, be\u2019s to lay her down. Fy Maggy cry in o\u2019 John, and\nlet\u2019s ratify\u2019t wi\u2019 the auld ruddoch: ay, ye\u2019ere no blate for saying\nsae.\n\nMar. Be angry, or be well pleased, I\u2019ll say\u2019t in a your faces, an\nI\u2019ll ca you before your betters about it or lang gae.\n\nJohn enters. An what want ye now, is our brose ready yet?\n\nMith. Ay brose, black brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here Marion\nMushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi\u2019 bairn.\n\nJock. Me mither? I ne\u2019er lay in a bed wi\u2019 her dochter a my days,\nit\u2019ll be the young lairds, for a saw him kiss her at the Lammas\nfair, an let glam at her nonsense.\n\nMith. Ay, ay, my man Johny, that\u2019s the way she has gotten her belly\nfu\u2019 o\u2019 bairns; it\u2019s no you nor the like o\u2019 you, poor innocent lad,\nthat gets bystart weans: a wheen filthy lowns, every ane loups on\nanither, and gies you the wyte o\u2019 a\u2019.\n\nMar. You may say what you like about it, it\u2019s easy to ca\u2019 a court\nwhar there\u2019s nae body to say again, but I\u2019ll tell you a I ken\nabout it, and that is what she tell\u2019t me, and you guidwife telt me\nsome o\u2019t yoursel; an gin you hadna brought in Maggy wi\u2019 her muckle\ntocher atween the twa, your Jockey and my Jenny had a been man and\nwife the day.\n\nJock. I wat weel that\u2019s true.\n\nMith. Ye filthy dog at ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi\u2019 a\nbystart; and it no yours: dinna I ken as well as she do wha\u2019s aught\nit?\n\nJock. Ay but mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt\nit come to my door at last.\n\nMith. Ye silly sumff and senseless fallow, had ye been knuckle deep\nwi\u2019 the dirty drab, ye might a said sae, but ye telt me lang syne\nthat ye cou\u2019d na lo\u2019e her, she was so lazy and lown like; besides\nher crooket fit and bow\u2019d legs.\n\nJock. Ay but mither, do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her\nthe parting kiss, at the black hole o\u2019 the peet stack; she rave\nthe button frae my breeks, and wad gar me do\u2019t; and bad me do\u2019t,\nand cou\u2019d flesh and blood refuse to do\u2019t; I\u2019m sure mither, I cou\u2019d\nne\u2019er get her wi\u2019 bairn an my breeks on.\n\nMith. Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean\u2019s no yours, ilk ane\nloups on of anither, and you\u2019ll get the wyte o\u2019 a bytarts round\nabout.\n\nUp gets Maggy wi\u2019 a rore, and rives her hair, cries her back,\nbelly, and baith her sides; the weed and gut gaes thro\u2019 my flesh\nlike lang needles, nails or elshin irons. Wae be ti\u2019 the day that\ne\u2019er I saw his face, I had better married a tinkler, or a followed\nthe sogers, as mony an honest man\u2019s dochter has done, and liv\u2019d a\nbetter life than I do.\n\nUp gets Jockey and rins o\u2019er the rigs, for John Roger\u2019s wife, auld\nKatty the howdy, but or he wan back she parted wi\u2019 patrick thro\u2019\nperfect spite, and then lay twa fauld o\u2019er a stool in a swoon.\n\nJock. A well, a well, sirs, since my first born is dead without\nseeing the light o\u2019 the warld; ye\u2019s a get bread an cheese to the\nblyth meat, the thing we shou\u2019d a war\u2019d on the banket will sair the\nburial, and that will ay be some advantage: an Maggy should die, I\nmaun een tak Jenny, the tane is as far a length as the tither: I\u2019se\nbe furnisht wi\u2019 a wife between the twa.\n\nBut Maggy turn\u2019d better the next day, and was able to muck the\nbyre; yet there gead sic a tittle tattling thro\u2019 the town every\nauld wife tell\u2019t anither o\u2019t, and a\u2019 the light hippet hussies that\nrins between towns at een, tugging at their tow rocks, spread it\nround the kintry; and every body\u2019s mouth was filled wi\u2019 Jockey and\nJenny, and how Maggy had parted wi\u2019 bairn.\n\nAt last Mess John Hill hears of the horrid action, and sends the\nelder of that quarter and Clinkem Bell[5] the grave maker, to\nsummon Jockey and Jenny to the session, and to see how the stool\nof repentance wad set them,[6] no sooner had they entered the door\nbut Maggy fa\u2019s a greeting, and wringing her hands; Jockey\u2019s mither\nfell a fliting, and he himself a rubbing his lugs, and riving his\nhair, saying, O gin I were but a half ell higher, I sud be a soger\nor it be lang, and gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sud kill\nFrenchman enew, before I gaed to face yon flyting ministers, an be\nset up like a warlds wonder, on their cock-stool or black stool[7]\nan wha can bide the shame, whan every body looks to them, wi\u2019 their\nsacken sarks or gowns on them,[8] like a piece of an auld canvass\nprickt about a body, for naething, but what every body does\namaist, or they be married as well as me.\n\nMith. My man Johny, ye\u2019re no the first that has done it, an ye\u2019ll\nno be the last; een mony o\u2019 the ministers has done it themselves,\nhout ay, your father and I did it mony a time.\n\nMag. Ay, ay, and that gars your son be so good o\u2019t as he is: the\nthing that is bred in the flesh is ill to pit out o\u2019 the bane.\n\nMith. Daft woman what way could the warld stand, if fouks wadna\nmake use o\u2019 ither, it\u2019s the thing that\u2019s natural, bairns getting,\ntherefore it\u2019s no to be scunnert at.\n\nMag. Ay, ay, but an they be for the like o\u2019 that, they should marry.\n\nMith. But I think there\u2019s little ill tho\u2019 they try it yence or\ntwice or they be married; it\u2019s an unco thing till a body to be\nbound to a business, if they dinna ken whether they be able for it\nor no.\n\nMag. Ay, ay, that\u2019s your way o\u2019 doing and his, but its no the way\no\u2019 ither honest fouk; see what the minister will say to it.\n\nMith. The minister is but a mortal man, and there\u2019s defections in\nhis members as well as mine.\n\nMag. Ay, but fouk should ay strive to mortify their members.\n\nMith. An is that your Whigry? Will you or any body else, wi\u2019 your\nmortifying o\u2019 your members, prevent what\u2019s to come to pass? I wish\nI saw the minister an his elders, but I\u2019se gie him scripture for\na he\u2019s done yet: tell na me about the mortifying o\u2019 members, gin\nhe hae gotten a bystart let her and him feed it between them an\nthey sud gie\u2019t soup about: but she maun keep it the first quarter,\nan be that time muckle black lady \u2019ill be cauft, we sall sell the\ncauf an foster the wean on the cow\u2019s milk: That\u2019s better mense\nfor a fault, than a\u2019 your mortifying o\u2019 your members, and a\u2019 your\nrepenting-stools; a wheen papist rites an rotten ceremonies,\nfashing fouks wi\u2019 sack gowns and buttock-males,[9] an I dinna ken\nwhat, but bide you yet till I see the minister.[10]\n\n\nTHE WONDERFUL WORKS OF OUR JOHN MADE MANIFEST BEFORE THE MINISTER,\n&c.\n\nPART III.\n\nNow Jockey and his mither went into the little byre, and held a\nprivate meeting, nane present but auld bruckie, and the two brutes\nthe bits a couties.\n\nMith. Ye silly dog, an he be drown\u2019d to you, how cou\u2019d ye confess\nsae muckle to maeslie shanket Marion, altho\u2019 she be her mither.\n\nJock. O mither, mither, say nae mair about it, my ain wand has\ndung me dourly; sadly have I suffered for that, and ye ken a\u2019 the\nmisery\u2019s com\u2019d o\u2019er our Maggy, my mouth\u2019s the mither o\u2019t, sae ha\u2019d\nyour tongue I tell you now.\n\nMith. An tell ye me to ha\u2019d my tongue, an ye had a hauden your\ntongue and your tail, an a done as I bade you, ye hadna hane sae\nmuckle ado the day daft silly dog it thou is.\n\nJock. Mither, mither, gies nane o\u2019 your mocks nor malice, for tho\u2019\nI got the wean, ye hae as muckle the wyte o\u2019t as I Gae seek me out\nmy three new sarks, an Sunday\u2019s shune, an I\u2019se gae whar ne\u2019er man\nsaw my face before, neither wood, water nor wilderness, sall haud\nme again.\n\nMith. My braw man Johny, ye mauna do that, stay at hame wi\u2019 me, and\nset a stout heart till a stay brae, I\u2019se gae to the session wi\u2019\nyou, gang whan ye like.\n\nJock. A well mither, I sall do your bidden for ance yet, but whan\nthe minister flytes on me, answer ye him, for I canna speak well\nagain.\n\nMith. Say nae mair, I hae a pokfu\u2019 o\u2019 perfect petitions to louse\nan put to him an his elders, and if thou maun gae to their\nblack-stool, it\u2019s no be thy lane sall sit upon\u2019t.\n\nJock. But mither, whether will I deny the doing o\u2019t or confess the\ngame was at the getting o\u2019t?\n\nMith. Ay, ay, confess ye did it, but say but ance, and that it was\non the terms of marriage, the way that a\u2019 our kintry bystarts is\ngotten.[11]\n\nNow Jockey being three times summon\u2019d to the session and did not\nappear, the session insisted for a warrant from the justice of\nthe peace,[12] which was readily granted, more for diversion than\njustice\u2019 sake, the warrant being given to John King the constable,\nwho went away with Clinkem Bell on Saturday\u2019s morning, and catch\u2019d\nJohn just at his breakfast, hauls him awa, ane at ilka oxter like\ntwa butcher dogs hinging at a bull\u2019s beard, his mother followed,\ndriving him up with good counsels, my bra\u2019 man Johny, haud up your\nhead, dinna think shame, for a\u2019 your fauts is but perfect honey,\nyou\u2019re neither a thief, whore nor horse stealer.\n\nThen Maggy ran for uncle Rabby, an uncle Rabby sent to Sandy the\nSouter of Seggyhole, the Souter saddled his mare, and uncle Rabby\ngot aff at the gallop on his gray powney west the hags, an o\u2019er by\nWhitehill shough, the nearest, and was at Sir James the justices\nlang or John was brought into judgment.\n\nJohn enters, before the justice, with a red, red face, Goode\u2019en\nMr. Justice, Sir James, an\u2019t please your honour ye manna put me in\nprison, for am no malefactor, but a poor honest kintry-man, that\nwas born in an ill planet, my mither says\u2019t I had the ill luck of\na misfortune to fa\u2019 foul wi\u2019 furnication, and got my mither\u2019s lass\nwi\u2019 bairn the last year, and they\u2019re gawn to father\u2019t on me the\nyear again.\n\nThe justice smiling, answer\u2019d, indeed John I think it is but very\njust and reasonable that ye be accountable this year for your last\nyears labours.\n\nJock. Ay, ay, sir, I have laboured very sair since my father died,\nbut our plough canna get gaun for frost this four days.\n\nJust. Ay but John, that\u2019s no what I mean, it\u2019s the child ye got\nlast year, ye must be answerable for this.\n\nJock. A deed stir, there was twa o\u2019 them, but there is ane o\u2019 them\ndead.\n\nJust. A well then John you\u2019ll have the more to give the one that\u2019s\nalive.\n\nJock. Oh! but stir, it\u2019s my ain wean that\u2019s dead, the ane I got wi\u2019\nmy wife; I dinna ken whither the tither be mine or no.\n\nJust. Yours or no sir, when ye told me ye got it; if ye should get\nit wi\u2019 a beggar wife at the back of a dike what is that to the\npurpose, when it is of your getting you must maintain it.\n\nJock. O! yes stir, am no refusing to gie meat and meal to\nmaintain\u2019t; but my mither winna let me to the black-stool.\n\nJust. Why not go to the black-stool, when guilty of such an action\nas deserves it, if you have any reasons why you should not go,\nargument it in session and clear yourself if you can.\n\nJohn\u2019s mother enters, and addresses herself to the servant lass,\nthinking she was the justice\u2019s lady.\n\nIndeed mistress madam, if ye were a kintry good-wife, like mysel,\nI could tell you a\u2019 about it, but you that\u2019s gentiles, I canna use\nfreedom wi you, cause I hae na Latin. But waes me we that\u2019s poor\nfouk is born to mony fealins and backwart faus, this lad is my son,\nan am his mither, he has had the foul fortune to get a bystart\nbairn, nae doubt but we hae been a\u2019 guilty o\u2019 as muckle and ne\u2019er a\nword about it, a what say ye madam?\n\nOff goes the lass, saying, Foul fa\u2019 the wife, for I was never\nguilty o\u2019t.\n\nJust. Well goodwife, what is the reason but ye let your son give\nsatisfaction to the kirk?\n\nMith. Deed stir, he\u2019s no denying the bairn, but he\u2019ll no hae the\nblack-stool.\n\nJust. Ay, but I tell you, them that gets a bystart, gets the\nblack-stool to the bargain, and as he is in my hands now, he must\nfind caution that he will answer the session and be subject to the\nlaw.\n\nMith. Ony thing ye like, stir, but that shamfu\u2019 stance, the black\nstool, here\u2019s uncle Rabby, and auld Sandy the Sutor, will be\ncaution that we\u2019s face the session on Sunday, the lad\u2019s wae enough\nhe did it, but he canna help it now, the weans born and by hand;\nSae goodnight wi\u2019 your honour\u2019s ladyship it\u2019s the first time e\u2019er I\nwas before you.\n\nOn Sabbath after sermon the session met, John and his mother is\ncall\u2019d upon, he enters courageously, saying, Good-een to you Master\nMinister, bellman and elders a\u2019, my mither and me is both here.\n\nMess John. Then let her in, come awa goodwife, What\u2019s the reason\nyou keep your son so long back from answering the session? you see\nit is the thing you are obliged to do at last.\n\nMith. Deed stir, I think there needs na be nae mair wark about it,\nI think when he\u2019s gien the lazy hulke, the mither o\u2019t, baith meal\nand groats[13] to maintan\u2019t, ye need na fash him, he\u2019s a dutifu\u2019\nfather indeed, weel a wat, whan he feeds his bystart sae weel.\n\nMess John. Woman are you a hearer of the gospel? that ye reject\nthe dictates of it, how come you to despise the discipline of the\nchurch? Is not offenders to be rebuked and chastised?\n\nMith. Yes stir, a\u2019 that is very true, but I hae been three or four\ntimes through the Bible, and the New Testament, and I never saw a\nrepenting stool in\u2019t a\u2019; then whar cou\u2019d the first o\u2019 them come\nfrae, the Apostles had nane o\u2019 them. But a daft history book tells\nme, that the first o\u2019 them was used about Rome amang the Papists,\nand ay whan ony o\u2019 them turn\u2019d Whigs, they were put on a four\nneuked thing, like a yarn winnle blades, and rave a\u2019 their gouls\nsindry till they turn\u2019d Papists again: and then for anger they put\nthem on a black stane or stool, in the mids o\u2019 the kirk, and the\nseck goun about them, wi\u2019 the picture o\u2019 the de\u2019il and Satan on\u2019t,\na sweet be wi\u2019 us, we sudna speak o\u2019 the ill thief in the kirk,\nbut it is a mercy the minister\u2019s here an\u2019 he come, but that was\nthe original of your repenting stools, and whan the whigs chas\u2019d\nawa the Papist fouk out o\u2019 this kintry, they left a wheen o\u2019 their\nreligious pictures, and the stool o\u2019 repentance was amangst the\nspoil, but yese no get my bairn to set upon a thing as hich as a\nhen bawk, and ilka body to be glowring at him.[14]\n\nMess John. Woman I told you formerly that any who refuses\nsubmission to the government of the church, is liable to\nexcommunication: and that we are to put the law in execution\nagainst adultery and fornication, or the sin thereof, lies partly\non our head.\n\nMith. As for your sin of adultery, I have naething ado wi\u2019t; I ken\nmy son is a fornicator, and ye can neither mak him better nor war\nnor he is, there\u2019s nae man can keep a standing in their ain hand,\nfortune I mean, if it be a sin let him confess\u2019t, and forsake it,\nand wi\u2019s pay the buttock-mail and mak nae mair about it.\n\nMess John. Goodwife you need not think your son will pass so,\nmore than others that has been before him, he must actually come\nbefore the congregation three sabbaths before he be absolved from\nthe scandal, and get the benefit of any church privileges like any\nother honest man.\n\nMith. Indeed Mess John, my son will never set his hips upon\u2019t; if\nhe maun come before you, I\u2019se gar him stand a bit a back frae\u2019t\nand hear what ye hae to say about fornication, twa harmless free\nbodies, passing their trials to see what they can do, ye that\u2019s\nwhigs may mak enough o\u2019t, but I think na muckle about it.\n\nMess John. Woman you may go home and see what ye have to do; ye\nhave a very bad tongue: it\u2019s no you we are to take account of.\n\nMith. Ay, ay, ye that\u2019s ministers and modest fouk may say sae, but\nif my son had tane as good tent o\u2019 his tail, as I can do o\u2019 my\ntongue, there had na been sae muckle about it, a wheen silly loons\nkens na what they were made for, or how to guide a thing whan they\nget it.\n\nMess John. Put her out, she\u2019s going to speak baudy.\n\nMith. O ay, stir, I\u2019se gang out, but I\u2019ll hae my bairn out wi\u2019 me.\n\nMess John. We must first ask some few questions at him, there is no\nharm can come on him here.\n\nMith. For as good company as you think yourselves, I wad rather hae\nhim in anither place.\n\n      John\u2019s kept in and his mother put out.\n\nMess John. Well John, you must tell us whether this child was\ngotten before ye was married, or since: for I suppose by the time\nof the birth it is much about the same time.\n\nJock. Hout ay, stir, it was gotten lang or I was married, I need na\nforget the getting, it was na sae easy to me.\n\nMess John. How long is it since ye was first acquaint?\n\nJock. Just when she came to be my mither\u2019s lass, I never saw her\nbut ance before, and gin I had never seen her, I had never kend her\nin sic a fashious fashion.\n\nMess John. How long was she serving with your mother.\n\nJock. Just twa hail-yerts: and I got her wi bairn about a year\nafter she came, and its no a year yet since I was married.\n\nMess John. Dear John there is a contradiction indeed, a woman\ncannot go two years with child.\n\nJock. Deed stir, it was then the wean was first gotten.\n\nMess John. A John, John, I find you out to be a sinful liver, you\nand that woman has had carnal dealings for some time; it is ill\nkeeping the cow out of the corn, if she once got a way of going to\nit, ye should actually a married the poor woman, when ye cohabited\nso long together.\n\nJock. No stir, we didna cow habit, tho\u2019 she kist me, and I kist\nher, sometimes in the barn, and sometimes in the byre: nane ken\u2019t\no\u2019t but my mither, an\u2019 she wadna let me tak her, but sent me awa to\ncourt our Maggy.\n\nHis mother cries through the hole o\u2019 the door: A ye senseless\nsumph, is that a\u2019 the thanks I get for counselling you to do weel,\nwar na me ye wad a been married on a lownlike leepet lazy lump, who\nhad neither wit nor wyles, no say much judgment as wyfe the wind\nfrae her tail but lute it gang afore fouks.\n\nUp gets the elders crying, Fy, fy, Duncan the bell-man drive that\nwicked wife frae the door she disturbs us all.\n\nDuncan runs to the door whispering, shame fa you for a wife had out\no\u2019 that: but I wad rather hear you, as hear them yet.\n\nMess John. Now John will you be so plain as tell me whether ye\npromist to marry the woman or no, when ye lay with her.\n\nJock. Na stir, I didna lie wi\u2019 her, for the herd and me lay in the\nbyre-bed, and she lay in the little lang sadle at the hallen end.\n\nMess John. It is all one whether ye lay with her or not, when ye\nhave got her with child, that\u2019s what ye confess.\n\nJock. I kenna whither I got her wi\u2019 bairn or no: but I did wi\u2019 her\nas I did wi\u2019 our Maggy, when she fell wi\u2019 bairn.\n\nMess John. But the question is, whether or no, did you promise to\nmarry her when that child was gotten?\n\nJock. Hut, tut, stir, ye wad fash fouk spiering a\u2019 thing, it was\nher that promist to marry me for the getting o\u2019t.\n\nMess John. And did not you do the like to her?\n\nJock. A what needed I do the like when she and my mither did it a\u2019\nbut the wean getting, she could na do that.\n\nMess John. Indeed John you seem to have been a parcel of loose\nlivers altogether.\n\nJock. A loose stir, I wish I were loose yet, better be loose than\nbun to an ill stake.\n\nMess. John. I see it is needless for me to enquire any further\ninto the matter, I find you out guilty, therefore, you must appear\npublicly on the stool of repentance on Sabbath next, and the two\nfollowing thereafter, or ye be absolved from the scandal.\n\nJock. Indeed master minister, am very easy about repentance, and\nfor your stool, its a seat am very indifferent about, for am but\nbashful, and as I was never guilty o\u2019 getting bystarts, either\nbefore or sin syne, except in thoughts, words, deeds and actions,\nI think ye may een let me pass, I suffered enough wi\u2019 the clash o\u2019\nthe kintry, and loss o\u2019 my ain wain, it was nae bystart, ye canna\ngar me stand for that.\n\nMess John. You appear to be such a stupid fellow, the like of you\nshould neither have lawful child or bastard, and I admire that\nsuch an ideot as you, was allowed to be married to any woman; and\nyou James, who is the elder of that proportion, should have given\ninformation of this man\u2019s capacity, before he was joined to a\nwife.[15]\n\nElder. Indeed sir, ye ken very well, he answered the questions at\nthe examine, better nor any other fouks, and I think he is best\nmarried, for he might a gotten mae bystarts and fasht us.\n\nJock. Indeed stir, it\u2019s very true, for when ance I got the gate o\u2019\nwomen, I cou\u2019d na bide aff them, but our Maggy was unco cunnen, she\nwad na let me do naething but kiss her and kittle her till ance we\nwas married.\n\nMess John. I\u2019ll ask no more questions at him: call on his mother,\n(in she comes,) Goodwife, we have ordered your son to appear\nthree Sabbaths on the stool an\u2019 there to be reproved before the\ncongregation publicly an\u2019 be absolved from the scandal.\n\nMother. Than the ill thief be in his a--se Mess John, gin e\u2019er he\nset his hips upon\u2019t, my bairn on your black stool? and wadna\u2019t be\na great blunder on the auld black face o\u2019t, to my son to gang on\u2019t\nbefore the young laird, who has had twa bystarts and ne\u2019er set a\nhip on\u2019t yet, and he\u2019s continually riding on the hussies to this\nday, and them that wadna let him, he rives their duds, and kicks\ntheir doups. A dear Mess John, an ye gie gentle fouk a toleration\nto whore, to fornicate, kiss an\u2019 kuddle a wee, wi\u2019 ilka body they\nlike, I\u2019ll gie you ten marks and gie\u2019t to me and my son too.\n\nMess John. And what shall we do with these odious persons?\n\nElders. Indeed, sir, we see not what we can make of them.\n\nMess. John. Make of them, we\u2019ll exclude them from all church\nbenefit, and lay them under the lesser excommunication.[16]\n\nMith. Indeed stir, tak your mind o\u2019t as our cat did o\u2019 the haggies,\nwhen she sippit it a\u2019, and crap in o\u2019 the bag.\n\nIf ye winna christen the wean, ye canna hinder us to cast a cogfu\u2019\no\u2019 water on the face o\u2019t, and ca\u2019t ony thing we like.\n\nSo out she goes shooting Jockey before her, so John went and pisht\non the auld minister\u2019s widow\u2019s gavel, and there was nae mair about\nit that day.\n\n\nHOW JOCKEY AND HIS MOTHER WENT AWAY TO SEE HIS BASTARD CHILD, &c.\n\nPART IV.\n\nNow Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow\ncracking like twa hand guns.\n\nMoth. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field\ncondingly, whan I hae conquer\u2019d a\u2019 the canker\u2019d carles about the\nkirk.\n\nJock. Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister,\nand gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures\nyou may preach as well as he.\n\nMoth. I true Jock lad their black stool o\u2019 sham repentance ne\u2019er\ngot sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.\n\nJock. Na, na, mither, a\u2019 the whoremongers that ever set a hip on\u2019t\nkens na sae muckle about the auld foundation o\u2019t as ye do.\n\nMoth. But Johny man, an\u2019 thou wad start in the morning, the first\no\u2019 the daft days,[17] and that\u2019s on Munday, ye an\u2019 I wad go and see\nthe daft jade, Jenny the mither o\u2019t.\n\nJock. Wi\u2019 a\u2019 my heart mither, but wi maun giet something an\u2019 it\nwere an auld servet, or an auld sark to keep the hips o\u2019t warm,\nyoung weans is ay wet about the a--se ye ken.\n\nMoth. A well then Johny, I\u2019se cry to thee whan the hens begin to\nkeckle, and that\u2019s about the break o\u2019 day, an\u2019 wees be ready to tak\nthe road again Torryburn day light, whan weel ken a turd by a stane.\n\nUp gets auld Maggy, Jocks mither in the morning, puts on the\nkettle, and maks her Yool sowens, the meikle pot hung on the fire\na\u2019 night wi\u2019 the cheek of an auld cows head, skims aff the fat an\u2019\nmak\u2019s a great cog o\u2019 brose, then pours on a chappen o\u2019 clean creish\nlike oil, which made a brave sappy breakfast for Jockey and his\nmither, and Maggy got the cog to scart.\n\nThe brose being done and a\u2019 thing ready, he halters the black\nmare, lays on the sunks and a covering, fine furniture for a\ncountry wife.[18]\n\nJockey mounts, and his mother behind him, trots awa, till coming\ndown the brae abune John Davie\u2019s well; the auld beast being unfiery\no\u2019 the feet, she fundred before, the girth and curple brake, Jockey\ntumbled o\u2019er her lugs, and his mother out o\u2019er him in the well wi\u2019\na slung.\n\nJock. Ay, ay, mither, tho\u2019 I fell ye needna faun abune me, an\u2019 gin\nye had lyne whar ye lighted first, ye wadna tumbl\u2019d into the well;\nits an unco thing that a body canna get a fa\u2019 but ye maun fa\u2019 abune\nthem: auld ruddoch it thou is, thou might a hauden better by the\nrumple, an\u2019 ye wadna a bruised a my back wi\u2019 your auld hard banes,\nnor a wat a\u2019 yoursel say, and see how ye hae drummel\u2019d a John\nDavie\u2019s well.\n\nMoth. Hech quo she, I wonder gin I be kill\u2019d, thou always was wont\nto get the word of a good rider, baith upon hussies and horses, an\u2019\nthis be thy management thou\u2019s little worth; fel\u2019d the auld beans it\nbore thee! sic a bath as I hae gotten to my Yool, thou coudna gien\nme a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld frosty morning: wae be to\nthee an\u2019 that ill gotten gett o\u2019 thine, O! let never better bounty\nbe gotten wi\u2019 bystarts getting, an\u2019 this is so much for the fruits\no\u2019 fornication, a war stance nor the black-stool yet.\n\nJock. Let\u2019s a be now wi\u2019 your auld taunts about bystarts getting,\nor I\u2019se gie you the wind o\u2019 the mare\u2019s tail, an\u2019 gar you wammel\nhame an\u2019 a\u2019 your wate coats about you.\n\nMoth. Na, na, my man Johny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, we\ncame together, and wi\u2019s gang together, wi sall see thy bystart and\nits mither or wi gae hame.\n\nJock. Wi\u2019 a\u2019 my heart mither, but yonder the house an\u2019 the hens\non\u2019t, the lums reeking rairly, but little ken they wha\u2019s coming.\n\nAt length they came to Jenny\u2019s mother\u2019s door.\n\n      In goes his mother and in goes his mare,\n      Himself follows after, cries how\u2019s a\u2019 here?\n\nMoth. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?\n\n      Her mother answers,\n\nWell a wat she\u2019s in her bed, an\u2019 cauld cauld, and comfourtless is\nher lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever\nweel paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she\u2019s\ndone, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he\nwad a seen her lang or now.\n\nMoth. A dear Marrion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John\nwha has a wife o\u2019 his ain, cou\u2019d come an\u2019 wait on her as she were\na dame o\u2019 honour, or yet an honest man\u2019s wife, poor silly lown it\nshe is, an\u2019 he had thought on what he was com\u2019d o\u2019 he wad ne\u2019er a\noffer\u2019d benevolence to the like o\u2019 her.\n\nMar. An\u2019 ye had been as great an instrogater against his making\nher double ribbet, as ye\u2019re now against doing her justice, for the\nfilthy jimcrack he\u2019s gien her, ye wadna need to ca\u2019 her silly lown\nthe day, an him an honest man; but the ne\u2019er an honest man wad a\nhoddl\u2019d sae lang on a ae poor hussie an\u2019 then gane awa an a married\nanither for love of a pickle auld clouts, and twa three pock-fou\u2019s\no\u2019 tow: an she is but a silly lown indeed that lute him or ony\nrattle-scul else, shake their tail so lang upon her, without his\nfaith, an\u2019 his troth, an\u2019 his fist before the minister.\n\nMoth. A cauld be your cast kimmer, do ye think it your dadeling\ndaughter\u2019s a match fit for my son John; I think less may sair, her\nfather was but a poor cotter carle, an\u2019 our John\u2019s father was a\nfarmer, an\u2019 its but a trick o\u2019 youth, an\u2019 the course of youdeth\nmaun be out; but she may thank good fortune an\u2019 tell her friends\nay, an\u2019 count it a credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like\no\u2019 him; a good fu fat farmer\u2019s son, but ae laigher nor a laird.\n\nMar. A wae be to sic a credit it\u2019s no worth the cracking o\u2019, an\u2019\nwhar was a\u2019 his noble equals whan he bute to lay a leg on a my poor\nlassie, poor clarty clukny it thou is? an\u2019 if they warna baith\nae man\u2019s mak I wad think naething o\u2019t; for they warna a needle o\u2019\ndiffer between their dadies an\u2019 what war they baith but twa sticket\ntaylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame an\u2019 a counted\nbow-kail stocks, as to come here to count kindred wi\u2019 me.\n\nJock. Hout awa daft witless wives, I kenna what you\u2019re flyting\nabout, I wad rather see the wean gin it be ony thing wally and like\nthe warld.\n\nMar. Indeed sall ye John, you\u2019ll see your ain picture for little\nsiller, a muckle mouth\u2019t haverel it is just like yoursel.\n\n      The child is presented.\n\nJock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth just like mine, an\u2019\nsees wi\u2019 baith ot\u2019s een, an bit five days auld yet.\n\nMoth. Dear Johny thou\u2019s no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be\nblin, the poor thing saw whan it was new born.\n\nJock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skill\u2019d as the howdies,\nan\u2019 them that\u2019s ay hobbling weans: but I thought they had a been\nlike the wee bit\u2019s a whalpies, nine nights auld before they had\nseen ony.\n\nMoth. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu\u2019, comparing a beast till a\nwoman\u2019s ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, an\u2019 a wean is a\nchrisen\u2019d creature.\n\nJock. Na mither, its no a chrisen\u2019d creature yet, for hit has\nneither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little do I ken how\nto ca\u2019t yet.\n\nMar. I wat well it\u2019s a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or\nyet t\u2019 meet in a morning, a body wanting a name.[19]\n\nMoth. Hout tout ay, ye it\u2019s auld wives is ay fu o\u2019 frits an\u2019\nreligious fashions, them that looks to frits, frits follows them,\nbut it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an\u2019 I\nnever kend a sabbath day by a nither ane, mony a time till the bell\nrang.\n\nMar. Dear guidwife what needs ye speak so loud? ye fright the wean\nwi\u2019 crying sae, see as it starts.\n\nMoth. Ay, ay, the bystarts is a\u2019 that way, but ken ye the reason o\u2019\nthat?\n\nMar. Ye that kens the reason of everything may soon find out that\ntoo.\n\nMoth. A deed than woman I\u2019ll tell you, the merry begotten weans,\nits bystarts I mean, is red wood, half wittet hillocket sort o\u2019\ncreatures: for an it be nae ane among twenty o\u2019 them, they\u2019re a\u2019\nscar\u2019d o\u2019 the getting, for there\u2019s few o\u2019 them gotten in beds like\nhonest fouk\u2019s bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o\u2019\ndikes, and kil-loggies; whar there\u2019s ay somebody wandering to scar\npoor needfu\u2019 persons, at their job of journay-wark: for weel ken I\nthe gaits o\u2019t, experience gars me speak.\n\nJock. A deed mither that\u2019s very true, for whan I was getting that\nwean at the black hole o\u2019 the peat stack, John Gammel\u2019s muckle\nColly came in behind us wi\u2019 a bow wow, of a great goul just abune\nmy buttocks; an\u2019 as I\u2019m a sinner, he gart me loup laveruck height,\nan\u2019 yet wi got a wean for a\u2019 that.\n\nMoth. A weel than Johnny that mak\u2019s my words good yet.\n\nJenny answers out o\u2019 the bed. A shame fa your fashions ye hae nae\nmuckle to keep whan ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the\ngetting o\u2019t.\n\nJock. A shame fa yoursel Jenny, for I hae gotten my part o\u2019 the\nshame else, an\u2019 gin ye hadna tell\u2019d first there wad nane kend,\nfor nae body saw us but John Gammel\u2019s auld colly an\u2019 he\u2019s no a\nsufficient witness.\n\nMar. Now guidwife amang a\u2019 your tales ye hae tell\u2019d me, how is this\nwean to be maintain\u2019d?\n\nMoth. Ill chance on your auld black mouth Marrion, did I not send\nyou my guid sprittled hen, a pund of butter and a sixpence, forby\na libby o\u2019 groats an\u2019 a furlat o\u2019 meal; mak her a guid cogfu\u2019 o\u2019\nbrose, an\u2019 put a knoist o\u2019 butter in them, to fill up the hole whar\nthe lown came out, an\u2019 I\u2019ll send mair or that be done.\n\nMar. An it be na better nor the last ye may een keep it to your\nsell; your groat meal, and gray meal, sand dust and seeds, course\nenough to feed cocks an\u2019 hens, besides a woman in her condition.\n\nMoth. A foul be your gabs, ye\u2019re a sae gash o\u2019 your gabbies; a\nwhine fools that stives up your gutses wi\u2019 guid meat, to gar the\nworms turn wanton and wallop in your wames; feed yourselves as I\ndo, wi\u2019 hacket kail brose, made o\u2019 groat meal, an\u2019 gray meal, sand,\nseeds, dust an\u2019 weak shilling, ony thing is good enough to fill the\nguts an\u2019 make a t--d of.\n\nJock. Na, na, mither an\u2019 the wean wad suck our Maggy, I sud take it\nhame in my oxter.\n\nMoth. O ye fool, Maggy\u2019s milk is a mould salt and sapless lang\nsyne; but I trow she wad keb at it, as the black ew did at the\nwhite ews lamb the last year, sae speak nae mair o\u2019 Maggy\u2019s milk,\nno to compare a cat to a creature, the yeal cats is never kind to\nkitlens, an\u2019 the maiden\u2019s bairns is a\u2019 unco weel bred.\n\nJock. Na, na, ye\u2019re a\u2019 mistane mither, Maggy has milk yet for every\npap she has is like a burn pig, I\u2019se warrand ye they\u2019ll haud pints\nthe piece.\n\nMoth. My man Johny let them keep the wean, that has the wean, we\u2019ll\nnever miss a pockfu\u2019 of meal now and tan, I wadna hae my bed pisht\nand blankets rotten for a bow o\u2019 the best o\u2019t.\n\nJock. O mither! I canna lea\u2019t I like it say weel it has twa bonny\nglancing een, just like mine in a keeking glass, I wonner how I was\nable to get the like o\u2019t, indeed mither I think mare o\u2019 it, nor I\ndo o\u2019 my gray horse, Maggy an\u2019 the four ky.\n\nMoth. My man Johnny ye\u2019re at nae strait about bairns getting, nane\nneeds to gang to London to learn that auld trade; I ken very weel\nwhen ane gets warklums right to their hand, nature will teach them\nhow to fa\u2019 to.\n\nJock. Now fare ye weel Janet, that wean is weel worth the\nwarkmanship, I\u2019ll warrand ye weel a wat ist.\n\nJenny. Guidnight wi\u2019 you John, but O man thou\u2019s broken my fortune,\nI\u2019ll never get mair o\u2019 a man nor I hae gotten, an\u2019 dear, dear, hae\nI suffer\u2019d for what I hae done, an\u2019 if thou had a bestowed thyself\non a me, ye see what a bonny bairn time we had a hane.\n\nMoth. Thou says it thou\u2019s suffer\u2019d sadly for what thou\u2019s done, but\nthough they wad take the hide o\u2019er thy een holes it wadna tak the\ninclination out o\u2019 thee; for thou\u2019ll do\u2019t again, but it\u2019s no wi my\nbairn I\u2019se warrand thee, an\u2019 now Johnny come awa hame to thy hauf\nmarrow an\u2019 use thy freedom as formerly, thou\u2019ll hae weans thick\nand three fauld; I\u2019se make thee a decoction of cock stanes, lamb\nstanes, an\u2019 chicken broe, will gar thee cock thy tail like a mevies\nan\u2019 canter like a Galloway toop.\n\n\nTHE VTH AND LAST PART.\n\n  _Being an Account of Jockeys Mother\u2019s Death and Burial: With an\n  Elegant Elegy and Epitaph on that occasion--The Baptizing of his\n  two Children, and how he mounted the stool._\n\nAs Jockey and his mither came hobbling hame together on the out\nside of the auld doil\u2019d beast his mither\u2019s black mare; a waefu\u2019\nmisfortune befel them;--Her hinderlets being wickedly wet, in John\nDavie\u2019s well that morning, and it being a frosty night, her coats\nwas a\u2019 frozen round about her and the hard harn sark plaid clash\nbetween her legs like a wet dish clout, her teeth gaed like a\nrattle bag till almost haf gate hame, then she was suddenly seiz\u2019d\nwi\u2019 a rumbling in her muckle bag, what we kintry fouks ca\u2019s a rush\ni\u2019 the guts; Jockey was fash\u2019d helping her aff and helping her on,\nfoul, fat and dirty was the road, having like half a T----d as ever\ntadder length.\n\nJock. Deed mither, I doubt death has something to do wi\u2019 you, for\nthere\u2019s a rumbling in a your wame like an auld wife kirning.\n\nMith. Hout tout I canna hear o\u2019t, but they\u2019ll be na fear o\u2019 me now,\nI\u2019m safe at my ain door, thanks to thee an\u2019 the auld beast it\nbrought me; heat my feet wi\u2019 the bannock stane, an\u2019 lay me in my\nbed, fling four pair o\u2019 blankets an\u2019 a cann\u2019os on me, I\u2019ll be weel\nenough an\u2019 ance I were better, swieth Maggy gae mak me a cogfu\u2019 o\u2019\nmilk brose, an\u2019 a placks worth o\u2019 spice in them, nae fear of an\nauld wife as lang as she\u2019s loose behin, an can tak meat.\n\nJock. I\u2019se be\u2019t mither, a e\u2019en fill up the boss o\u2019 your belly,\nyou\u2019ll stand to the storm the better, I\u2019se warran ye never die as\nlang as you can tak your meat.\n\nBen comes Maggy wi\u2019 the brose; but four soups an\u2019 a slag filled her\nto the teeth, till she began to bock them back again, and ding awa\nthe dish.\n\nJock. A mither, mither I dout there\u2019s mair ado wi\u2019 you nor a dish\nto lick: whan ye refuse guide milk meat, I\u2019m doubtfu\u2019 your mouth be\ngaun to the mules.\n\nMith. A dear Johnny am no willin to die if I could do better: but\nthis will be a sair winter, on auld frail fouks, yet an\u2019 I wou\u2019d\ngrow better I might live these twenty years yet, an\u2019 be nae auld\nwife for a\u2019 that: but alake a day there is e\u2019en mony auld fouk\ndying this year.\n\nJock. A deed mither there is fouks dying the year that never died\nbefore.\n\nMith. Dear Johnny wilt thou bring me the doctor he may do me some\nguide, for an my heart warna sick an\u2019 my head sae sair, I think I\nmay grow better yet.\n\nJock. A weel mither, I\u2019se bring the doctor, the minister, an\u2019 my\nuncle.\n\nMith. Na, na, bring nae ministers to me, his dry cracks \u2019ll do me\nbut little guid, I dinna want to see his powder\u2019d pow, an\u2019 I in sic\nan ill condition; get me a pint o\u2019 drams in the muckle bottle, an\u2019\nset in the bole in the back side o\u2019 my bed.\n\nJock. A deed mither ye\u2019re in the right o\u2019t, for ye want to be weel\nwarm\u2019d within; to chace the call wind an\u2019 frosty water out at your\nback side.\n\nThen awa he rins to draff Meg\u2019s at the Kirktown, an\u2019 brings a\nbottle in every hand, out wi\u2019 the cork an\u2019 gies her ane in o\u2019er,\nshe sets it to her gab an\u2019 squattles up a mutchkin at a waught,\nwhich was like to wirry her till she fell a rifting and roaring\nlike an auld blunder-bush.\n\nMith. Hech hay, co\u2019 she, but that maks an alteration and wears awa\nthe wind.\n\nWi\u2019 that her head fell to the cod and she sughte awa, like a very\nsaint or drunken sinner.\n\nJock. O! Maggy, Maggy, my mither\u2019s lost her breath, (she\u2019ll no live\nlang without it,) I doubt she be dead already, and nae body seen\nher but ye and I and oursels twa; an\u2019 she had been fair o\u2019er seen\nit maksna, I\u2019ll no ha\u2019d this a fair strae death indeed, fy Maggy,\ncry in a\u2019 the neighbours to see her die, although she be dead. O\nan\u2019 she wad but shake her fit, or wag her muckle tae, it wad ay\nbe some satisfaction:[20] but in came the neighbours in a hush,\ndinging ither down in the door.\n\nJock. Come awa sirs, for my mither\u2019s as dead as a mauk, good be\nthanket for\u2019t; but I\u2019d rather it had a been the black mare, or the\nmuckle rigget cow, for weel a wat I\u2019ll een miss her, for she was a\nbra spinner o\u2019 tow; an\u2019 cou\u2019d a cardet to twa muckle wheels, she\nhad nae faut but ane an that was her tongue, but she\u2019ll speak nae\nmair, fy gets a dale or a barn door to straught her on, for ay whan\nshe was cauld she was unco kankert an\u2019 ill to curch, but I\u2019se hae\nher yerdet on Wednesday teen.\n\nCome, come, says Maggy, wi maun hae her drest.\n\nJock. What does the fool mean? wad ye dress a dead woman, she\u2019ll\nnever gang to kirk nor market a\u2019 her days again.\n\nMag. A dear John be at ease, ye ken she mauna be buried as she is,\na sark and winding sheet is the least she can get.\n\nJock. Ah ha Maggy is that what you mean, she has a guid new windin\nsheet, it was never about her shoulders yet,[21] say Maggy do\u2019t a\u2019\nyoursell, and I\u2019se gar clinkem Bell misure the grave and mak it.\n\nNow when they brought out the corps John told the people they were\nwelcome, to haud in a cheek o\u2019 his auld mither wast the gate; and\nbeing laid right on the spakes,[22] ha! ha! quoth he, this is a\nbraw honestly indeed, its mair boukie nor my bridal was, but when\nthey came to the grave, it was o\u2019er short and strait about the\nmouth, which set John in a great passion, saying a foul fa your\nnaughty fashions master bell man, did not I packshon wi\u2019 you for\nthe bried o\u2019 my mither\u2019s back and the length o\u2019 her carkage? an\u2019\nthis hole winna haud her thou\u2019s get nae mair o\u2019 my change if I sude\ndie the morn.\n\nUncle Rabbie. Whisht, whisht, stir, this sude be a day o\u2019 mourning\nfor your mither, dinna flyte here.\n\nJock. What the vengeance uncle, sudna fouks die when they\u2019re auld?\nan\u2019 am to pay for a hole and get but haf a hole; that\u2019s the thing\nthat vexes me, but I\u2019se keep twopence out o\u2019 his trencher for\u2019t,\nan\u2019 se will I een; but gang ye hame uncle to get cog and cap for\nthe dradgey, and I\u2019ll see her get fair play or I gae.\n\nHame they came in a croud and fell to the cheese and cheeks of\nleaves tuth and nail, the ale was handed about in cogs and caps,\nlashing it down o\u2019er like bletchers watering their webs; John\nblutter\u2019d in the cog like a cow in warm water, till the barm and\nbubbles came belling out at his nose, saying, a guide health to\nyou a round about, an shoon and shortly may wi a gang the gate may\nmither\u2019s gane, an\u2019 I wish them a burying amang the dogs that speaks\nagainst it.[23]\n\nAbout eight and twenty weeks thereafter Maggy had a wally weame fu\nof weans to bear, an\u2019 ay whan she cryed, John cryed, which made a\u2019\nthe kimmers and auld Katty the howdie laugh heartily to hear them.\n\nKatty. Here now John, your wife\u2019s brought to bed wi\u2019 a bra lad\nbairn, gie him your blessing.\n\nJock. Well I wat he\u2019s no want that, but an\u2019 there had a been\nsamuckle din at the getting o\u2019 him, as at the bearing o\u2019 him, it\nsude ne\u2019er a been gotten for me: Come, come, gets in uncle Rabbie,\nthe com riddle fu\u2019 of the three nucket scons, whang down the cheese\nlike peats, eat and drink[24] as at my mither\u2019s dradgey, till wi\nforget our sorrow, and then weel see Mess John about a name till\nhim; since wi see its the way o\u2019t, that the young comes into the\nwarld and chases out the auld, wi maun chrisen them, and they maun\nbury us.\n\nNow John and his uncle goes to the minister, he enters, saying,\nguideen to you Mr. Minister ye dinna ken my mither\u2019s dead?\n\nMinister. Yes John I heard so: but how is your wife?\n\nJock. My wife stir a wae worth her, for the wives o\u2019 our town an\u2019 I\nhae gotten a waking night wi\u2019 her; but wi hae gotten her turn\u2019d and\nstill\u2019d again, she\u2019s born a bra wally thumping stirra, he\u2019ll herd\nthe kye belyve to me an\u2019 he had huggers on him, an\u2019 am come to you\nto get a bit name to him.\n\nMinister. A bit name to him John, if ye want no more but a name, ye\nmay gie him that yourself.\n\nJock. Na but stir, I want baith the words and the water, what ye\nsay to ither fouks say to me.\n\nMinister. A but John you must give security or satisfaction, you\u2019re\na man under scandal.\n\nJock. What the muckle mischief stir, though under scandal or abune\nscandal, will ye refuse to chrisen my wean that\u2019s honestly gotten\nin my ain wife\u2019s bed beneath the blankets; caus I had a bystart,\ncanna ye chrisen the weel com\u2019d ane, let the bystart stand for its\nain skaith without a name.\n\nMinister. No John you have been too slackly dealt with, I\u2019ll bring\nyou to obedience by law, since you reject counsel.\n\nJock. A deed stir, I wad think naething to stan a time or twa on\u2019t\nto please you, if there were nae body in the kirk on a uke day, but\nyou an\u2019 the elders to flyte a wee on me; but its war on a Sunday,\nto hae a\u2019 body looking and laughing at me, as I had been coding the\npiese, suppen the kirn, or something that\u2019s no bonny like pissing\nthe bed.\n\nMinister. A well John never mind you these things, come ye to the\nstool, its nothing when its over we cannot sae o\u2019er much to you\nabout it.\n\nUpon Sunday thereafter John comes in with uncle Rabbies auld wide\ncoat, a muckle great gray lang tail\u2019d wig and a big bonnet, which\ncover\u2019d his face, so that he seem\u2019d more like an old Pilgrim than\na young fornicator; mounts the creepy[25] with a stiff stiff back\nas he had been a man of sixty, every one looked at him, thinking\nhe was some old stranger who knew not the stool of repentance by\nanother seat, so that he passed the first day unknown but to very\nfew, yet or the second it came to be known, that the whole parish\nand many more came to see him; which caused such a confusion that\nhe was absolved, and got his children baptized the next day.\n\nBut there happened a tullie between the twa mother\u2019s who would have\nboth their names to be Johns, a weel, a weel says old John their\nfather to the minister, deed stir ye maun ca\u2019 the tean John an\u2019 the\ntither Jock, and that will please baith these enemies o\u2019 mankind.\n\nMinister. A well John suppose ye do, it is still twa Johns\nnevertheless.\n\nJock. A deed stir, ye maun gie the wicked a\u2019 their will, wi\u2019s ca\u2019\nthe bystart Jockie, an\u2019 my son Johnny Bell; On wi\u2019t some way and\nlet her ca\u2019t as she likes.\n\nMinister. A dear John but ye speak indifferently about this matter,\nye know not the nature of it.\n\nJock. A mony thanks to you Mess John, now caus ye hae chrisend\nbaith my bairn and my bystart I hope you\u2019ll forgive me the buttock\nmail.\n\nMinister. John I desire you to be silent and to speak none here:\nYou must keep a straight walk in time coming, free of scandal or\noffence.\n\nJock. Ay stir an\u2019 how think ye the like o\u2019 me can wak straight wi\u2019\nsic auld shevelin heel\u2019d shune as mine, amang such rugh rigs, highs\nan\u2019 hows as I hae to harl through.\n\nMinister. I need not speak to you, you are but a poor mean ignorant\nperson.\n\nJock. Na stir welawat am neither poor nor yet mean, my mither\u2019s\nfairly yerdet now guide be thanket, and left a\u2019 she had to Maggy\nand me.\n\nMinister. But hear ye this John, ye must not kiss any other woman\nnor[26] your own wife, live justly like another honest christian,\nand you\u2019ll come to die well.\n\nJock. A black end on a me stir, in ever I lay an unlawfu leg upon\nhissie again an they sude lie down to me while our Maggy lests; and\nfor dying there\u2019s nae fear o\u2019 that, but I\u2019ll no get fair play if ye\nan\u2019 a\u2019 the aulder fouk in the parish be not dead before me, so I\nhae done wi\u2019 ye now.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n      An EPITAPH.\n\n      Here lies the dust of John Bell\u2019s Mither,\n      Against her will, death\u2019s brought her hither;\n      Clapt in this hole, hard by his dady,\n      Death snatch\u2019t her up, or she was ready;\n      Lang might she liv\u2019d wer\u2019t not her wame,\n      But wha can live beyond their time?\n      There\u2019s none laments her but the Suter,\n      So here she lyes looking about her;\n      Looking about her! how can that be?\n      Yes, she sees her state, better than we.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n      An ELEGY on the Death of JOCKEY\u2019S MOTHER\n\n          Now a\u2019 body ken\u2019s my Mither\u2019s dead,\n      For weel a wat I bore her head,\n      And in the grave I saw her laid,\n                        It was e\u2019en right drole,\n      For her to change a warm fire side:\n                        For a cauld kirk-hole.\n\n          But every ane tell\u2019st just like a sang,\n      That yon\u2019s the gate we have to gang,\n      For me to do it, I think nae lang,\n                        If I can do better.\n      For I trow my Mither thinks it nae sang,\n                        What needs we clatter.\n\n          But thanks to death ay for the futer,\n      That did not let her get the Suter,\n      For about her gear wad been a splutter,\n                        And sae had been,\n      For he came ay snoaking about her,\n                        Late at een.\n\n          For our Maggy watch\u2019t and saw,\n      My Mither\u2019s back was at the wa\u2019,\n      But what was mair hach ha\u2019 hach ha\u2019\n                        I winna tell,\n      She to do yon stood little aw\u2019,\n                        Just like mysell.\n\n          But to get gear was a\u2019 her drift,\n      And used many a pinging shift:\n      About her spinning and her thrift,\n                        Was a\u2019 her care,\n      She\u2019s gotten but little o\u2019t abune the lift,\n                        Wi\u2019 her ti wear.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_THE COALMAN\u2019S COURTSHIP._\n\n\n  [The edition reprinted from here is \u2018the tenth edition,\u2019 as the\n  title page bears. The full title is:--\u2018The Young Coal-Man\u2019s\n  Courtship to a Creel-Wife\u2019s Daughter, or, a Dialogue between an\n  Old Woman and her Son: wherein she instructs him in the Real\n  Art of Courtship. Very beneficial for blate Wooers or young\n  Beginners. The Tenth Edition. Containing all its Three Parts.\n  Glasgow: Printed and sold by J. & J. Robertson, MDCCLXXXII.\u2019 It\n  is a 16 pp. 12mo.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG COALMAN\u2019S COURTSHIP TO A CREEL-WIFE\u2019S DAUGHTER.\n\n\nAll you that\u2019s curious of Courtship, give attention to this History\nof Mary and her son Sawny, a young Coalman, who lived in the\ncountry a few miles from Edinburgh.\n\nMary, his mither, was a gay hearty wife, had mair wantonness nor\nwealth; was twelve years a married wife, nine years a widow, and\nwas very chaste in her behaviour, wi\u2019 her ain tale (for want of\ncharging:) for a\u2019 this time of her widowhood, there was never a man\ngot a kiss o\u2019 her lips, or laid a foul hand on her hind quarters.\n\nSawny her son was a stout young raw lown, full faced, wi\u2019 flabby\ncheeks, duddy breeks, and a ragged doublet, gade always wi\u2019 his\nbosom bare, sometimes had ae gartan, a lingle or rash-rape was\ngood enough for Sawny: his very belly was a\u2019 sun burnt and brown\nlike a piper\u2019s bag, or the head of an auld drum; and yet his beard\nbegan to sprout out like herring banes: he took thick brose to his\nbreakfast, and baps and ale through the day, and when the coals\nsell\u2019d dear, when the wind was cauld, bought an oven farl and twa\nDunbar weathers,[27] or a Glasgow magistrate,[28] which fish-wives\nca\u2019s a waslen herrin.\n\nHis mither, auld Mary plagued him ay in the morning, got up when\nthe hens keckled, reinged the ribs, blew her snotter-box, primed\nher nose, kindled her tobacco pipe, and at every puff breathed\nout fretting against her hard fortune, and lanely single life. O\nbut a widow be a poor name, but I live in a wilderness in this\nlang-lonen; mony a man gaes by my door, but few looks in to\npoor auld Mary: Hoch hey, will I never win out o\u2019 this weery\u2019d\nlife.--Wa\u2019 Sawny man, wa\u2019 Sawny man; wilt thou na rise the day; the\nsun\u2019s up, an a\u2019 the nibours round about; Willie and Charlie is to\nthe hill an hour syne, an\u2019 haf-gate hame again. Wilt thou rise and\ngi\u2019 the beasts a bite; thou minds na\u2019 them, I wat man.\n\nGrump, grump, quo\u2019 Sawny, they got their supper an hour after I got\nmine. Shute to dead come on them, an\u2019 they get a bit frae me till\nthey work for\u2019t.\n\n_Sawny._ But O Mither, I been dreaming that I was married, an\u2019 i\u2019\nthe bed aboon the bride, I wonder gin it be true: Od! I never got\nsic fun; what wilt be, think ye? How auld am I mither; do you think\nI could man a hissy yet? Fegs am a mind to try, but the sour saucy\nhissies \u2019ill no hae me, I ken well enough.\n\n_Mither._ Hae you lad, ay mony a hungry heart wad be blyth o\u2019 you;\nbut there was never a sca\u2019d Jocky but there was a scabbit Jenny\ntill him yet:[29] dinny be fear\u2019d lad.\n\n_Sawny._ A hech, mither, I\u2019se no be lordly, an I sud tak a beggar\nwife aff the hi\u2019 gate: but I\u2019ll tell you something it\u2019m ay thinking\non, but ye manna tell the nibours, for the chields wad aye jamf[30]\nme wi\u2019t.\n\n_Mither._ Wad I tell o\u2019 thee, I wad tell o\u2019 mysel as soon.\n\n_Sawny._ Do ye mind, mither, that day I gaed to the Pans[31] I\ncame in by Auld Mattie\u2019s, your countrymans, the Fife wife, it came\nout o\u2019 the town ye came frae, the wife it says, _Be-go laddie_, I\ngaed there, and she wisna in, and her doughter kend me; she was\nunco kind, and made me fat, fat brose out o\u2019 the lee side o\u2019 her\nkail pat, there was baith beef and paunches in\u2019t: od they smell\u2019d\nlike ony haggies, an\u2019 shin\u2019d a\u2019 like a gou\u2019d lac\u2019d waiscoat, figs\nI suppit till I was like to rive o\u2019 them, and had a rift o\u2019 them\nthe morn a\u2019 day; when I came out, I had a kite like a cow wi\u2019 ca\u2019f.\nShe spier\u2019d for you mither, and I said ye was gaily: and she looked\nto me, and leuch ay, and grippet my shakle bane, and said I wad\nbe a sturdy fallow yet.--I looked ay to her, and thought I liked\nher, and thinks on\u2019t ay sin-syne, she leugh, and bad me seek out a\ncoal-driver for her, for she did na\u2019 like to carry a fish creel.\n\n_Mither._ Forsooth, Sawny, I\u2019ll gie my twa lugs for a lav\u2019rocks egg\nif she binna in love wi\u2019 thee, and that will be a bargain.\n\n_Sawny._ An\u2019 upon my word mither she\u2019s a sturdy gimmer, well worth\nthe snoaking after; she has a dimple in every cheek, and ane on her\nchin, twa legs like twa posts, an haunches like a sodger\u2019s lady\u2019s\nhoop, they hobble when she shakes, and her paps plays nidity nod\nwhen she gangs, I ken by her keeking[32] she has a conceit o\u2019 me.\n\n_Mither._ But Sawny man, an tou see her mither Matty in the town,\nauld _Be-go-laddie_, as ye ca\u2019 her, gi\u2019 her a dram, she lik\u2019st\nwell; spout ye a mutchkin o\u2019 molash in her cheek, ye\u2019ll get her\nmind an\u2019 speed the better.\n\n_Sawny._ But mither how sud I do when I gang to court her; will\nI kiss her and tan kittle her, an\u2019 fling her o\u2019er as the chiels\ndoes the hissies amang the hay. I seen them gang our ither, and\no\u2019er ither; an\u2019 when they grip them by the wame, they\u2019d cry like a\nmaukin when the dogs is worrying them.\n\n_Mither._ Hut awa\u2019, daft dog it thou is, that\u2019s no the gate, thou\nmaun gang in wi\u2019 bra\u2019 good manners an\u2019 something manfu\u2019; put on a\nSunday\u2019s face and sigh as ye were a saint; sit down beside her as\nye were a Mess John; keek ay till her now and then wi\u2019 a sto\u2019en\nlook, and had your mouth as mim, and grave as a May-puddock, or\na whore at a christening; crack well o\u2019 our wealth, and hide our\npoverty.\n\n_Sawny._ Ay but mither, there\u2019s some other way in courting nor\nthat, or the lasses would never couple so close to them.\n\n_Mither._ Ay but Sawny man, there is a time for everything and that\ntoo; when ye sit where nae body sees you, you may tak her head in\nyour oxter, like a creesh pig, dab nebs wi\u2019 her now an\u2019 than, but\nbe sure ye keep a close mouth when ye kiss her; clap her cheeks\nand straik her paps, but for your drowning gang nae farther down;\nbut fouk\u2019s that\u2019s married can put their hand to ony part they like.\n\n_Sawny._ Aha, but mither, I didna ken the first word o\u2019 courting,\nthe lassie \u2019ill no ken what am com\u2019d about.\n\n_Mither._ Ay will she lad, wink and keek well to her, she\u2019ll hae a\nguess; seek a quiet word o\u2019 her at the door; an\u2019 gin it be dark,\ngie her a wee bit kiss when ye\u2019ve tell\u2019d her your errand; an\u2019 gin\nthey gi\u2019e you cheese and bread, or ony meat, ca\u2019t good, whether it\nbe sae or no; and for my blessing, be mensfu\u2019 wi\u2019 your mouth, and\ndinna eat o\u2019er muckle, for I seen you sip as mony milk brose as wad\na sar\u2019t twa men to carry on a barrow.\n\n_Sawny._ A but mither, ye\u2019re lying now, or it was na\u2019 a\u2019 at ance\nthan, but an they set meat before me, and I be hungry, a de\u2019il\nclaw the clungest[33] an\u2019 I be nae upsides wi\u2019t, for that same.\nA faith mither, fouks maun hae meat, an\u2019 they should ne\u2019er get\nwives, there\u2019s some o\u2019 them no worth the cursing, an\u2019 a body were\nna letting an oath whether or no: a hear ye that now, when ye pit\nme till\u2019t, and gar me speak; ay by my sooth, I wad rather hae a bit\ngood powny[34] an\u2019 a pound o\u2019 cheese, or I were bound to bab after\nony hizzies buttocks I see yet.\n\n_Mither._ Wa Sawny man thou\u2019s a fool an\u2019 that\u2019s a fau\u2019t: gin\nevery ane were as easy about women as thou is, the warld wad be\na wilderness in a wee time; there wad be nae body to inhabit the\nearth but brute beasts, cats and dogs wad be worrying ither, and\nevery thing gae to confusion. Gae to the courting ye dog it ye are,\nand either do something or naething at a\u2019.\n\n\nEnd of the FIRST PART.\n\n\n  _The other two Parts give an account of his behaviour when in\n  courtship with the bride, the wedding, speuing of the blankets,\n  &c._\n\n\nPART II.\n\nUp got Sawny in the morning, and swallowed o\u2019er his sodden meat,\nslag by slag; and aff he goes to the coals and the courting,\nlilting and singing like a lav\u2019rock in a May mornin, _O to be\nmarried if this be the way_. The colliers wonder\u2019d a\u2019 to see him\nsae well busket, wi\u2019 a pair o\u2019 wally side auld fashioned breeks o\u2019\nhis father\u2019s,[35] and a lang cravate like a minister, or Baillie\nDuff at a burial, a clean face and hands, and no less than a gun\nsleev\u2019d linen sark on him, which made his cheeks to shine like a\nsherney weight, and the colliers swore he was as bra\u2019 as a horse\ngawn to a cow\u2019s dredgy.\n\nBut Sawny came aff wi\u2019 his coals whistling, and whipping up the\npoor beast e\u2019en as outragious as ony ram at riding time; well might\nony body see there was a storm in Sawny\u2019s nose, light where it\nlike; for no sooner had he sell\u2019d his coals than he left his horse\nto come hame wi\u2019 a nibour callen, and gade keeking up the Cow-gate,\nand thro\u2019 the closes, seeking auld _Be-go_ his good-mither to be,\nthen in thro\u2019 the fish market where he bought a lang herrin, an\u2019\ntwa baps, a pair of suters auld shoon greesed black and made new,\nto make his feet feasible like, as he kend the lass wad look at\nthem, (for his mither tell\u2019d him the women look\u2019d ay to the men\u2019s\nlegs or they marry\u2019d them, and the well-legged louns gade ay best\naff.)\n\nSo Sawny came swaggering through a\u2019 the shell wives, but she was\nnae there, but coming down the town beneath the guard, meets auld\n_Be-go_ just in the teeth, and crys, hey laddie my dow, how\u2019s your\nmither honest Mary? I thank you co\u2019 Sawny, she\u2019s meat-heal, and ay\nworking some, how is a\u2019 at hame, is Kate and the laddie well?\n\n_Mat._ Fu\u2019 well my dow, you\u2019re a bra\u2019 soncy dog grown, a wally fa\u2019\nme gin I kend ye.\n\nCome, come, co\u2019 Sawny, and I\u2019ll gie you a nossock to heat your\nwame, it\u2019s a cauld day, an\u2019 ye\u2019re my mither\u2019s countryman.\n\nNa\u2019 fair fa\u2019 you Sawny, I\u2019ll no refus\u2019t, a dram\u2019s better the day\nnor a clap on the arse wi\u2019 a cauld shule, sae fallow me my dow.\n\nSo away she took me, co\u2019 Sawny, down a dark stair to ane o\u2019 the\nhow houses, beneath the yird, where it was mirk as in a coal\nheugh,[36] and they had a great fire, _Sweet be wi\u2019 me_, co\u2019 Sawny,\n_for it minds me o\u2019 the ill part_, an\u2019 a muckle pot like a little\ncaldron, seething kail and roasting flesh, the wife forket them\nout as fast us she cou\u2019d into cogs and caps, for there came in a\nwhin sutor-like fallows wi\u2019 black thumbs and creashy aprons, that\ncuttied them a\u2019 up in a wee time, but they ne\u2019er fashed wi\u2019 us nor\nwe with them; we first got a gill and then a het pint; a vow said I\nMatty, is nae Kate gawn to get a man yet?\n\nA man laddie, a wha wad hae her? a muckle lazy useless jade, she\ncan do naething but work at husband wark;[37] card and spin, wash\nladies rooms, and scour gentlemen\u2019s bonny things, she canna tak\na creel on her back, and apply to merchandizing as I do to win a\nman\u2019s bread.\n\n_Sawny._ I think some o\u2019 the fishers and her may mak it up.\n\n_Mat._ A fisher laddie, hech the fishers has a better look out\nwi\u2019 them, the fishers wad rather hae a pickle good baits to their\nhooks, and twa three bladders to their lines, then put up wi\u2019 the\nlike o\u2019 her, a stinking pridefu\u2019 jade, although I bore her, ay\nscraping and washing at hersel, pricking and prining, keeps her\nface ay like a Flanders baby, and no less nor ribbons and rings,\nand her shone made o\u2019 red clouts; an\u2019 de\u2019il stick pride, when our\nauld goodum ran barefoot, and our gutchers gaed wi\u2019 bare hips. Gie\nher a man, ill thief stap a gouk in her arse first, that it may\ncry cuckow whenever she speaks o\u2019t; she can do naething but scour\nladies piss pots, and keep clean the tirlie whirlies that hangs\nabout the fire, heth she\u2019s o\u2019er gently brought up to be a poor\nman\u2019s penny worth.\n\nHegh how co\u2019 Sawny, an\u2019 its e\u2019en a great pity, for she\u2019s a weel\nfar\u2019d lusty hissy, I had a great kindness for her.\n\n_Mat._ A-well-a-wat she\u2019s no lingle tail\u2019d, she may be a caff-bed\nto a good fallow; but an thou had seen me at her age, I was a\nsturdy gimmer: there was na ane about a\u2019 the Hyne or Dubby-side,\ncou\u2019d lay a curpen to a creel wi\u2019 me; the fient a fallow in a\u2019\nFife, but I wad a laid him on the braid o\u2019 his back, an\u2019 a\u2019 his\ngear upmost, I was a chiken to chatter wi\u2019 indeed laddie, I had a\npair o\u2019 cheeks like a chapman\u2019s arse, and a flank like an ox; sae\nhad I een.\n\n_Sawny._ Nae doubt co\u2019 Sawny but ye had a pair o\u2019 beefy buttocks,\nfor your very cheeks hings like leather bags to this very day; but\nI\u2019ll tell you what am gaun to tell you, do you think that your Kate\nwad tak me, an I wad come to court her.\n\n_Mat._ Tak you laddie, tak you, a faith she\u2019ll tak you, for she\nwou\u2019d a tane a poor button thing of a half blind taylor, wartna\nme, a poor, bleir\u2019d scabbit like creature it was, I seen the day\nI wou\u2019d ha carried it in my pouch: wode I\u2019se warrent her jump at\nyou like a fish at a flee, wode I say tak you, an\u2019 she winna tak\nyou I\u2019se tak you mysel; but she and I cust out the day, about her\ncockups and blackcaps, gard me say sae meickle o\u2019 her, but she\u2019s my\nsonsy dawty for a\u2019 that, weel a wat she\u2019s a weel natured lassie an\u2019\nshe turn an ill-natured wife I canna tell.\n\n_Sawny._ A we\u2019ll then I\u2019ll venture on her as she is, for my\nmither\u2019s pleased, and ye\u2019re pleas\u2019d, an\u2019 am pleas\u2019d, an\u2019 in she be\npleas\u2019d wode I am sure to get her, an\u2019 the taylor has nae bridled\nher, or tane a trying trotty o\u2019 her.\n\n_Mat._ But Sawny man, I\u2019ll tell you what we\u2019ll do, I\u2019ll hame and\nbroach her the night on\u2019t, an\u2019 come ye the morn, we\u2019ll make it fude\nfast in a wee time, so thou\u2019s get mair tocher than a cramon, _gamon\nto gamon_, she has baith blankets and sheets, a covering and twa\ncods, a caff-bed and bowster, and hear\u2019st thou me laddie, I have a\nbit auld hogger[38] an\u2019 some thing in\u2019t, thou\u2019s get it when I die;\nbut by my suth it will be the last thing that I will part wi\u2019, I\nkenna what I may need yet, its an auld wife kens her wierd.\n\nOn this they paid their spout[39] and parted; but when Sawny came\nout he stoited and stagger\u2019d like a sturdy stot, molash was chief\ncommander, for he thought every body had two heads and four een\nand more noses than they needed; being sometime in the dark house,\nthought it was the morning of a new day, a hech said he, when was I\na night frae my mither before, she\u2019ll think I am put in the guard,\ntane wi\u2019 the deel, or the doctors, or anse married, and wirking at\nthe wanton wark o\u2019 wean\u2019s making.\n\n_Mat._ Hute daft laddie, the soup drink\u2019s in your head, this day\nand yesterday is a\u2019 ae day, ye\u2019ll be hame in bra\u2019 time yet.\n\n_Sawny._ A well a well then good day to you good-mither, ye maun\ngar Kate tak me or thief tak you a\u2019 the gither, I\u2019ll hame and tell\nthe length its come, an\u2019 it come nae farther it maun e\u2019en stick\nthere.--Off he goes tacking about like a ship against the wind, as\nif he would knock holes in the wa\u2019s and windows wi\u2019 his elbows, he\nlooked as fierce as a lion; wi\u2019 a red face like a trumpeter, and\nhis nose was like a bublie-cocks neb, as blue as a blawirt; but or\nhe wan half way, his head turned heavier nor his heels, and many a\nfilthy fa\u2019 he got, through thick and thin he plash\u2019d, till hame he\ngets at last, grunting and graping by the wa\u2019s, that auld Mary his\nmither thought it was their neighbour\u2019s sow, he was so bedaubed wi\u2019\ndirt, gets him to bed, he was in a boiling barrel fever, and poor\nMary grat wi\u2019 grief.\n\n_Sawny._ Hech hey co\u2019 Sawny, but courting be a curst wark, and\ncostly, an\u2019 marriage be as mortifying and murdering, the devil may\nbe married for me.\n\n_Mither._ Wa, Sawny man what\u2019s come o\u2019er thee now, thou\u2019s gotten\nskaith, some auld wife has witcht thee,[40] or the deel has dung\nthee o\u2019er in some dirty midden, my bairn\u2019s elf-shot; whar has thou\nbeen, or what hast thou seen, thy een reels like a wild cat, and\nthe sweat is hailing o\u2019er thy nose, thou\u2019s witcht, O man what will\nI do!\n\n_Sawny._ Bock, bock co\u2019 Sawny, but it couldna win up wi\u2019 bubbles\nand herrin banes, o\u2019 co\u2019 Sawny put me in my bed, for my days will\nsoon be done, a curse on your courting wark, for its kill\u2019d me, and\nwives is but wicked things I ken by the same.\n\n_Mither._ O dole! dole my bairn has gotten poison, for the smell\no\u2019t is like poison to me.\n\n_Sawny._ Gin herrin and het ale be poison, there\u2019ll no be mony left\nalive: Bock co\u2019 Sawny, the bed\u2019s filld.\n\n_Mither._ My bairn thou was ay a cleanly bairn till now, thou\u2019s\nsurely lost thy senses when thou files where thou lies as the brute\nbeasts does, thou never did the like o\u2019 this before since thou left\ncakying o\u2019 the cradle.\n\n  N.B.--_The third Part gives a further account of the Courtship\n  and Marriage, &c._\n\n\nPART III.\n\nPoor Sawny had a terrible night o\u2019t, wi\u2019 a sair head, and a sick\nheart, his een stood in his head, his wame caddled like onny mill\ntrows,[41] and a\u2019 his puddings crocket like a wheen paddocks in a\npool; his mither rocket and wrang her hands, crying a wae be to\nthe wife that brew\u2019d it! for I hae lost a well foster\u2019d bairn, wi\u2019\ntheir stinking stuff, a meikle deel ding the doup out o\u2019 their\nca\u2019dron, my curse come on them and their whisky pots, its burnt him\nalive, ay, ay, my bairn he\u2019s gone.\n\nBut about the break of day, his wind brake like the bursting of\na bladder; O happy deliverance! cried Mary his mither, tho\u2019 dirt\nbodes luck,[42] and foul farts files the blankets, I wish ne\u2019er\nwar be amang us. The next thing that did Sawny good was, three\nmutchkins o\u2019 milk made in thin brose, and a fine pickle pepper in\nthem, yet he had a soughing in his lugs like a saw-mill, and every\nthing ran round about wi\u2019 him a\u2019 that day. Yet his mother got him\nout o\u2019 the bed, on o\u2019 the meikle chair, a pair o\u2019 blankets about\nhis shoulders, a cod at his back, and a hot brick to his soles,\nto gar him true he was nae well; and there he sat like a lying-in\nwife, cracking like a Hollander, and ate twa dead herrin and a\ncufe,[43] telling a\u2019 the outs and ins about his bridal, and whan it\nwas to be; for he had gotten every body\u2019s consent but the bride\u2019s\nabout it.\n\n_Mither._ But Sawny man that\u2019s the main thing, ye maun hae that too.\n\n_Sawny._ Na, na, mither am the only thing myself, she\u2019s but a\nmember, the men maun ay be foremost, gang what way it will, I\u2019se ay\nbe the uppermost.\n\n_Mither._ But Sawny man, what way is thou gaun to do? will ye mak a\npay penny wedding?[44] or twa three gude neighbours, a peck o\u2019 meal\nbaken, wi\u2019 a cheese, and a barrel o\u2019 ale, will that do?\n\n_Sawny._ Na, na, mither, I\u2019ll take a cheaper gate nor ony o\u2019 them;\nI\u2019ll gar haf-a-crown and haf-a-mutchkin or a rake o\u2019 coals do it\na\u2019, then a body has nae mair a-do but piss and then go to bed syne.\n\n_Mither._ Na, na, my man Sawny, I have mony, mony a time, heard thy\nhonest father say, that never a ane wad do well that cap-strided\nthe kirk, or cuckol\u2019d the minister.[45]\n\n_Sawny._ A tell na me mither, o\u2019 the ministers; they\u2019re ay for\ntheir ain hands as well as other fouks, an\u2019 if a poor beggar body\nhad a bit wean to chrisen, the deil a doit they feike him o\u2019t.\n\n_Mither._ Hute awa man, there\u2019s nae body has weans, but what has\nsiller to pay the chrissening o\u2019 them; or if they be that poor they\nsude na get nae weans, and they wad na be fash\u2019d syne.\n\n_Sawny._ Ha, ha, mither the poor foukes like the lice; ay when they\nmeet they marry and maks mae o\u2019 them: And I think the ministers\nmight chrisen their bits a weans for nae thing, the water is no\nsae scant; they\u2019re well paid for their preaching, they may very\nwell both marry and chrisen a\u2019 the poor foukes into the bargain, by\nthe way of a maggs.[46]\n\n_Mither._ Ay, ay, my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young\nfouke an\u2019 the bed undefil\u2019d.\n\n_Sawny._ What the vengeance mither, do ye think that a body is to\nfile the bed every night, an\u2019 they do\u2019t ance.\n\n_Mither._ Na, na, that\u2019s no what I mean, its happiness that fouk\nhas that\u2019s married, besides the wearied lonesome life it I hae,\nlying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane; O sirs! but a man in\na bed be a usefu\u2019 body, an\u2019 it were but to claw ane\u2019s back, as for\na body\u2019s foreside they can claw it themsel.\n\n_Sawny._ A\u2019 mither, mither, ye hae fun a string again, I think ye\nmight a wanted a\u2019 your days when ye fasted sae lang; ye hae plenty\no\u2019 baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco, but ye smell at the\ncrack o\u2019 the whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet; for I seen her\nfit wagging this lang time.\n\n_Mither._ A dear Sawny man, an thou were ance fairly aff the\nfodder, I\u2019ll be casten into a hole of a house by mysel, where I\u2019ll\njust ly and break my heart, and weary mysel to dead, but an I cou\u2019d\nget a bit honest weaver, a cobler, or some auld taylor by the tail,\nI wad tickle to him yet, let the country clash as they please about\nit.\n\n_Sawny._ A well, a well, then mither, take then your ain flight;\nthere\u2019s nae fool to an auld fool; for the morn I\u2019se be aff or on\nwi\u2019 the hissy I hae on hand.\n\nSo on the morning Sawny got a\u2019 his clase clean, his hair cam\u2019d and\ngreas\u2019d wi\u2019 butter, and his face as clean as the cat had licket it;\nand away he goes singing.\n\n      _I will buy a pound of woo\u2019,_\n      _I will wash\u2019d and make a plaidy:_\n      _I\u2019m gaun o\u2019er the moor till woo,_\n      _Carline, is your daughter ready?_[47]\n\nNow poor Sawny altho\u2019 he sang, was as pale as a ghost from the\ngrave, his face was whitly white, like a well bleatch\u2019d dish-clout,\nhe looked just as he had been eaten and spued again; but at length\nhe came to the bride\u2019s door, and in he goes wi\u2019 a brattle, crying\nhow is a\u2019 here the day? an\u2019 what\u2019s com\u2019d o\u2019 thy mither lassie?\nO Saunders said the bride she\u2019s awa\u2019 to the town, what came o\u2019\nyou yesterday, she waited on you the whole day; ye gart her lose\na day\u2019s trade lad, and she is away this morning cursing like a\nheathen, an\u2019 swearing _be-go_ that ye hae geen her a begunk.\n\n_Sawny._ A dole woman, I took a sudden blast o\u2019 the hame gawn, an\u2019\nwas never so near dead in my life.\n\nAn\u2019 wha think you was in company wi\u2019 Kate the bride, but the wee\nbutton of a taylor, who sat and sewed on a table, cocking like a\nt--d on a trencher, but when he kend wha was com\u2019d he leaped down\non the floor, custe a dash o\u2019 pride like a little bit prince, he\nbobet about, and so out he goes with the tear in his eye, and his\ntail between his feet like a haff worried colly-dog.\n\n_Sawny._ Now Katty do ye ken what I\u2019m com\u2019d about?\n\n_Kate._ O yes my mither tell\u2019d me, but I\u2019m no ready yet, I have twa\ngowns to spin, and things to mak.[48]\n\n_Sawny._ Hute, things to mak, ye have as mony things as ye\u2019ll need\nwoman, canna ye spin gowns in your ain house wi\u2019 me, as right as\nhere wi\u2019 an auld girning mither?\n\n_Kate._ But dear Saunders, ye must give a body time to think on\u2019t,\n\u2019twad be ill far\u2019d to rush together just at the first.\n\n_Sawny._ And do ye think I have naething a-do, but come here every\nother day hoiting after you? it\u2019ll no do, I maun be either aff wi\u2019\nyou or on wi\u2019 you, either tell me or tak me, for I ken of other\ntwa, and some o\u2019 you I will hae, for as I\u2019m a sinner my mither is\ngawn to be married too, an\u2019 she can get a bit man of ony shape or\ntrade.\n\n_Kate._ Indeed then Saunders, since you\u2019re in such a haste, you\nmust e\u2019en tak them that\u2019s readiest, for am no ready yet.\n\n_Sawny._ Dear woman whan your mither an\u2019 my mither\u2019s pleas\u2019d, am\nwilling to venture on ye, what a sorrow ails you?\n\n_Kate._ Na, na I\u2019ll think on\u2019t twa or three days; it\u2019s o\u2019er lang a\nterm to see without a thought.\n\n_Sawny._ Wode I think ye\u2019re a cumstrarie piece o\u2019 stuff, it\u2019s true\nenough your mither said o\u2019 ye, that ye\u2019re no for a poor man.\n\n_Kate._ And what mair said she o\u2019 me?\n\n_Sawny._ Wode she said you could do naething but scure wash mugs,\nan\u2019 gentlemen\u2019s bonny things, but hissies it is bred amang gentle\nhouses, minds me o\u2019 my mither\u2019s cat, but ye\u2019r far costlier to keep,\nfor the cat wastes neither saep nor water, but spits in her lufe\nand washes ay at her face, and whins o\u2019 you can do nae ither thing,\nand up he gets.\n\n_Kate._ O Saunders but ye be short, will ye no stay till my mither\ncome hame?\n\n_Sawny._ I stay\u2019d long enough for any thing I\u2019ll be the better; and\nam no sae short as your totum of a taylor it I cou\u2019d stap it my\nshoe, sae cou\u2019d I e\u2019en.\n\nHame he goes in a passion, and to his bed he ran crying, O death,\ndeath! I thought the jade wad jumpet at me; no comfort nor\nhappiness mair for poor me. O mither gar make my burial bread, for\nI\u2019ll die this night or soon the morn.[49] But early next morning\nin comes auld _Be-go_ his good mither, who had left her daughter\nin tears for the slighting o\u2019 Sawny; and haules him and his mither\naway to get a dinner of dead fish, where a\u2019 was agreed upon, the\nwedding to be upon Wednesday; no bridal fouks but the twa mithers\nand themselves twa.\n\nSo according to appointment they met at Edinburgh, where Sawny got\nthe cheap priest,[50] who gave them twa three words, and twa three\nlines, took their penny and a good drink, wish\u2019d them joy and gaed\nhis wa\u2019s. Now said auld _Be-go_, if that be your minister, he\u2019s but\na drunken b--h, mony a\u2019 ane drinks up a\u2019, but he leaves naething,\nhe\u2019s got that penny for deil haet, ye might cracket lufes on\u2019t[51]\nand been as well, if no better; I have seen some honest men say\nmair o\u2019er their brose[52] nor what he said a\u2019 the gither, but an ye\nbe pleas\u2019d am pleas\u2019d, a bout in the bed ends a\u2019, and makes firm\nwark: so here\u2019s to you, and joy to the bargain, its ended now well\nI wat.\n\n\n\n\n_COMICAL TRANSACTIONS OF LOTHIAN TOM._\n\n\n  [This is another unique specimen of the early chap-book from\n  the library of George Gray, Esq. The original is in three\n  numbers of eight pages each, breaks being made in the narrative\n  without respect to any thing but the filling of requisite space.\n  The first number bears the title:--\u2018The History and Comical\n  Transactions of Lothian Tom. In Six Parts. Wherein is contained a\n  Collection of Roguish Exploits done by him, both in Scotland and\n  England,\u2019 while the other two are but modifications of it. There\n  is this addition on the third number:--\u2018Which contains a dialogue\n  betwixt Tom and Pady about their questions, and Tom\u2019s song.\u2019 They\n  were all printed in Niddery\u2019s Wynd, Edinburgh: the first in 1775,\n  the second in 1777; while the third is without date. Since the\n  Introduction to these volumes was written we have seen an edition\n  of this chap-book published by Morren, Cowgate, Edinburgh,\n  without date. It is a 24 pp. 12mo., and contains all the material\n  to be found in the edition from which the following pages are\n  printed, including Tom\u2019s Song. In this edition, however, \u2018Pady\u2019s\n  New Catechism\u2019 is made part VI., while part II. as in the 1775\n  edition, with additions and alterations, is incorporated into\n  part I. The \u2018Catechism,\u2019 as already explained, does not seem to\n  belong to this chap-book, but to \u2018Pady from Cork.\u2019]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE AND COMICAL TRANSACTIONS OF LOTHIAN TOM.\n\n\nThis Thomas Black, vulgary called Lothian Tom, because of that\ncountry, was born four miles from Edinburgh, his Father being a\nvery wealthy farmer, who gave him good education, which he was very\nawkward in receiving, being a very wild cross mischievous boy.\n\nWhen he was about 10 years of age, he was almost killed by the\nstroke of a horse\u2019s foot, which his father had; who had a trick\nof kicking at every person that came in behind him. But when Tom\nwas got heal of the dreadful wound, whereof many thought he would\nhave died. To be even with the horse, he gets a clog, or piece of\ntree which was full of wooden pins; a thing which the shoe makers\nused to tann their leather upon; and with a rope he tied it to the\ncupple balk in the stable, directly opposite to the horse\u2019s tail,\ngets up on the balk and gives it a swing back so that the pikes in\nthe end of it, came with a full drive against the horse\u2019s arse;\nwhich made him to fling and the more he flung and struck at it, it\nrebounded back again and struck him; the battle lasted with great\nfury for a long time, which was good diversion for Tom, until his\nfather hearing some disturbance in the stable, came in to know the\nmatter, and was surprized when he saw the poor horse tanning his\nown hide, with his legs all cut and bloody, with kicking against\nthe pikes of the tanners stool; so he cut the rope and the battle\nwas ended, but the poor horse would never kick at any thing that\ncame behind him afterwards, but always run from it.\n\nIt happened one day that Tom went a fishing and brought home a few\nsmall fish, which his grandmother\u2019s cat snapt up in the dark; so\nTom to have justice of the cat for so doing catches her, and puts\nher into a little tub cogbome,[53] then sets her a drift into a\nmill-dam, ordering her to go a fishing for herself; then sets two\nor three dogs upon her, where a most terriable seafight ensued as\never was seen in fresh watter: for if any of the dogs assayed to\nboard her, by setting in over their nose, badrons came flying to\nthat quarter, to repulse him with her claws; then her vessel was\nlike to overset by the weight of herself, so she had to flee to\nthe other, and finding the same there, from thence to the middle,\nwhere she sat mawing, always turning herself about, coming her\nnose with her foot. The old woman being informed of the dangerous\nsituation of her dearly beloved cat, came running with a long pole\nto beat off the dogs and haul her ashore: What now, says Tom, if\nyou be going to take part with my enemies, you shall have part of\ntheir reward: then gives the old woman such a push that she tumbled\ninto the dam over head and ears, beside her beloved cat, and would\nundoubtedly perished in the water, had not one of the people who\nwere there looking at the diversion, com\u2019d to her relief.\n\nAfter this Tom was sent to the school to keep his hands out of\nan ill turn; and having an old canker\u2019d crab witted fellow for\nhis dominie, they were always at variance, for if Tom had got\nhis whips, which he often deserved, he was sure to be revenged\nupon his master again for it. So Tom perceiving his master had a\nclose-stool in a little closet within the school, where he went\nand eased himself when need was: Tom gets a penny-worth of gun\npowdar, and strinkled it on the ground directly before the seat,\nand lays a little of it along in a train to the fire side, then\nperceiving when his master went into it, and as he was loosing down\nhis breeches, sets fire to the train which blew it all up about his\nmaster\u2019s bare hips, which scorched him most terriably, besides the\nfright; for which Tom was severely whipt; yet in a little after he\nbegan to study revenge on his master.\n\nSo it happened one day as Tom went into the master\u2019s house, the\nwife was stooping into a big meal barrel[54] to bring out some\nmeal; there he takes her by the feet and cowps her up into the\nbarrel with her head down, and her bare backside upper-most; then\nruns into the school, crying, \u201cO! master, master! the deel\u2019s\nlooking out of your meal stand wi\u2019 a fat face, and a black ill\nfar\u2019d mouth: yon\u2019s just auld nick and he be living.\u201d At this the\nmaster run with all speed he could to see what it was, and found\nit to be his own wife speechless and almost smothered to death;\nbut as she could not tell who did it, Tom got clear off; yet he\nwas not satisfied without some more vengeance on the old fellow;\nand knowing his master had a fashion when he was going to whip the\nboys, if they would not loose their breeches willingly, he drew\nhis knife and cut them thro\u2019 the waistband behind: so Tom goes\nto a butcher and gets a raw pudding, and fills it with blood and\nwatter and puts it in within the waistband of his breeches: then\ngoes to school next day, and as the master was sitting with his\nback towards the fire, Tom lights a piece of paper and sets his wig\nin a low, which burnt for some time unperceived, until the flames\ncame fizing about his ears: he first put out the wig by trampling\nit upon the ground with his feet, and being informed that Tom did\nit, flies to him in a rage, ordering him to loose his breeches,\nbut Tom told him he was never so mad: then he drew his knife and\nwhips poor Tom over his knee, and with great kicking and struggling\ncuts the waistband of his breeches through pudding and all, so that\nthe blood gushed out; and Tom cried murder, murder, and down he\nfell. The poor dominie went out of the door crying and wringing his\nhands. Word flew about that Tom was sticket by the dominie, which\nmade the people come running from several parts of the country\nround about to see how it was; but searching him for the wound,\nfound none but the empty pudding, which discovered the fraud.[55]\nThen two men had to get horses and ride after the poor dominie, who\nhad by this time got two or three miles away; and when he saw them\ncoming after him, crying to stand, and come back again, he ran the\nfaster, untill he could run no more, but fell over on the road,\npraying him to let him go, for if he was taken back he was sure of\nbeing hanged: and would not be persuaded that Tom was alive, until\nthey forced him back and he saw him: but he would be Tom\u2019s teacher\nno longer; so Tom\u2019s father had to seek another master for him.\n\n\nPART II.\n\nThere was a young woman servant to Tom\u2019s father, which Tom had\noffended by some of his tricks, and she to be up with him again;\none night spread a handfull of short nettles in his bed, between\nhis sheets; which stinged his legs and thighs so much, that he was\nobliged to quit his bed, for some part of the night; for which he\nresolved to be revenged when ever a proper opportunity offered.\nIt happened in a few days after that she was invited to a wedding\nwhere the dancing and diversion induced her to stay all night;\nand on coming home in the morning, her mistress set her to wash\nsome cloaths. But she being fatigued with her night\u2019s diversion,\nand for want of rest fell fast asleep with her hand extended in\nthe tub, and standing on her feet with her belly leaning on the\ntub, Tom perceiving this, slips her petticoats and smock over her\nhead, letting the sun shine on her bare back side, which faced\nthe highway. Several people passing by while she continued in\nthis posture, some of them were diverted, and others ashamed at\nthe sight. But a poor cadger had the misfortune to be coming on\nthe road at the time, and his horse taking fright at this unusual\nsight, threw off the creels which broke the poor man\u2019s eggs all\nto smash. Which so enraged him, that he lashed her buttocks with\nhis whip in so unmerciful a manner, that with the smart and shame\ntogether, she had not the least inclination to sleep for the\nremaining part of the day.[56]\n\nTom being grown up to the years and age of a man, thought himself\nmore wiser and slyer than his father; and there was several things\nabout the house he liked better than to work: so he turned to be\na dealer amongst the brutes, a couper of horses and cows, &c. and\neven wet ware amongst brewers and brandy shops; until he couped\nhimself to the toom halter; and then his parents would supply him\nno more. He knew well his grandmother had plenty of mony, but she\nwould give him none; but the old woman had a good black calf her\nown, which Tom went to the fields one evening and catches and takes\nher into an old waste house which stood at a distance from any\nother, and there he kept her two or three days, giving her meat and\ndrink when it was dark at night, and made the old woman believe\nsome body had stole the cow for their winter mairt:[57] which was\ngrief enough to the old woman, for the loss of her dearly beloved\ncow. However, she employs Tom to go to a fair that was near by,\nto buy her another, gives him 3 lr[58] which Tom accept of very\nthankfulli and promised to buy one as like the other as possibly\nhe could get; then he gets a piece of chalk and brays it small as\nmeal, and steeps it in a little water, and therewith rubs over\nthe cow\u2019s face and back which made her both brocket and rigget:\nSo Tom in the morning takes the cow to a public house within a\nlittle of the fair, and there left her till the fair was over, and\nthen drives her home before him; and as soon as they came home\nthe cow began to rout as she used to do, which made the old woman\nso rejoice, thinking it was her own black cow; but when she saw\nher white face, sighed and said, \u201cAlas! thou\u2019ll never be like the\nkindly brute my black lady, and yet routs as like her as ony I ever\ndid hear;\u201d but Tom says to himself, the mercy is you know not what\nshe says, or all would be wrong yet. So in two or three days the\nold woman put forth her bra\u2019 rigget cow in the morning with the\nrest of the neighbours cattle, but it came on a sore day of heavy\nrain, which washed away all the white from her face and back: so\nthe old woman\u2019s black lady came home at night, and her rigget cow\nwent away with the shower and was never heard of. But Tom\u2019s father\nhaving some suspicion, and looking narrowly into the cows face,\nfound some of the chalk not washed away; and then he gave poor Tom\na hearty beating, and sent him away to seek his fortune with a skin\nfull of sore bones.\n\n\nPART III.\n\nTom being turned to his own shifts, considers with himself how to\nraise a little more money, gets a long string as near as he could\nguess to be the length of his mother; and into Edinburgh he goes,\nto a wright who was acquainted with his father and mother; the\nwright asking him how he did? he answered him very soberly, for he\nhad lost a good dutiful mother; last night, and there\u2019s a measure\nof her coffin. The wright was surprised at the news, and lamented\nhis loss and so fell to work on the coffin. Tom went out and stayed\nfor some time, and then comes in again, and tells the wright he did\nnot know what to do, for his father had ordered him to get money\nfrom such a man, which he named, and that he was that day gone\nout of town; the wright asked him how much he wanted? to which he\nanswered, a guinea and a half might do, or thirty shillings at the\nleast; so he gave him the guinea and the half: then Tom gave him\nstrict charge to be out on the morrow against eleven o\u2019clock with\nthe coffin, and he should have his money altogether; Tom set out\nfor the alehouse with the money, and lived while it lasted. Next\nmorning the wright and his two lads goes out with the coffin; and\nas they were going in the house, Tom\u2019s mother stands at the door,\nasking the master how he did, and where he was going with that fine\ncoffin? he did not know well what to say, being so surprized to see\nher alive! but at last he told her it was made designedly for her,\nand that her son brought in the measure the day before, and had got\na guinea and a half from him, which he said was to buy some other\nnecessaries for the funeral. O the rogue! said she has he played\nme that? So the wright got his guinea and half and so much for his\ntrouble, and had to take back his coffin with him again.\n\nTom being now short of money again began to think how he would\nraise a fresh supply; so he went to the port amongst the shearers,\nand there hires about thirty of them, and agrees to give them a\nwhole week\u2019s shearing at tenpence a day, which was twopence higher\nthan any had got that year; this made the poor shearers think he\nwas an honest generous genteel master as ever they got, so he took\nthem all into an alehouse, and gave them a hearty breakfast, till\nthey could eat no more. Now says he, when there are so many of you\ntogether perhaps from different parts, and unacquainted with one\nanother, I do not know but there may be some of you honest men and\nsome of you rogues: and you are to lie all in one barn together,\nany of you who has any mony, you\u2019ll be safest to give it to me, and\nI\u2019ll mark it down in my book, with your names and what I receive\nfrom each of you and you shall have it all again on Saturday\u2019s\nnight when you get your wages. O! very well good man, take mine\ntake mine, every one cried faster than another; some gave him five,\nsix, seven and eight shillings, even all they had earned through\nthe harvest, which amounted to near seven pounds sterling. Having\ngot all their money, he goes on with them till about three miles\nout of the town, and coming to[59] a great field of standing corn,\nthough some thing green, yet convenient for this purpose, as it\nlay some distance from any house or person; so he made them begin\nthere, telling them he was going to order dinner for them, and\nsend is own servants to join them: Away he goes with all the speed\nhe could, but takes another road into the town, lest they should\nfollow and catch him.\n\nNow when the people to whom the corn belonged, saw such a band in\ntheir field, they could not understand the meaning of it; but the\ngoodman whose corn it was, went off crying always as he run, to\nthem to stop; but they would not, until he began to strike them,\nand they at him, he being in a great passion, as the corn was not\nfully ripe; at last, by force of argument and other peoples coming\nup to them, the poor shearers were convinced they had gotten the\nbite, which caused them to go away lamenting their misfortune.\n\nIn two or three days thereafter as Tom was going down the\nCanongate, he meets one of his shearers, who knew him and kept\nfast by him demanding his money and satisfaction for all the rest:\nwhisht, whisht, says Tom, and you\u2019ll get yours and something else\nbeside. So Tom takes him into the jail,[60] and calls for a bottle\nof ale and a dram, then takes the jaylor aside, as if he had been\nto borrow the money from him: and says to the jaylor, this man\nhere is a great thief, I and two others, have been in search of\nhim these three days, and the other two men have the warrant with\nthem, so if you\u2019ll keep the rogue here till I run and bring them,\nyou shall have a guinea in reward: yes, said the jaylor, go and\nI\u2019ll fix the rogue for you. Tom gets clear out, leaving the poor\ninnocent fellow and the jaylor straggling together, and then sets\noff for England directly.\n\n\nPART IV.\n\nTom having now left his own native country, went into the county\nof Northumberland, where he hired himself with an old miser of a\nfarmer; and here he continued several years, performing the duty in\nhis service very well, though sometimes playing a roguish trick to\nthose about him: his master had a very naughty custom that he would\nallow them no candle at night to see with when at supper; Tom one\nnight sets himself next to his master, and as they were all about\nto fall on, Tom puts his spoon into the midst of the dish where\nthe crowdie was the hottest, and claps a spoonful into his masters\nmouth: a pox upon you for a rogue, cried his master, for my mouth\nis all burnt; a pox upon you for a master, says Tom, for you keep\na house as dark as Purgatory, for I was going to my own mouth with\nthat sup and mist the way it being so dark: don\u2019t think master that\nI am such a big fool as to feed you, while I have a mouth of my\nown. So from that night that Tom burnt his master\u2019s mouth with the\nhot crowdie, they always got a candle to shew them light at supper,\nfor his master would feed no more in the dark while Tom was present.\n\nThere was a servant girl in the house, who always when she made the\nbeds neglected to make Tom\u2019s, and would have him to do it himself,\nwell then, says Tom, I have harder work to do, and I shall do that\ntoo, so next day when Tom was in the field at the plough, when he\nsaw his master coming from the house towards him, he then left the\nhorses and the plough standing in the field, and goes away towards\nhis master, who cried, What is wrong, or is any thing broke with\nyou? No, no, says Tom, but I am going home to make my bed, it has\nnot been made these two weeks, and just now is about the time, the\nmaid makes all the rest, so I\u2019ll go home and make mine too. No, no\nsirrah, go back to your plough, and I\u2019ll cause it to be made every\nnight to you. Then, says Tom, I\u2019ll plough two or three furrows more\nin the time.[61]\n\nThere was a butcher came to his master\u2019s and bought a fine fat\ncalf, so Tom laid it on the horses neck before the butcher, and\nwhen he was gone, now, says Tom, what will you hold master, but\nI\u2019ll steal that calf from the butcher before he goes two miles off?\nWhy, says his master, I\u2019ll hold a guinea you don\u2019t; done, says\nTom; in he goes, and gets a good shoe of his master\u2019s, and runs\noff another way cross the fields until he got before the butcher:\nnear to the corner of a hedge, where there was an open and turning\nof the way, here Tom darns himself behind the hedge, and throws\nthe shoe in the middle of the highway, then up comes the butcher\nriding and his calf before him; hey, said he to himself, there\u2019s\na good shoe, if I knew how to get on my calf again I would alight\nfor it but what signifies one without its neighbour? so off he goes\nand lets it lye. Tom then slips out and takes the shoe up again,\nand runs across the fields until he got in before the butcher at\nanother part of the hedge, about half a mile distant, and there he\nthrows the shoe out again in the midst of the way; then up comes\nthe butcher, and seeing it, says to himself, now I shall have a\npair of good shoes for the lifting: and down he comes, lays the\ncalf on the ground, and tying his horse to the hedge, runs back,\nthinking to get the other shoe; in which time, Tom whips up the\ncalf and shoe, and home he comes, demanding his wager, which his\nmaster could not deny, being so fairly won.\n\nThe poor butcher returned to his horse, got only his travel for\nhis pains, so missing his calf, he knew not what to say or do,\nbut thinking it had broke the rope from about it\u2019s feet, and had\nrun into the fields, the butcher spent that day in search of it\namongst the hedges and ditches, and so returned to Tom\u2019s master\u2019s\nall night, intending to go and search farther for it next day,\ngiving them a tedious relation how he came to lose it by a curs\u2019d\npair o\u2019 shoes which he believed the devil had dropt in his way,\nand now he had taken the calf and all along with him, expressing\nhis thankfulness that the devil was so honest as to spare his old\nhorse when he stole away his calf. Next morning Tom went to work\nand makes a fine white face on the calf with chalk and water\nthen brings it out and sold it to the butcher, which was good\ndiversion to his master and other servants to see the butcher buy\nhis own calf again: no sooner was he gone with it, but Tom says,\nnow master what will you hold but I\u2019ll steal it from him again,\nor he goes two miles off? No, no, says his master, I\u2019ll hold no\nmore beats with you, but I\u2019ll give you a shilling if you do it,\ndone says Tom, it shall cost you no more; and away he runs a foot\nthrough the fields, until he came in before the butcher, hard by\nthe place where he stole the calf from him the day before; and here\nhe lyes behind the hedge, and as the butcher came past, he puts his\nhand on his mouth, and cries, Baw, baw, like a calf; the butcher\nhearing this, swears to himself, that there was the calf he had\nlost the day before, down he comes and throws the calf he had on\nthe ground, gets in through the hedge in all haste, thinking he had\nno more to do but take it up; but as he came in at the one part\nof the hedge, Tom jumps out at another, and gets the calf on his\nback, then gets in over the hedge on the other side, and through\nthe fields he came safely home, with the calf on his back; while\nthe poor butcher spent his time and labour in vain, running from\nhedge to hedge, and hole to hole, seeking what was not there to\nbe found. So the butcher returned to his horse again, and finding\nhis other calf gone, he concluded it to be done by some invisible\nspirit thereabout that spot of ground; and so went home and raised\na bad report on the devil, saying he was turned a highwayman and\nhad taken two calfs from him. So Tom washing the white face off\nthe stolen calf, his master sent the butcher word to come and buy\nanother calf, which he accordingly did a few days after, and Tom\nsold him the same calf a third time; then told him the whole affair\nas it was acted, giving him his money again so the butcher got but\nfun for all his fuddle.[62]\n\n\nPART V.\n\nThere was an old rich blind woman, who lived hard bye, that had a\nyoung girl her only daughter, and she fell deep in love with Tom,\nand Tom fell as deep in love with the money, but not with the maid:\nthe old woman bestowed a vast of presents on Tom, and mounted him\nlike a gentleman, but still he put off the marriage from time to\ntime, and always wanted something, which the old woman gave the\nmoney to purchase for him, until he had got about thirty pounds\nof her money and then she would delay the marriage no longer: Tom\nwent and took the old woman and girl aside, and made his apology\nas follows--Dear mother,[63] said he I am very willing to wed with\nmy dear Polly, for she appears as an angel in mine eyes, but I am\nsorry very sorry to acquaint you that I am not a fit match for her:\nwhat child, says the old woman, there\u2019s not a fitter match in the\nworld for my Polly, I did not think your country could afford such\na clever youth as what I hear of you to be,[64] you shall neither\nwant gold nor silver, and a good horse to ride upon and when I die\nyou shall have my all: O but says Tom, mother that\u2019s no the matter\nat all, the stop is this, when I was at home in Scotland, I got a\nstroke with a horse\u2019s foot on the bottom of my belly, which has\nquite disabled me below that I cannot perform I husband\u2019s duty in\nbed. Then the old woman clapt her hands, and fell a crying, O! if\nit had been any impediment but that, but that, but that, woful\nthat! which gold and silver cannot purchase and yet the poorest\npeople that is even common beggars have plenty off it. The old\nwoman and her daughter sat crying and wringing their hands, and\nTom stood and wept lest he should get no more money, O says Polly,\nmother I\u2019ll wed with him nevertheless, I love him so dearly? No,\nno, you foolish girl would you throw yourself away to marry a man\nand die a maid, you don\u2019t know the end of your creation, it is\nthe enjoyment of a man in bed that makes women to marry, which is\na pleasure like a paradise, and if you wed with this man, you\u2019ll\nlive and die and never know it. Hoo, hoo, says Tom, If I had got\nmoney, I needed not been this way till now; money, you fool, said\nthe old woman, there\u2019s not such a thing to be got for money in all\nEngland: ay, says Tom, there\u2019s a doctor in Newcastle, will make me\nable as any other man for ten guineas: ten guineas, said she, I\u2019ll\ngive him fifty guineas if he will, but here is twelve and go to him\ndirectly, and know first what he can do, and come again and wed\nmy child, or she and I both will die for thy sake. Tom having now\ngot twelve guineas more of their money, got all things ready, and\nnext morning early, sets out for Newcastle, but instead of going to\nNewcastle, he came to old Scotland, and left Polly and her mother\nto think upon him, then in about two weeks after, when he was not\nlike to return, no nor so much as a word from him: the old woman\nand Polly got a horse, and came to Newcastle in search of him, went\nthrough all the doctors shops asking if there came a young man\nthere about two weeks ago with a broken cock to mend: some laught\nat her, others were like to kick her out of doors, so the old woman\nhad to return without getting any further intelligence of Tom.\n\nNow after Tom\u2019s return to Scotland, he got a wife and took a\nlittle farm near Dalkeith, and became a very douse man for many\ndays, followed his old business the couping of horses and cows the\nfeeding of veals for slaughter, and the like: He went one day to a\nfair and bought a fine cow from an old woman, but Tom judged from\nthe lowness of the price that the cow certainly had some fault; Tom\ngives the wife the other hearty bicker of good ale, then says, he,\nwife the money\u2019s your\u2019s and the cow\u2019s mine, ye must tell me ony wi\u2019\nbit of faults it she has: Indeed quoth she goodman, she has nae a\nfault but ane, and in she had wanted it, I wad never a parted wi\u2019\nher; and what\u2019s that goodwife said he? Indeed said she the filthy\ndaft beast sucks ay hersel; hute, says Tom, if that be all, I\u2019ll\nsoon cure her of that, O can ye do\u2019t said she, If I had kend what\nwad a done it, ye had nae gotten her. A well says Tom I\u2019ll tell you\nwhat to do, tak the cow\u2019s price I gave you just now, and tye it\nhard and fast in your napkin, and give it to me throw beneath the\ncow\u2019s wame, and I\u2019ll give you the napkin again over the cow\u2019s back,\nand I\u2019ll lay my life for it that she\u2019ll never suck hersel in my\naught; a wat well, said she, I\u2019se do that an they sud be witchcraft\nin\u2019t,[65] so Tom no sooner got it throw below the cow\u2019s wame than\nhe looses out his money and puts it in his pocket, and gave the\nwife again her napkin over the cow\u2019s back accordingly as he told\nher, saying, now wife, you have your cow and I my money, and she\u2019ll\nnever suck herself in my aught, as I told you, O dole, cryed the\nwife, is that your cure, ye have cheated me, ye have cheated me.\n\n\nPART VI.\n\nTom being very scant of money at a time when his rent was to pay,\nand though he was well acquainted with the Butchers in Edinburgh,\nhe tried severals of them, yet none of them would lend him as\nmuch, he was known to be such a noted sharper.[66] Tom thinks with\nhimself that he\u2019ll give them all a bite in general who had refused\nhim: So in he comes next day (and all of them had heard of a fine\nfat calf he had feeding) comes to one of the butchers, and tell\u2019s\nhim he was going to sell the fat calf he had at home. Well says\nthe butcher, and what will you have for it? just five and thirty\nshillings, says Tom: No, says the butcher, by what I hear of it\nI\u2019ll give thirty. Na, na, says Tom, you must remember that is not\nthe price of it, but give me twenty shillings just now, and send\nout your lad the morrow and we\u2019ll perhaps agree about it. Thus Tom\nwent thro\u2019 ten of them in one day, and got twenty shillings from\neach of them, and kept his speech against the law for whatever they\noffered him for his calf, he told them to remember that was not\nto be the price of it, but give me twenty shillings just now, and\nsend out your lad on the morrow morning and perhaps we\u2019ll agree was\nall that passed. So Tom came home with his ten pound, and pay\u2019d\nhis rent; and early next morning one of the butcher\u2019s sent out his\nlad to Louthian Tom\u2019s for a calf, and as he was about a mile from\nthe town, went to an ale house door and calls for a bicker of ale,\nand as he was drinking it, up comes another butcher\u2019s lad on the\nsame errand, he being called by the first to come and drink, which\ncaused another bicker; then come other two on the same errand;\nagain six more, which made out the ten; and every one told he was\ngoing to Louthian Tom\u2019s for a calf, which made them think Tom had\ngathered together all the calves in that country side: So up they\ncomes to Tom\u2019s house and every one called for his calf, and his\ncalf; and Tom had but one calf to serve them all; which he took out\nand shews them. Now, says he, whoever gives most for it shall have\nit, or I\u2019ll put it to a roup. What said they, our masters bought\nit yesterday. Then says Tom, you would be fools to buy it to day\nfor it is heavy to carry and fashious to lead,[67] you must all go\nhome without it; next day Tom got ten summonses, to answer at the\ninstance of the butchers for selling his calf and not delivering\nit. Tom then goes to Edinburgh, gets the ablest lawyer in town for\nthat purpose, tells him the whole of what past, from first to\nlast. Then said the lawyer, as they cannot prove a bargain, and\ndeny the paying of the money again, if you\u2019ll give me the calf,\nI\u2019ll bring you off; but remember in law there is no point like\nthat of denial. The calf, says Tom, you\u2019ll not want the calf, and\na stone of butter to make it ready with. Then the lawyer goes to\nthe court, where Tom is called upon; his lawyer answers first, who\nasked the butchers, if they could tell the price of the calf, or\nprove the bargain? they answered, No; but he ordered us to send\nout our lads and we would agree about it? Gree about it, said the\njudges! why, do you come to sue for a bargain and to gree about\nit; Ay, but, said they, we want twenty shillings a piece from him\nof money we gave him. Tom is called out, then said the judge, did\nyou borrow twenty shillings of any of these men? Not I my lord,\nI came indeed asking the loan of money from them, but they would\nlend me none; and then I came next day beggar-ways, and they were\nso generous as to give me twenty shillings a piece. But said the\njudge, were not you to give it back again; I never promised nor\nnever intended at all, my lord; for what is given to the poor is\ngiven gratis, and I appeal to this whole court that whatever pence\nany of you has given to the poor that you look not for any of it\nback again. Then Tom was freed at the bar, and the butchers lost,\nand laughed at.\n\nAfter the court, Tom and the lawyer had a hearty bottle;[68] and\nat parting the lawyer said, now mind Tom, and send me the calf\nto-morrow. O yes, says Tom, but you must first send me out forty\nshillings for it. What, says the lawyer, did not you promise me it\nand a stone of butter to make it ready with, for gaining your plea?\nBut, says Tom, did you not tell me, that the only point of the law\nwas to deny? and you cannot prove it: So I\u2019ll sell my calf to them\nthat will give most for it; and if you have learned me law, I have\nlearned you roguery to your experience. So take this as a reward\nfor helping me to cheat the butchers: and I think I\u2019m even now with\nyou both. And this was all the lawyer got of Tom.[69]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n      THE PLOWMAN\u2019S GLORY; or, TOM\u2019S SONG.[70]\n\n        As I was a walking one morning in the spring,\n      I heard a young plowman so sweetly to sing,\n      And as he was singing, these words he did say,\n      No life is like the plowman\u2019s in the month of May.\n\n        The lark in the morning rises from her nest,\n      And mounts in the air with the dew on her breast,\n      And with the jolly plowman she\u2019ll whistle and she\u2019ll sing,\n      And at night she\u2019ll return to her nest back again.\n\n        If you walk in the fields any pleasure to find,\n      You may see what the plowman enjoys in his mind;\n      There the corn he sows grows and the flowers do spring,\n      And the plowman\u2019s as happy as a prince or a king.\n\n        When his days work is done that he has to do,\n      Perhaps to some country walk he will go,\n      There with a sweet lass he will dance and sing,\n      And at night return with his lass back again.\n\n        And as they return from the walk in the town,\n      When the meadows is mowed and the grass is cut down,\n      If they chance for to tumble among the green hay,\n      It\u2019s kiss me now or never the damsel will say.\n\n        Then he rises next morning to follow his team,\n      Like a jolly plowman so neat and so trim;\n      If he kiss a pretty girl he will make her his wife,\n      And she loves her jolly plowman as dear as her life.\n\n        Come Molly and Dolly let\u2019s away to the wake,\n      There the plow boys will treat us with beer ale and cake,\n      And if in coming home they should gain their Ends,\n      Ne\u2019er fear but they\u2019ll marry us, or make us amends.\n\n        There\u2019s Molly and Dolly, Nelly and Sue,\n      There\u2019s Ralph, John and Willie and young Tommy too;\n      Each lad takes his lass to the wake or the fair,\n      Adzooks they look rarely, I vow and declare.\n\n\nFINIS\n\n\n\n\n_HISTORY OF JOHN CHEAP THE CHAPMAN._\n\n\n  [A Falkirk edition of this chap-book, printed by T. Johnston in\n  1798, has been used here. The full title is--\u2018The History of John\n  Cheap the Chapman: containing above a Hundred Merry Exploits done\n  by him and his fellow Traveller, Drowthy Tam, a sticked Shaver.\n  In three parts.\u2019 It has been usual to suspect that the work is\n  autobiographical to some extent.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF JOHN CHEAP THE CHAPMAN.\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nJohn Cheap the chapman, was a very comical short thick fellow, with\na broad face and a long nose; both lame and lazy, and something\nleacherous among the lasses: he chused rather to sit idle than work\nat any time, as he was a hater of hard labour. No man needed to\noffer him cheese and bread after he curst he would not have it; for\nhe would blush at bread and milk, when hungry, as a beggar doth at\na babee. He got the name of John Cheap the chapman, by his selling\n20 needles for a penny, and twa leather laces for a farthing. He\nswore no oaths but one, which was, Let me never sin.\n\nHe used no imprecations, But let me never cheat nor be cheated, but\nrather cheat, &c.\n\nHe gave bad counsel to none but children, to burn the bonecombs,\nthat their mother might buy another when he came again.\n\nHe never fought with any but dogs,[71] and the good wives daughters\nin their daffing, and that\u2019s not dangerous.\n\n\nPART I.\n\n_The following relation is taken from his own mouth, verbatim._\n\nI John Cheap by chance, at some certain time, doubtless against my\nwill, was born at the Hottom, near Habertehoy mill: My father was\na Scots Highlandman, and my mother a Yorkshire wench, but honest,\nwhich causes me to be of a mongrel kind; I made myself a chapman\nwhen very young, in great hopes of being rich when I became old;\nbut fortune was fickle and so was I; for I had not been a chapman\nabove two days, until I began to consider the deep ditches, midden\ndubs, biting dogs and wiet sacks: And what comfort is it, says\nI, to lye in a cows oxter, the length of a cold winter night: to\nsit behind backs, till the kail be a cuttied up, and then to lick\ncolley\u2019s leavings.[72]\n\nMy first journey was through old Kilpatrick, all the day long I got\nno meat nor money until the evening, I began to ask for lodging,\nthen every wife to get me away, would either give me a cogful of\nkail, or piece of cake. Well says I to myself, if this be the way,\nI shall begin in the morning to ask for lodging, or any time when\nI am hungry. Thus I continued going from house to house, until my\nbelly was like to burst, and my pockets could hold no more; at\nlast I came to a farmer\u2019s house, but thinking it not dark enough\nto prevail for lodging, sat down upon a stone at the end of the\nhouse, till day-light would go away out of the west; and as I was\ngoing to get up to go in to the house, out comes the goodwife, as I\nsupposed her to be, and sat down at the end of the stone I being at\nthe other, there she began to make off her water with full force,\nwhich I bore with, very modestly, till near an end; then she made\nthe wind follow with such force, as made (as I thought) the very\nstone I leaned upon to move, which made me burst out into laughter;\nthen up gets the wife, and runs for it; I followed hard after into\nthe house, and as I entered the house, I heard the goodman, saying,\nAy, ay, goodwife, What\u2019s the haste, you run so?\n\nNo more passed, until I addressed myself to the goodman for\nquarters; which he answered, \u201cIndeed lad, we hae nae beds but\nthree, my wife and I, our sells twa, and the twa bits a little\nanes, Willie and Jenny lies in ane, the twa lads our twa servant\nmen Willie Black and Tam, lies in anither, and auld Mags my mither,\nand the lass Jean Tirram lies the gither, and that fills them a\u2019.\u201d\nO but says I, Goodman, there is some of them fuller than others,\nyou may let me lie with your mither and the lass; I shall ly heads\nand thraws wi\u2019 them, and keep on my breeks. A good keep me, quo\u2019\nthe lass, frae a\u2019 temptations to sin, altho\u2019 thou be but a callen,\nheth I\u2019ll rather ly wi\u2019 Sannock Garner. No, no, cries the goodwife,\nhe\u2019s no be here the night. Dear good-wife, said I, what ails you\nat me? a d--l be here, an\u2019 ye be here the night, said she; ho,\nho, said I, but I\u2019m here first, and first com\u2019d first serv\u2019d,\ngood-wife; but an\u2019 the ill thief be a friend of your\u2019s, you\u2019ll have\nroom for him too. Ye thief like widdyfu\u2019, said she, are ye evening\nme to be sib to the foul thief; it\u2019s weel kend I am come of good\nhonest fouks: It may be so goodwife, said I, but ye look rather\nthe other way, when ye would lodge the d--l in your house and ca\u2019\nout a poor chapman to die, such a stormy night as this. What do ye\nsay! says she, there was na a bonnier night since winter came in\nnor this. O goodwife, what are you saying! Do ye not mind, when\nyou and I was at the east end of the house, such a noise of wind\nand water was then; a wae worth the filthy body, said she, is not\nthat in every part. What said the goodman, a wat well there was\nnae rain when I came in: The wife then shuts me out, and bolted\nthe door behind me: Well, said I, but I shall be through between\nthy mouth and thy nose or the morrow. It being now so dark, and I\na stranger, could see no place to go to, went into the corn yard,\nbut finding no loose straw I fell a drawing one of their stacks,\nsheaf by sheaf, until I pulled out a threave or two, and got into\nthe hole myself, where I lay as warm as a pye; but the goodman in\nthe morning, perceiving the heap of corn sheaves, came running to\ncarry it away, and stop up the hole in the stack wherein I lay,\nwith some of the sheaves, so with the steighling of the straw, and\nhim cursing the thieves who had done it: I then skipping out of\nthe hole, ho, ho, said I, goodman, you\u2019re not to bury me alive in\nyour stack: He then began to chide me, vowing he would keep my pack\nfor the damage I had done: whereupon, I took his servants witnesses\nhe had robbed me; when hearing me urge him so, he gave me my pack\nagain, and off I came to the next house, where I told the whole\nstory.\n\nMy next exploit was near Carluke, between Hamiltown and Lanerk:\nWhere on a cold stormy night, I came to a little town with four or\nfive houses in it; I went twice through it, but none of them would\ngive me the credit to stand all night among their horse, or yet to\nly in their cow\u2019s oxter: At last I prevailed with a wife, if her\nhusband was willing, to let me stay, if he was not against it, to\nwhich he answered, \u201cIf I should ly in his midden-dib, I should get\nno quarters from him that night; a wheen lazy idle villains rins a\nto be chapman, comes through the country fashing fouks, ay seeking\nquarters; the next day ye\u2019ll be gaun wi\u2019 a powder\u2019d pirrewig, and a\nwatch at your arse, and winna let fouk stand afore your chop doors,\nye\u2019ll be sae saucy.\u201d\n\nAfter hearing my sentence from the goodman, expecting no relief\nbut to ly without, yet I perceived when he came out of the barn,\nhe only drew too the door behind him: So when he was gone, I slipt\ninto the barn, and by help of one of the kiples, climbs up the\nmou, and there dives down among the sheaves, and happed myself all\nover, so that I lay as warm as the goodman himself. But in the\nmorning long before day, two fellows came into the barn, and fell\na threshing, that by their disturbance I could sleep no more; at\nlast I got up with all my hair hanging over my face, and when he\nthat stood on the opposite side perceived me, I made my eyes to\nroll, and wrayed my face in a frightful manner, so that the poor\nfellow supposed he had seen the deil, or something as ill, gave a\nrore as if he had been sticked, and out at the door he runs; the\nother following after him crying, Wa\u2019 Johny man, what did you see?\nO! Sandy, Sandy, the deil\u2019s on the tap o\u2019 the mou\u2019, sheavling his\nmouth at me; I\u2019ll not be so well this month man, my heart\u2019s out\no\u2019 its hole, wou but yon be a fearfu\u2019 like fake indeed, it would\nfright ony living creature out o\u2019 their senses.\n\nI hearing the fear they were in, cried unto them not to be\nfrighted, for I was not the deil, but a poor chapman who could not\nget quarters last night a foul fa\u2019 thy carcase sir, for our Jock is\nthrough the midden-dib, dirt and a\u2019 the gither; he who went last\ncame again, but the other man ran into the house, and told what he\nhad seen: The goodman and his wife came running, he with a grape in\nhis hand, and her with the Bible,[73] the one crying Sandy, Sandy,\nis\u2019t true that the deil was in the barn; Na, na, said he, it\u2019s but\na chapman, but poor Jock has gotten a fright wi\u2019 him. They laughed\nheartily at the sport, took me in to breakfast, and by this time\npoor Johnny was gone to bed.[74]\n\nAfter this I travelled up the water of Clyde, near the foot of\nTintock-hill, where I met with a sweet companion, who was an older\ntraveller than I, who gave me more information how to blow the\ngoodwife, and sleek the goodman, with him I kept company for two\nmonths, and as we travelled down Tweed towards the border we being\nboth hungry and could get nothing to buy for the belly, we came\nunto a wife who had been kirning, but she would give us nothing,\nnor sell so much as one halfpenny\u2019s worth of her sour milk; Na,\nna, said she, I\u2019ll neither sell butter, bread or milk, it\u2019s a\u2019\nlittle enough to sair my ain family: ye that\u2019s chapman may drink\nwater, ye dinna work sair. Ay, but goodwife, said I, I hae been at\nTemple-bar, where I was sworn ne\u2019er to drink water, if I could get\nbetter: What do ye say, said she, about Temple-bar? A town just\nabout twa three mile and a bittock frae this: A thief ane was to\nswear there, an\u2019 it wasna\u2019 auld Willie Miller the cobler, the ill\nthief a neither minister nor magistrate ever was in\u2019t a\u2019.\n\nO but says the other lad, the Temple-bar he means by is at London.\nYea, yea, lad, an ye be cum\u2019d frae London ye\u2019re no muckle worth,\nfor the fouks there awa, is a\u2019 witches and warlocks, deils,\nbrownies and fairies.[75] We\u2019ll a wat that is true, said I, and\nthat thou shalt know, thou hard hearted wretch, who would have\npeople to starve or provoke them to steal. With that I rose and\nlifts twa or three long straws, and casting knots on them, into\nthe byre I went and throws a knotted straw to every cows stake,\nsaying, Thy days shall not be long: The wife followed, wringing her\nhands, earnestly praying for herself and all that was hers. I then\ncame out at the door, and lifted a stone, running three times round\nabout, and threw it over the house,[76] muttering some words, which\nI knew not myself, and concluding with these words, \u201cThou Monsieur\nDiable,[77] brother to Beelzebub god of Ekron, take this wife\u2019s\nkirn, butter and milk, sap and substance, without and within, so\nthat she may die in misery, as she would have others to live.\u201d[78]\n\nThe wife hearing the aforsaid sentence, clapt her hands, and called\nout another old woman as foolish as herself, who came crying after\nus to come back, back we went, when she made us eat heartily of\nbutter and cheese; then she earnestly pleaded with me to go and\nlift my cantrups, which I did, upon her promising never to deny\na hungry traveller meat nor drink, whether they had money to pay\nfor\u2019t or not: and never to serve the poor with the old proverb, Go\nhome to your own parish;[79] but give them less or more, as ye see\nthem in need. This faithfully she promisee to do while she lived,\nand with milk, we drank towards her cow\u2019s health and her own, not\nforgetting her husband and the bull\u2019s, as the one was goodman of\nthe house, and the other of the byre; and away we came in all\nhaste, lest some of a more understanding nature should come to hear\nof it, and follow after us.[80]\n\nIn a few days thereafter we came to an ale-house in a moor, far\ndistant from any other, it being a sore day of wind and rain, we\ncould not travel therefore was obliged to stay there, and the house\nbeing very throng, we could get no bed but the servant lasses,\nwhich we was to have for a pennyworth of pins and needles, and\nshe was to ly with her master and mistress: But as we were going\nto bed, in comes three Highland drovers on their way home from\nEngland; the landlord told them that the beds were all taken up\nbut one, that two chapmen was to ly in; one of them swore, his\nbroad sword should fail him, if a chapman lay there that night.\nThey took our bed, and made us sit by the fire all night: I put on\na great many peats, and when the drovers were fast asleep, I put\non a big brass pan full of water, and boiled their brogs therein,\nfor the space of half an hour, then lays them as they were, every\npair by themselves; so when they rose, every one began to chide\nanother, saying, \u201cHup, pup, ye sheing a brog,\u201d for not one of them\nwould serve a child of ten years of age, being so boil\u2019d in, the\nlandlord persuaded them that their feet was swelled with their hard\ntraveling, being so wet last night, and they would go on well\nenough if they had travelled a mile or two. Now the Highlandmen\nlaught at me the night before, when they lay down in the bed I was\nto have; but I laught as much to see them all three trot away in\nthe morning with their boil\u2019d brogs in their hands.\n\n\nPART II.\n\nWe came again to a place near Sutry-hill, where the ale was good,\nand very civil usage, and our drought being very great the more we\ndrank, the better we lov\u2019d it: and here we fell in company with a\nquack doctor, who bragged us with bottle about, for two days and\ntwo nights, only when one fell drunk, we pushed and pricked him\nwith a big prin, to keep him from sleeping. He bought of our hair,\nand we of his pills and drugs, he having as much knowledge of the\none, as we had of the other, only I was sure, I had as much as\nwould set a whole parish to the midden or mug, all at once.\n\nBut at last our money ran short, and the landlady had no chalk nor\nfaith to credit us seeing by our coats, courage, and conduct, that\nwe would little mind performance against the day of payment, so\nthen we began to turn sober and wise behind the hand, and every\none of us to seek supply from another, and when we collected all\nthe money we had amongst us, on the table, it was but fourpence\nhalfpenny, which we lovingly divided among us, but only three\nbabees a piece, and as Drouthy Tom\u2019s stock and mine was conjunct,\nwe gave the quack again his sh----g stuff and stinking drugs, and\nhe gave us our goods and hair, which we equally divided betwixt\nus, the whole of it only came to eighteen shillings and sixpence\nprime cost, and so we parted; I went for East Lothian, and Tom for\nthe West; but my sorting of goods being very unsuitable for that\ncountry, I got but little or no money, which caused me to apply\nto the goodman for to get lodging, and it being upon a Saturday\u2019s\nnight was hard to be found till very late in the night. I prevailed\nto get staying in a great farmers house, about two miles from\nHaddington; they were all at supper when I went in; I was ordered\nto sit down behind their backs, the goodwife then took a dish, went\nround the servants, and collected a soup out of every cog,[81]\nwhich was sufficient to have served three men; the goodwife ordered\nme to be laid in the barn all night for my bed, but the bully-fac\u2019d\ngoodman swore he had too much stuff in it, to venture me there,\nthe goodwife said I should not ly within the house, for I would\nbe o\u2019er near the lasses bed, then the lads swore I should not go\nwith them,[82] for I was a forjesket like fellow, and (wha kens\nwhether I was honest or not) he may fill his wallet wi\u2019 our cloaths\nand gang his wa\u2019 or day light. At last I was conducted out to the\nswine\u2019s stye, to sleep with an old sow and seven pigs, and there I\nlay for two nights[83] In the night the young pigs came gruzling\nabout me very kindly, thinking I was some friend of their mother\u2019s\ncome to visit them; they gave me but little rest, always coming\nkissing me with their cold noses, which caused me to beat them off\nwith my staff, which made them to make a terrible noise, so that\ntheir old mother came up to argue the matter, running upon me with\nopen mouth, but I gave her such a rout over her long snout, which\ncaused her to roar out murder in her own language that alarmed\nthe servants where they lay, who came to see what was the matter,\nI told them, their old sow was going to swallow me up alive, bid\nthem to go and bring her meat, which they did, and the brute became\npeaceable.\n\nOn the Sabbath morning I came into the house, the goodman asked\nme if I could shave any, yes, said I, but never did on the\nSabbath-day. I fancy, said he, you are some Westland Whig?[84]\nSaid I, you may suppose me to be what you think proper to day, but\nyesternight you used me like a Tory, when you sent me into a stye\nto ly in your sow\u2019s oxter, who is a fitter companion for a devil,\nthan any human creature, the abominablest brute upon the earth,\nsaid I, who was forbidden to be eaten under the law, and cursed\nunder the gospel[85]: Be they curs\u2019d or be they bless\u2019d said he, I\nwish I had anew of them; but an\u2019 ye will not tak aff my beard, ye\u2019s\nget nae meat here the day; then said I, if you will give me meat\nand drink for money, until the Sabbath be past, I\u2019ll take on my\nwallat, and go along with you to the kirk, and tell your minister\nhow you used me as a hog. No said the goodwife, you shall not want\nyour crowdie man. But my heart being full of sorrow and revenge, a\nfew of them sufficed me.\n\nOn the morning I went into the house, the goodman ordered me\nthe pottage pot to lick, for, says he it is an old property to\nchapmen. Well I had no sooner begun to it, then out came a great\nbig mastiff dog from below the bed, and grips me by the breast,\nthen turns me over upon my back, and takes the pot himself; Ay, ay,\nsaid the goodman I think your brother pot-licker and you cannot\nagree about your breakfast? A well said I, goodman, you said that\npot-licking was a chapman\u2019s property, but your dog proves the\ncontrary: So away I comes and meeting the goodwife at the door,\nbids her farewel for ever; but what said I is your husband\u2019s name?\nto which she answered, John Swine, I was thinking so, said I, he\nhas such dirty fashions: but whether was yon his mother or his\nsister, I lay with these two nights.\n\nAll that day I travelled the country west from Haddington, but\ncould get no meat; when I asked if they had any to sell, they told\nme, they never did sell any bread, and I found by sad experience,\nthey had none to give for nothing. I came unto a little country\nvillage, and went through it all, house after house, and could get\nneither bread nor ale to buy; At last I came to a poor weavers\nhouse, and asked him if he could lend me a hammer? Yes, said he,\nWhat are you going to do with it? Indeed said I, I am going to\nknock out all my teeth with it, for I can get no bread to buy in\nall this country, for all the stores and stacks you have in it:\nWhat said he, was you in the minister\u2019s? I know not said I, does\nhe keep an ale-house? O na, said he, he preaches every Sunday: and\ndoes he preach, said I? is it to harden your hearts? haud well\ntogether? have no charity? hate strangers? hunger the poor? eat and\ndrink all yourselves? better burst your bellies then give it to\nbeggars, or let good meat spoil[86]: if your minister be as naughty\nas his people, I\u2019m positive he\u2019ll drive a louse to London for the\nhide and tallow. Here I bought the weaver\u2019s dinner for twopence,\nand then set out again, keeping my course westward. It being now\nnight, I came to a farmer\u2019s house south from Dalkieth, the goodman\nbeing very civil, and desirous of news, I related the whole\npassages of two days and nights by-past; whereat he was greatly\ndiverted, and said, I was the first he heard of, that ever that man\ngave quarters to before, though he was an elder of the parish. So\nthe goodman and I fell so thick, that he ordered me to be laid on\na shake down bed beyond the fire, where I lay more snug than among\nthe swine.\n\nNow there was three women lying in a bed in the same apartment,\nand they not minding that I was there, first one of them rose and\nlet her water go in below the chimney-grate, where I had a perfect\nview of her bonny-thing, as the coal-fire burnt so clearly all the\nnight, then another rose and did the same, last of all got up the\nold matron, as she appear\u2019d to be, like a second-handed goodwife,\nor a whirl\u2019d o\u2019er maiden, six times overturned, and as she let her\ndam go, she also with full force, when done, let a fart like the\nblast of a trumpet, which made the dust on the hearth-stone to fly\nup like mist about her arse, whereat I was forc\u2019d to laugh out,\nwhich made her run for it, but to smother the laughter I stapt the\nblankets in my mouth; she went to bed and waken\u2019d the other two\nsaying, O dole! what will I tell you? yon chapman has seen a\u2019 our\na--ses the night; shame fa\u2019 him, said they, for we had nae mind\nhe was there: I wat well, says one of them, I\u2019se no rise till he\nbe awa\u2019, but said the old woman, gin he has seen mine, I cannot\nhelp it, it\u2019s just like other folks, and fin\u2019t a hair care I. In\nthe morning the old matron got up first and ordered up the house,\nthen told me to rise now for chapmen and every body was up, then\nshe asked me if I had an use of laughing in my sleep? Yes, said I,\nwhen I see any daft like thing I can look and laugh at it, as well\nsleeping as walking; A good preserve us, said she, ye\u2019re an unco\nbody, but ye needna wait on our porridge time, I\u2019se gie you cheese\nand bread in your pouch, which I willingly accepted, and away I\ncame.\n\nThen I kept my course west by the Pentland hills, where I got\nplenty of hair,[87] good and cheap, besides a great quantity of\nold brass, which was an excellent article to make my little pack\nseem big and weighty. Then I came into a little country village,\nand going in by the side of the house, there was a great big cat\nsitting in a weaver\u2019s window, beiking herself in the sun, and\nwashing her face with her feet: I takes her a civil nap on the\nnose, which made her turn back in through the window, and the\nweaver having a plate full of hot pottage in the innerside to cool,\npoor badrons ran through the middle of them, burnt her feet, and\nthrew them all to the ground, ran thro\u2019 the house, crying fire\nand murder in her own language, which caused the weary wicked\nwebster to come running to the door, where he attacked me in a\nfurious rage, and I to avoid the first shock, fled to the top\nof the midden, where endeavouring to give me a kick, I catched\nhim by the foot, and tumbled him back over into the dirty midden\ndub,[88] where both his head and shoulders went under dirt and\nwater; but before I could recover my elwand or arms, the wicked\nwife and her twa sons was upon me in all quarters, the wife hung in\nmy hair, while the two sons boxed me about and before, and being\nthus over-powered by numbers, I was fairly beat of by this wicked\nwebster, his troops being so numerous.\n\nThe same day as I was going up to a country house, I met on the\nway a poor beggar wife with a boy, who was both of them bitten\nin different places by a big mastiff dog, they persuaded me to\nturn back, but I said I should first see him: so up I goes to the\nside of a hedge, and cuts a long bramble full of prickles, which\nI carried in my left hand, with my sturdy staff in the right; and\nas I came near the house, Mr. Youffer came roaring upon me like a\nlion, he being a tyke of such a monstrous size, frighted me so that\nI ran back; but he pursued me so hard, I was forced to face about,\nand holding out the briar to him, which he gripped in his mouth,\nand then I stripped it through his mouth, and gave him a hearty\nblow upon his ear with my rung, which made him go tumbling to his\nmaster\u2019s door, and when he got up he could not fight any, his mouth\nbeing so full of prickles by the biting of the briar, which caused\nhim go about yuling and rubbing his mouth with his foot, the people\nof the house came running to bite me, but my briar had bitten him;\nthey then called him in, and fell to picking the pricks out of his\ntongue.\n\n\nPART III.\n\nI travelled then west by Falkirk, by the foot of the great hills;\nand one night after I had got lodging in a farmer\u2019s house, there\nhappened a contest between the goodman and his mother, he being a\nyoung man unmarried, as I understood, and formerly their sowens had\nbeen that thin, so the goodman being a sworn birley-man[89] of that\nbarony, came to survey the sowens before they went on the fire, and\nactually swore they were o\u2019er thin, and she swore by her conscience\nthey would be thick enough if ill hands and ill een[90] baed awa\u2019\nfrom them: A sweet be here mither, said he, do ye think that\nI\u2019m a witch? Witch here or witch there, said the wife, swearing\nby her saul, and that was nae banning, she said they\u2019ll be good\nsubstantial meat, a\u2019 what say ye chapman? indeed goodwife, said\nI, sowens is but saft meat at the best; but if ye make them thick\nenough, and put a good lump of butter in them, they\u2019ll do very\nwell for a supper: I true sae lad, said she, ye hae some sense; so\nthe old woman put on the pot with her sowens, and went to milk her\ncows, leaving me to steer; the goodman her son, as soon as she went\nout, took a great cog full of water and put it into the pot amongst\nthe sowens, and then went out of the house, and left me alone: I\nconsidered what sort of a pish the bed supper I was to get if I\nstaid there, I thought to set out, but takes up the pitcher with\nwater, and fills up the pot until it was running over, and then\ntakes up my pack and comes about a mile farther that night, leaving\nthe honest woman and her son, to sup their watery witch\u2019t sowens at\ntheir own leisure.\n\nI then turned towards the east, through a place called Slamanen,\nand was lodged one night near a place called Tod\u2019s bughts, where\nthere was a boul-horn\u2019d goodwife, but a very civil goodman, when\nI went in, she took up a dish from the dog wherein was a few he\nhad left, and with a collection more from other cogs, she offered\nthem to me, which I refused, \u2019m, said she, ye\u2019re a lordly sort of\na chapman indeed; so I began to divert the goodman, by telling\nhim a deal of fine stories to make him laugh, but could not get\nnear the fire, at last said, O goodwife, I\u2019ll tell you news; ay,\nchapman, what\u2019s that, said she? indeed my feet\u2019s very cauld, said\nI, whereat they all laught but the goodwife, she gloom\u2019d until the\nrest was done, and then took a laugh at it herself: So the goodman\nordered the Johnies, Jamies and Jennies with their wheels to sit\nabout; then I was set beyond the fire, and preferred to steer their\nsowens, but when they were ready and put up in dishes, the goodwife\norder\u2019d one of the lads to take a pair of old blankets and two\nsacks, and shew me where I was to ly in the barn: Ho, ho, thinks I,\nthere\u2019s no supper for me, but I\u2019ll remember this, to pay her stock\nand annual. So I went to the barn and lay till next morning, about\nChapman\u2019s rising time, when pottage was ready, and then gives the\nwife a fine cotton lace and a few pins, which pleased her so well,\nthat she went through the cogs and collected about a mutchkin of\npottage for me, for which I thanked her: \u201cAwat well lad, said she,\nan ye be coming buy ony time, ye\u2019s be welcome to a night o\u2019 our\nbarn, for ye hae na steal\u2019d naething,\u201d thanks to you goodwife, said\nI, that\u2019s very fair; \u201cIndeed lad \u2019tis no every ane we\u2019ll trust wi\u2019\nour new barn, farfore sud we?\u201d O goodwife, it wad be a great thief\nthat wad run awa\u2019 wi\u2019 a barn on his back I wonder ye let it stand\nout all night: Hute awa\u2019 ye daft body, how can we get it in, ke\nawa\u2019 chapman ye\u2019re joking me now.\n\nI then took a turn round the country for two weeks, and then came\nback to be avenged on the naughty wife and her sowens, it being\nvery dark or I came in, the goodwife did not know me, but made her\nspeech as follows: \u201cIndeed, says she, ye\u2019s no be here, for there\nis so many thieves and robbers gawn a-thort the kintry, an our\ngoodman\u2019s no at hame; is thou honest enough?\u201d I can want nothing of\nmy honesty goodwife; but did you ever see any people gawn thro\u2019 the\ncountry, telling they were thieves? \u201cNa, a wat well no, said she.\u201d\nThen, said I, I\u2019m sure I did not take away your barn on my back the\nlast time I was here; \u201cYee lad, said she, are ye the chapman that\ncracket sae well to our goodman? come in by, ye\u2019s get a night o\u2019\nthe barn yet;\u201d thanks to you goodwife and we sud get nae mair. I\nthen being preferred to my old seat and got the sowens to steer,\nuntil they were near ready, when the goodwife ordered the lad to\ntake the old blankets, and shew me to my bed in the barn; I then\ngave the sowens their last turn, and having about the bigness of a\nnut of C--l S--p, drops it into the pot, then went off to bed in\nthe barn as fast as I could, and made fast both the doors within,\nlest the bewitched sowens out of the pot should attack me in my\nsleep: Next morning when I came in, the goodwife began to pray for\nherself and all that she had, saying, \u201cIt\u2019s Wednesday thro\u2019 a\u2019 the\nwarld and good be between you and me chapman, for ye\u2019re either a\nwitch or a warlock, or something that\u2019s no canny, for ye witch\u2019t\nour sowens last night, for they gaed mad, rag\u2019d out o\u2019 the pot,\nbelling and bizing like barm, I thought they wad run out to the\nbarn to you, see how they fill\u2019d up my milk tub, and a\u2019 the dishes\nin the house is fu\u2019 o\u2019 them.\u201d Dear goodwife, said I, they were very\ngood when I left them, tho\u2019 I did not prie them, and wish\u2019d them as\nmuch good of them as I got, but certainly they\u2019re not witcht, but a\nblessing in them, when they are so multiplied: \u201cGae awa, cried she,\nin a passion, ye\u2019re no canny, ye\u2019se ne\u2019er be here again:\u201d I need\nnot value that, said I, for I have nothing to thank you for, but my\ndinner, supper, and breakfast, and for a night o\u2019 your barn, I\u2019ll\npay it when I come back: \u201cAy, ay, said she, ye need nae thank me\nfor what ye did not get:\u201d that\u2019s not my fault goodless good, said\nI, prosperity to you and your witcht sowens.[91]\n\nThe next little town I came to, and the first house which I\nentered, the wife cried out, \u201cplague on your snout sir, ye filthy\nblackguard chapman like b--h it ye are, the last time ye came here\nye gard our Sandy burn the good bane kame it I gade a sax pence in\nFalkirk, ay did ye, and sae did ye, and sae did ye een, and said,\nye wad gie him a muckle clear button to do it:\u201d Me, said I, I never\nhad ado with you all the days of my life, and do not say that Sandy\nis mine: \u201cA wae wirth the body am I saying ye had ado wi\u2019 me, I\nwadna hae ado wi\u2019 the like o\u2019 you nor I am sure wi\u2019 them I never\nsaw.\u201d But what about the button and the bane kame goodwife? Sannock\nis na this the man? Ay is\u2019t cried the boy, gie me my button, for I\nburnt the kame, and she paid[92] me for\u2019t, Gae awa\u2019 sir, said I,\nyour mother and you is but mocking me; it was either you or ane\nlike you, or some ither body. O goodwife, I mind wha\u2019 it is now,\nit\u2019s ane just like me, when ye see the taen ye see the tither, they\nca\u2019 him Jock Jimpither: A wae worth him quo\u2019 the wife, if I winna\nthrapple him for my good bane comb. Now said I, good wife be good,\nbridle your passion, and buy a bane comb and colour\u2019d napkin, I\u2019ll\ngie you a whaken penny-worth will gar you sing in your bed, If I\nshould sell you the tae half, and gift you the tither, and gar you\npay for every inch of it sweetly or a\u2019 be done: Hech man, said\nshe, ye\u2019re a hearty fallow, and I hae need o\u2019 a\u2019 these things, for\nour Sannock\u2019s head is a\u2019 hotchen, and our John\u2019s is little better,\nfor an\u2019 let them alane but ae eight days, they\u2019ll grow as grit as\ngrosets. And here I sold a bone comb and a napkin, for she believed\nsuch a douse lad as I, had no hand in making her boy burn the bone\ncomb.\n\nThe next house I came into, there was a very little taylor, sitting\non a table like a t--d on a truncher, with his legs plet over\nother, made me imagine he was a sucking three footed taylor, first\nI sold him a thimble, and then he wanted needles, which I showed\nhim one paper after another, he looking their eyes and trying\ntheir nebs in his sleeve, dropt the ones he thought proper on the\nground between his feet, where he sat in a dark corner near the\nfire, thinking I would not perceive him: O, said he, them needles\nof yours is not good man, I\u2019ll no buy any of them, I do no not\nthink you need, said I, taking them out of his hand, and lights a\ncandle was standing near by, come, said I, sit about you thieving\ndog till I gather up my needles, gathers up ten of them, come said\nhe, I\u2019ll buy twal-penny\u2019s worth of them, since I troubled you sae\nmuckle; no, said I, you lazie dog, I\u2019ll sell you none, if there\u2019s\nany on the ground, seek them up and stap them in a beast\u2019s a--se,\nbut if ye were a man I would burn thee in the fire, tho\u2019 it be in\nyour own house, but as your a poor taylor and neither man nor boy,\nI\u2019ll do nothing but expose you for what you are. O dear honest\nchapman, cried his wife, ye mauna do that and I\u2019ll gie you cheese\nand bread. No, no, you thieves, I\u2019m for nothing but vengeance; no\nbribes, for such: So as I was lifting my pack, there was a pretty\nblack cat which I spread over with my napkin, and took the four\ncorners in my hand, carrying her as a bundle, untill I came about\nthe middle of the town, then provoking the dogs to an engagement\nwith me, so that there came upon me four or five collies, then I\nthrew the poor taylor\u2019s cat in the midst of them, there a terrible\nbattle ensued for some time, and badrons had certainly died on the\nfield had I not interposed, and got her off mortally wounded; the\npeople who saw the battle, alarmed the taylor, and he sallied out\nlike a champion with his elwand in his hand, go back, said I, you\nlousie dog, or I\u2019ll tell about the needles, at which word he turned\nabout. I went to an ale-house to get some breakfast, there they\nasked me where I was all night, as it was usual for chapmen to get\nmeat where they lodged, I told where it was, but would take none\nof their meat, they seem to me not to be canny, for this morning\nthey were making ropes of cold sowens to crown their stacks wi: Gae\nawa\u2019, cried the wife, I cannot believe it. Die in your ignorance\nfor me: The wife sent away her son to see if it was so, but or he\ncame back I set out, and travelled down the side of a water called\nEvan: and as I was coming past a mill dam, there was a big clownish\nfellow lifting a pitcher of water out of the dam, so as he dipt\nit full and set down on the ground, staring at me, he tumbled in\nhimself out of sight o\u2019er head and ears, and as soon as he got\nout, I said, Yo ho friend, Did you get the fish? What an\u2019 a fish\nye b--h, O said I, I thought ye, seen a fish, when you jumped in\nto make it jump out: What a d--l sir, are you mocking me? runs\nround his pitcher, and gives me a kick on the a--se, so that I fell\ndesignedly on his pitcher, and tumbling it down the bank, went in\npieces, his master and another man looking and laughing at us, the\npoor fellow complained of me to him, but got no satisfaction.\n\nThe same evening, as I was going towards the town of Linlithgow,\nmeets an old crabet fellow riding upon an old glaied mare, which\nhe always was a threshing upon with his stick: Goode\u2019en to you\ngoodman, said I, are you going to the bull wi\u2019 your mare? What\ndo ye say sir, they gang to the bull wi\u2019 a cow ye brute. O yes\ngoodman, ye are right, said I, but how do they call that he beast\nthat rides on the mare\u2019s back, they ca\u2019t a cusser sir, a well then\ngoode\u2019en to you Master Cusser. He rides a little bit, then turns\nback in a rage, saying, I say sir, your last words are war nor your\nfirst, he comes then at the flight to ride me down, but I struck\nhis beast on the face, and in the short turn about it fell, yet\nor I got my pack to the ground, he cutted me on the head at the\nfirst stroke, and then getting clear of the pack, played it away\nfor some time, till by blows on the face, I made him blood at both\nmouth and nose; then he cried out, chapman, we are baith daft, for\nwe\u2019ll kill oursells and make nothing o\u2019t, we had better gree, with\nall my heart, said I, and what will ye buy? nothing but a pair of\nbeard sheers, said he, and give me them cheap, so I sold him a pair\nof sheers for three half-pence, and gave him a needle, then parted\ngood friends after the battle was over.\n\nSo I went to Linlithgow that night, where I met with Drouthy Tom my\ndear companion, and here we had a most terrible encounter with the\ntipenny for two nights and a day, and then we set out for Fife on\nthe hair order, by way of Torryburn and Culross and coming up to a\nparcel of women washing by a water side, I buys one of their hairs,\nthe time I was cutting it off, Tom fell a courting and kissing a\ngirl among them, but she fell to crying against him, saying ye have\nput your hands a-tween my feet; cries an old wife, mony a ane has\ntaen me by there, and I ne\u2019er said a word about it, a-wheen daft\njades, canna ye had your tongues whan its to your shame ye speak;\ngae wa\u2019, cried the lass the filthy body at he is, the last chapman\nthat kist me had a horse-pack, but he\u2019ll hae naething in his but\na whisp of strae, some auld breeks, hare skins, maukin skins, ony\nthing that fills the bag and bears bouk, and yet he would kiss and\nhandle me, hech I was made for a better fallow, ane of them came by\nae day, and sell\u2019d our Meg twa ell and a quarter o\u2019 linnen to be\nher bridal sark, for he had nae mair, and when she made it, and put\nit on, it wadna hide her hech, hech, he.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_LEPER THE TAYLOR._\n\n\n  [The following pages contain a reprint of a chap-book which had\n  a long run of popularity. The edition followed bears this on\n  the title-page:--\u2018Fun upon Fun: or, the Comical Merry Tricks\n  of Leper the Taylor. Stirling: Printed and sold by C. Randall,\n  MDCCXCIX.\u2019 It consists of 16 pp., and each of the two parts has a\n  title-page.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMICAL TRICKS OF LEPER THE TAYLOR.[93]\n\n\nPART I.\n\nLeper\u2019s father lived in a village about six miles from Glasgow,\nand died when Leper was but very young, he left a widow and three\nchildren, two daughters and a son, and Leper being the youngest,\nwas greatly idolized by his mother, who was a good soft natured\nwoman, very industrious, and followed the business of bleaching of\ncloth.\n\nAs Leper grew up, he turned a very mischievous boy, playing tricks\non the neighbourhood, such as tying cats to dogs-tails, breaking\nhen\u2019s legs, stoping people\u2019s lumbs or chimney-tops; so that his\npoor mother was sadly vex\u2019d with complaints against him.\n\nTo get him kept from mischief, she prevailed with a taylor to take\nhim an apprentice, he settled and was very peaceable for some time,\nuntil he had got so much of the trade on his finger-ends as he\nmight pass for a journey-man, and then he was indifferent whether\nhe stayed with his master or not; his mistress gave him but very\nlittle meat when they wrought at home, so he loved best to be in\nother houses, where he got both meat and diversion.[94]\n\nLeper being resolved on revenge against his mistress, for her thin\nkail, no kitchen and little bread; for tho\u2019 flesh was boiled in\nthe pot, none for poor Leper and his master, but a little bit on\nSabbaths, and all the bones were kept, and put in the pot, to make\nthe broth thro\u2019 the week. Leper perceived always when she took off\nthe pot, she turned her back to them and took out the flesh, and\nset it on a shelf within her own bed;[95] one night after work,\nhe steals out a pan, cuts a piece of flesh out of a dead horse,\nthen goes to a lime kiln and boils it; next day his master being\nfrom home, his landlady and him being in the house, after she had\nset off the pot as usual, and taken out her bit of good beef, he\ngoes out for some time, and then comes in, saying, The minister\u2019s\nlass is wanting you to go directly and speak to her mistress, away\nshe goes in all haste, Leper runs and takes away her bit of good\nbeef, and lays down his horse-flesh, and knowing she would soon\nreturn in a passion, and sit down with a sosse in her cushion\u2019d\nchair as she used, he takes a large prin and staps it straight up\nthrough the cushion, with its head on the chair and the point to\nher back-side: in she comes in a rage, and down she sits with all\nher weight on the prin point, and she roars out, Murder, murder,\nfor she was sticket through the a--se, the neighbours came running\nin, and Leper got out with his bit of good beef, leaving the wives\nto doctor his landlady\u2019s doup as they pleased; he still denied the\ndoing of it, and his master believed it might happen accidentally,\nbut the Houdie was very often to be had before the hole was got\nheal again; and his landlady by eating of that horse-beef, took a\nloathing at flesh, so Leper and his master got all the beef to eat\never after, and his landlady turned one of the kindest mistresses a\nprentice could wish for.\n\nThere was a neighbour wife on which Leper used to play tricks\nsometimes, for which she came and complained to his master, and\ngot him severely beaten[96] several times: Leper resolved to be\nrevenged on her, so one day he came to the back-side of her house,\n(no body being within but herself) and took up a big stone, and\nruns it along the rough wall with all his force, which roared like\nthunder in the inside of the house, and frightened the wife so,\nthat she thought the house was tumbling down about her ears, upon\nwhich she ran out and sat down at a distance, looking when the\nhouse would fall down, till her husband came home, to whom she told\nthe above story, \u2018Hout daft Taupie, said he, the house will stand\nthese hundred years,\u2019 so by his persuasion they both went into the\nhouse, Leper (knowing they were both in) comes back and plays the\nsame trick over again, which frighted the goodman also so much,\nthat he cried out, \u2018Run Maggy run, for my heart plays a\u2019 pitty\npatty,\u2019 and they would not lodge in the house any more, till the\nmasons convinced them of its sufficiency.\n\nThere was another neighbour who had a snarling curr dog, which bit\nLeper\u2019s leg; Leper resolved to be revenged on the dog, and so,\none night he catches the dog and carries him to the kirk, where\nthe rope of the bell hang upon the outside, so with his garter he\ntied the dog\u2019s fore-foot to the rope, and left him hanging; the\ndog struggling to get free, set the bell a ringing, which alarmed\nthe whole village, every one cried out, \u2018Wonderful sirs! Wonderful\nsirs![97] the de\u2019il is ringing the bell.\u2019 When they saw the black\ncolley hanging the rope, I true it set the minister and all the\npeople to their prayers:[98] but Leper fearing he would be found\nout by his garter, came to the minister\u2019s side and asked the\nreverend gentleman, what was the matter? Indeed my bairn (said he)\nit\u2019s the de\u2019il ringing the kirk-bell; says Leper, I\u2019ll go and see\nhim, for I never saw the de\u2019il; the minister cry\u2019d, Stop that mad\nladdie, but Leper ran and loused the dog, crying, It\u2019s such a man\u2019s\ndog, which had the rope in his teeth, they all cried out, \u2018The\nde\u2019il is in the dog, the de\u2019il is in the dog,\u2019 took up some stones\nand fell\u2019d poor colley, and the de\u2019il got the blame of making the\ndog ring the bell, this spread Leper\u2019s fame for being one of the\nwisest and most couragious taylors that was in all the kingdom; and\nmany shaking their heads, said, \u2018It was a pity he was a taylor, but\na captain or general of an army, as the devil could not fear him.\u2019\n\nAfter this a farmer in the neighbourhood, hearing the fame of\nLeper, how he had frighted the de\u2019il frae being a bell-man, sent\nfor him to an ale-house, and drank with him very heartily, and told\nhim he was sadly born down with the spirit of jealousy against his\nwife, on suspicion of being too free with a servant-lad she had\nbefore, and if he would keep it secret, and learn him how to find\nit out, he would give his mother a load of meal, to which Leper\nand him agrees, so he gave the poor supposed cockold instructions\nhow to behave. So home he goes and feigns himself to be very sick,\nand every day worse and worse, taking death to him, blesses his\nthree small children, and charges his wife not to marry until his\nchildren could do something for themselves: This hypocritical\nwoman takes the roaring, a-ha, marry, she would never marry! No,\nno, there should never man ly by her side, nor kiss her lips after\nthee, my lamb Johnny----Then he acted the dying man as well as\npossibly he could, the neighbours were called in, and he\u2019s fair\no\u2019erseen[99] as the old saying is, Before good neighbours; the\nsorrowful widow made a sad lament, wrung her hands, and tearing\nher hair,----the reverend women[100] about began to dress the\ncorpse, asked her for a shirt, ay, ay, said she, He has twa new\nlinen sarks, and there is an auld ane in the bottom of the kist\nit nae body can wear, just take it, ony thing is good enough for\nthe grave; well, said they, we must have some linen for a winding\nsheet, a\u2019well, co\u2019 she, I ha\u2019 twa cut o\u2019 linen in the kist, but\nthere is a pair of auld linen sheets hol\u2019d in the mids, may do\nwell enough, I had need to be carefu\u2019, I\u2019m a poor widow the day,\nwi\u2019 three sma\u2019 bairns. Awell, the corpse is dress\u2019d, and laid on\nthe top of a big chest, while the neighbours sat by her condoling\nher misfortune, and wondering how the funeral raisins were to be\nprovided; said one, the coffin must be seen about first. Ay, ay,\nsaid she, he has some new deals in the barn he bought to mak a bed\no\u2019, but we\u2019ll no break them, there is the auld barn-door and the\nchaff-kist will do well enough, ony thing\u2019s good enough to gang to\nthe grave; but O, co\u2019 she, send for Sandy my honest auld servant,\nand he\u2019ll see every thing right done, I\u2019ll tell him where he\u2019ll\nget siller to do ony thing wi\u2019, he\u2019s the lad it will not see me\nwrang\u2019d; then Sandy comes wrying his face and rubbing his eyes, O\nSandy, there is a sad alteration here, and ba-a-a she cries like\na bitten calf, O sirs, will ye gang a\u2019 butt the house till I tell\nSandy what to do; butt they goes, and there she fell a kissing\nof Sandy, and said, Now my dear, the auld channering ghaist is\nawa,\u2019 and we\u2019ll get our will o\u2019 ither; be as haining of every\nthing as you can, for thou kens it\u2019s a\u2019 thy ain; but the corpse\u2019s\nsister and some other people came in, and ben they came to see the\ncorpse, lifts the cloth off his face, and seeing him all in a pour\nof sweat, said, Hegh, he\u2019s a bonny corp,[101] and a lively like\ncolour, when he could no longer contain to carry on the joke, but\nup he got amongst them, a deal of the people ran for it, and his\nwife cried out, O my dear, do ye ken me? Ay ye base jade and whore,\nbetter than ever I did. Jumps on to the floor and gets his staff,\nand runs after Sandy, and catches him in the fields a little from\nthe house, gives him a hearty beating, never tell\u2019d him for what;\nreturns to the house, ate and drank with his sister and neighbours\nwho had come to see his corpse; poor Sandy went home with a skinful\nof terror, and a sorting of sore bones, took a sore fever, and died\nin a few days after, so he got quit of his cockler, and Leper\u2019s\nmother got her meal.\n\nLeper\u2019s mother was a careful industrious wife, but as the by-word\nis \u2018A working mother makes a daly daughter,\u2019 and so it happened\nhere, for she had two idle glaket sluts of daughters, that would\ndo nothing but ly in their bed in the morning, till (as the saying\nis) \u2018The sun was like to burn a hole in their backsides;\u2019 the old\nwoman being at this time busy bleaching some cloth, was very early\nat work in the mornings, and Leper\u2019s patience was worn out with the\nlaziness of his two sisters, and he resolved to play a trick on\nthem for their reformation; so he goes and gets a mortcloth[102]\nand spreads it upon the bed above them, and sends the dead\nbell[103] thro\u2019 the town, inviting the people to his sisters\u2019\nburial the next day, at four o\u2019clock afternoon, for they had died\nsuddenly; this brought all the neighbour-wives in, who one after\nanother lifted the mortcloth, and said with a great sigh, \u2018They\u2019re\ngone to their rest, a sudden call indeed!\u2019 Their aunt hearing of\nthis sudden news, came running in all haste, and coming through the\ngreen where the jades mother was at work, who was ignorant of the\nstory, she cries out, \u2018Fy upon you, woman, fy upon you,\u2019 says she.\nWhat\u2019s the matter, sister? What\u2019s the matter? \u2018I think ye may let\nyour work stand for ae day, when your daughters are lying corpse.\u2019\nMy bairns corpse! I am certain they went to bed heal and fair last\nnight. But I tell you (says the other) the dead bell has been\nthrough the town, warning the folk to the burial, then the mother\ncries out, \u2018O the villain, O the villain, that he did not send me\nword.\u2019 So they both ran, and the mother as soon as she entered the\nhouse, flies into the bed, crying, \u2018O my bairns, my dear bairns!\u2019\non which the sluts rises up in a consternation, to the great\nsurprize of the beholders, and to the great diversion of the whole\ntown, and to the great mortification of girls, who thought shame to\nset their noses out of doors.\n\nLeper and his master went to a gentleman\u2019s house to work, where\nthere was a saucy house-keeper, who had more ignorance and\npride, than good sense and manners; she domineered over her\nfellow-servants in a tyrannical manner; Leper resolved to mortify\nher pride; so he finds an ant\u2019s nest, and takes their white\neggs, grinds them to a powder, and puts them into the dish her\nsupper-sowens was to be put in. After she had taken her supper,\nas she was covering the table, the imock-powder began to operate,\nand she let a great fart, well done Margaret, says the laird, she\nruns away for shame, but before she turned herself round, she gives\nanother raird. My faith, says the Laird, Margaret, your arse would\ntake a cautioner; before she got out of the chamber-door, she lets\nfly another crack; then she goes to order her fellow-servant to\ngive the laird his supper, but before she could give the necessary\ndirections, she gave fire again, which set them all a laughing; she\nruns into a room by herself, and there she played away her one gun\nbattery so fast, as she had been sieging the Havannah. The laird\nand lady came to hear the fun, they were like to split their sides\nat proud Maggy, so next morning she left the place, to the great\njoy of her fellow servants.\n\n\n(The end of the First Part.)\n\n  N.B.--In the Second Part, will be a deal of very diverting\n  Stories done by LEPER, when he was a Journeyman and Master.\n\n\nPART II.[104]\n\nLeper\u2019s Landlady became very harsh to his Master, and very often\nabused him exceeding sore with both tongue and hands, and always\nchided upon him for more money, and to have all the money in her\nkeeping, which Leper was very sorry for. It so happened on a day,\nafter the Taylor had got a hearty drubbing with tongue and tongs,\nthat he pouch\u2019d his thimble, and was going to make a Queen of her?\nwhen she saw that, she cried out, \u2018O will you leave me, a poor\ntender, dying woman?\u2019 But Leper knowing the cause of her cursed\nill-nature better than his Master did, advised him to take her on\na fine day, like a mile out of town, and give her a walk, and he\nwould stay at home, and study a remedy for her disorder.----Away\nthey goes, but as she was always complaining of her health, and\nthat she was very weak, she cry\u2019d out frequently, \u2018O it is a crying\nsin to take a woman in my condition out o\u2019er a door.\u2019 During their\nabsence, Leper goes and searches her bed, and below the bolster\nhe gets a bottle of rare whisky, of which he takes a hearty pull,\nand then pisses in it to make it up again, gets a halfpenny worth\nof snuff and puts it in also, shakes all together, and so sets it\nin its place again. Home they came again, and she was exceedingly\ndistressed as a woman could be, and cry\u2019d out, \u2018It was a horrid\nthing to take her out of a house.\u2019 The taylor seeing her so bad,\nthought she would have died, and ran as fast as he could and\nbrought her a dram, but she in her hypocrisy pretended she could\nnot take it, and called him to help her to bed. Into her bed he\nlays her, and he was not well gone until she fell to her bottle,\ntaking two or three hearty gluts, then she roars out murder, for\nshe was poisoned, she was poisoned. Bocking and purging began,\nand the neighbours are called in, she leaves her blood on poor\nLeper, and tells how such an honest woman brought her ae bottle\nas another was done, and the murdering lown had stole it, and put\nin a bottle of poison instead of it. Leper took to his heels, but\nwas pursued and carried before a Justice of the Peace, where he\ntold what he had done, which made the Justice laugh heartily at the\njoke, and the Taylor\u2019s wife was well purged both from her feigned\nsickness, laziness, and cursed ill nature, for always when she\nbegan to curl her nose for the future, the Taylor had no more to\nsay, \u2018But, Maggy, Maggy, mind the bottle.\u2019\n\nLeper was working with a master taylor in Glasgow, who hungered his\nmen, and one morning just as the breakfast was set on the table,\nin comes a gentleman to try on a suit of clothes, the Master being\nobliged to rise, desired the lads to say the grace themselves,\nevery one refused it, and put it to his neighbour, till Leper took\nit, and said as follows, with an audible voice, that the stranger\ngentleman might overhear him; \u201cOh, hoch, we are a parcel of poor\nbeastly bodies, and we\u2019re as beastly guided, if we do not work we\nget nothing to eat, yet we are always eating and always fretting,\nfidging and half fasting is like to be our fortune, scartings and\nscrapings are the most of our mouthfu\u2019s; we would fain thank thee\nfor thy fulness if ever it were so, but the rest of our benefactors\nare not worth the acknowledging, hech hey, Amen,\u201d which made the\ngentleman laugh till he held his sides, and gave Leper half a crown\nto drink.\n\nLeper was not long done with his apprenticeship till he set up\nfor himself, and got a journeyman and an apprentice, was coming\ninto very good business, and had he restrained his roguish tricks\nmight have done very well. He and his lads being employed to work\nin a farmer\u2019s house, where the goodwife was a great miser, and not\nvery cleanly in making ready of meat, and snivel\u2019d greatly when\nshe spoke. In the morning when she went to make their pottage, she\nmade a fashion of washing the pot, which to appearance seemed to\nhim to be among the first pots that had been made; then she set it\ndown before the fire till she went to the well, in which time Leper\nlooking into it, sees two great holes in the bottom stopped with\nclouts, he takes up his goose, and holds it as high as his head,\nthen lets it fall into the pot, which knocked out the bottom of it;\npresently in comes the wife with the water, and pours it into the\npot, which set the fire-side all in a dam, for still as she poured\nit in, it ran out, the wife being short-sighted, or what they call\nsand-blind, looks into the pot, holds up both her hands and cries,\n\u201cThe losh preserve me, sirs, for the grip atween the twa holes is\nbroken;\u201d says Leper the pot was old enough, but do you not ken that\ntaylor\u2019s pottage is heavier than other mens: indeed lad, said she,\nI believe it is sae, but they say ye\u2019re a Warlock, it\u2019s Wednesday\na\u2019 the warld o\u2019er,[105] and a woful Wednesday to me indeed, my\npot might have lasted me this fifty years, a sae wad it een.[106]\nThis sport diverted Leper and his lads thro\u2019 the day, and after\nsupper, knowing he was to get but some dirty bed, as the cows and\nthe people lived all in one apartment,[107] he chused rather to go\nhome; and knowing the moon was to rise a little after midnight,\nthey sat long by the fire, told them many a fine story to drive\naway the time, and bade the wife go and make their bed to see how\nit might be; to save candle she made it in the dark, directly on\nthe floor behind where they sat, shaking down two bottles of straw:\na calf which chanced to be lying on that spot, and which the wife\ndid not notice, was covered up with the straw, and the bed clothes\nspread over all. The most of the family being gone to bed, the\nwife told them several times to go to bed also; but Leper knowing\nof the calf, said, I\u2019ll make my bed come to me, on which the wife\nbegan to pray for herself, and all that was in the house; so up\nhe gets his elwand, and gives a stroke on the bed, which caused\nthe brute to get up, and not seeing where to go, it fell a crying,\nand turning round, which set the whole cows in the whole house a\nroaring out murder in their own tongue, the wife ran to the bed\nabove the goodman, and the whole family cried out, not knowing what\nit was, but Leper and his two lads whipp\u2019d off the blankets off the\nbrute, and it ran in among the rest unperceived, then Leper lighted\na candle, and all of them got out of bed, paid Leper for his work,\nand more if he pleased, and begged him to go away, and take the\ndevil with him. So home he went, but never was employed by that\nwife more.\n\nLeper had a deal of the best customers, both in town and country;\nso one time he had occasion to go to the parish of Inchinan to\nmake a wedding suit for a gentleman; after they were finished, he\nasked drink-money to his lads, which the gentleman refused: Leper\nresolved to be even with him, so goes to the hay-loft where the\ngroom slept, and takes his stockings, breeches and jacket, sews\nthem altogether, and stuffs them full of hay, makes a head, puts a\nrope about the neck, and hangs it on a tree opposite to the Laird\u2019s\nwindow, then goes to the Laird and tells him that his groom had\nhanged himself, and that if he would open his window, he would\nsee him hanging; the laird struck with astonishment knew not what\nto do; Leper advises him to bury him privately, the Laird said,\nhe had not a servant he could trust, so begged of Leper to do it,\nLeper refuses, till the Laird promised him a load of meal: then\nLeper pulls all the hay out of the groom\u2019s clothes, goes and gets\nhis load of meal and sends it to Glasgow, then goes to the groom,\nand says hastily, lad, thy master is wanting thee; so the lad in\na haste runs to see what his master wanted, the Laird no sooner\nsaw him opening the door, than he cry\u2019d out, Avoid thee Satan,\navoid thee Satan; the lad says, What\u2019s the matter, Sir? What\u2019s the\nmatter? Did not you hang yourself this morning? Lord forbid! said\nthe lad: the laird says, If thou be an earthly creature, take that\ntankard and drink; which he did: Then says he to his Master, Leper\ncalled me up and said, you wanted me in all haste: Ho, ho, says\nthe Laird, I find out the story now, If I had Leper I would run my\nsword through him: But Leper before that was away for Glasgow with\nhis meal.\n\nLeper was in use to give his lads their Sunday\u2019s supper, which\nobliged him to stay from the Kirk in the afternoon, he having\nneither wife nor servant-maid; so on Sunday afternoon, as he was at\nhome cooking his pot, John Muckle-cheeks and James Puff-and-Blaw,\ntwo Civileers, having more zeal than knowledge, came upon him and\nsaid, What\u2019s the matter Sir, you go not to the kirk? Leper replied,\nI am reading my book, and cooking my pot, which I think is the\nwork of necessity. Then says the one to the other, Don\u2019t answer\nthe graceless fellow, we\u2019ll make him appear before his betters, so\nthey took the kail-pot and puts a staff thro\u2019 the bowls, and bears\nit to the Clerk\u2019s chamber.[108] Leper who was never at a loss for\ninvention, goes to the Principal of the College his house, no body\nbeing at home but a lass roasting a leg of mutton; Leper says, My\ndear, will you go and bring a pint of ale, and I\u2019ll turn the spit\n\u2019till you come back, the lass was no sooner gone, than he runs away\nwith the leg of mutton, which served his lads and him for their\nsupper. When the Principal came home, he was neither to bin nor\nha\u2019d, he was so angry; so on Monday he goes and makes complaint\nto the Lord Provost, who sends two officers for Leper, who came\nimmediately. My Lord asked him, How he dared to take away the\nPrincipal\u2019s mutton? Leper replied. How came your Civileers to take\naway my kail-pot? I am sure, there is less sin in making a pot-full\nof kail, than roasting a leg of mutton, Law-makers should not be\nlaw-breakers, so I demand justice on the Civileers; the Provost\nasked him, what justice he would have? says he, Make them carry the\npot back again; as for the Principal, a leg of mutton won\u2019t make\nhim and me fall out: so they were forced to carry the pot back, and\nLeper caused the boys to huzza after them to their disgrace.\n\nThere was a Barber which always plagued Leper, calling him a\nPrick-the-Louse; Leper resolved to be even with him, so he goes and\nbuys three sheep-heads, and sends for the Barber and told him, that\nthere were three Southland gentlemen come to his house, who wanted\nto be shaved, and he assured him he would receive sixpence for\neach one of them, this good news made the shaver send for a dram;\nLeper was still praising them for quiet good natured gentlemen,\nso Leper takes him to the bed where the sheep-heads lay covered,\nand desired him to waken them, for they would not be angry, or say\nan ill word to him, the Barber lifts the covering and sees the\nsheep-heads, runs out cursing and swearing, and Leper crying after\nhim, Sheep-head Barber.\n\nThe Barber resolved to be revenged on Leper, so when he was shaving\nMess John, he tells him that Leper was the drunkenest fellow in\nthe parish; so Mess John warns him to the session, Leper comes\nand says, What do you want with me, Sir? Come away Leper, says\nMess John, I hear a bad report of you; Me, Sir! I am sure they\nwere not my friends that told you that. Indeed, I am informed you\nare a great drunkard; I a drunkard! you have not a soberer man in\nyour parish: Stay Sir, I\u2019ll tell you how I lead my life: In the\nmorning I take a choppin of ale, and a bit of bread, that I call\nmy morning: for breakfast I generally take a herring and a choppin\nof ale, for I cannot sup brose like my lads; the herring makes me\ndry, so at eleven hours I take a pint; at dinner another pint; at\nfour afternoon my comrades and I join, sometimes we are a pint\nand sometimes three choppins; at supper I take a bite of bread\nand cheese and a pint, and so I go to bed: Mess John says, It\u2019s\nextravagant Sir, it\u2019s excessive drinking, I allow you the one half\nof it for a quarter of a year; says Leper, I\u2019ll try it, Sir, and\ncome back and tell you. At the end of the quarter he draws out his\naccount, and goes to Mess John, who was sitting with his elders in\nthe session-house, and says, Sir, I have a demand on you: On me,\nSir! Yes, on you, Sir; Don\u2019t you remember you allowed me so much\ndrink for a quarter of a year, and I want the money; Am I to pay\nyour reckoning, Sir? You allowed it, and if you won\u2019t pay it, I\u2019ll\ntake you before the Provost: The Elders advised him to pay it or\nhe would be affronted: so Leper got the money: When he was at the\ndoor, he says, Sir, will ye stand another quarter? Get away, says\nMess John, and don\u2019t trouble me. Leper says, I\u2019m sure you may, for\nI was always two-pence to your penny.\n\n\nTHE END OF THE SECOND PART.\n\n\n\n\n_THE GRAND SOLEMNITY OF THE TAYLOR\u2019S FUNERAL._\n\n\n  [The edition here followed was published in the year 1816,\n  without any mention of the place of issue. It contains also the\n  two parts of _Leper the Taylor_. The full title is:--\u2018Fun upon\n  Fun, or, the Comical Merry Tricks of Leper the Taylor. In two\n  Parts. To which are added, The Grand Solemnity of the Taylor\u2019s\n  Funeral, who lay Nine Nights on his own Shop-Board, together with\n  his Last Will.\u2019 It has been collated with an edition published\n  in 1820, and with another, apparently of English origin, without\n  date. This chap-book, as has been explained in the Introduction,\n  Vol. I., p. 48, is believed to be the third part of _Leper the\n  Taylor_; and M\u2018Vean has given his sanction to the conjecture by\n  entering it in his list of _Opera Dugaldi_. Upon a close study\n  of the work, however, and after a careful comparison of it with\n  the two parts of _Leper the Taylor_, the editor cannot avoid the\n  suspicion that what appears in the following pages is not the\n  _bona-fide_ work of Dugald Graham. That suspicion is founded not\n  only upon the almost entire absence of Scotticisms, but also\n  upon the mention of some customs which were certainly not common\n  in Scotland, such, for instance, as the presentation of a sprig\n  of rosemary to each person at a funeral, and the corpse arrest.\n  These were more prevalent in England. While that is so, the fact\n  that the work forms a quite consistent conclusion to the other\n  two parts, and that Dugald did not always run in the same groove,\n  prevents the editor from pressing this suspicion to an extreme;\n  and he contents himself with marking the authorship as doubtful.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GRAND SOLEMNITY OF THE TAYLOR\u2019S FUNERAL.\n\n\nLeper[109] in his life-time desired, That all those who came\nto attend his funeral, might be handsomely entertained with a\nhalf-penny-roll, and a pint of ale;[110] in memory of the many\nbreakfasts he had made in his life-time: And furthermore desired,\nThat those who were his former[111] relations and chief mourners,\ninstead of a mourning ring, might be presented with a Taylor\u2019s\nThimble, in memory of his own trade, and round the rim to have this\nmotto engraved:\n\n      _Be sure you Feed Hell._\n\nRound the room hung divers remnants of black-cloth, of the Taylor\u2019s\nown cabbaging, for he was very honest that way, and never cabbaged\nbut a quarter[112] out of a yard. At the four corners of the\nroom stood four woolen-drapers, lamenting the loss of so good a\ncustomer, with each of them a white wand in his hand, just a yard\nlong and a parchment label hanging on their shoulders, with this\nmotto:\n\n      _The Taylor has finished his work,_\n      _And now he is gone to receive his wages._\n\nAt the head of the Taylor\u2019s coffin, stood the goose triumphant, the\ncabbage blazoned, and the cucumber argent. On the lid of his coffin\nwas engraven, on a brass plate, this applicable motto:\n\n      _Hell is beneath me._\n\nAt the foot of the coffin was the sheers pendent, the bodkin\nrampant, and the thimble enclosed in three ermins.\n\nWhen the Corpse was conveyed down stairs, each person was served\ndecently round with a leaf of red cabbage, instead of a sprig of\nrosemary. Then the Corpse was hoisted on the shoulders of six\npiece-brokers, having each of them this motto:\n\n      _The Taylor steals, we buy._\n\nThe pall was supported by those who sold stay-tape, buckram, and\ncanvas.\n\nThe Corpse was followed down Cloth-fair by thirty-six\nmaster-taylors, each having a yard in his right-hand, with a\nparchment streamer at the end of it, with this motto:\n\n      _We Taylors by our art and trade_\n      _Do often mend what God hath made._\n\nNext followed twenty-four[113] woolen-drapers, two-by-two, bearing\non their breasts this motto:\n\n      _We deal in wool, but can\u2019t forbear_\n      _To deal, alas! some times in hair._\n\nThen followed the like number of button-makers, wringing their\nhands with this motto:\n\n      _Man\u2019s but a Button, by my soul!_\n      _The very Grave\u2019s a Button-hole._\n\nAfter these, followed a vast number of city ricketty hopper-arsed\nbeaux, who had been padded up, and made into a complete gentlemen,\nby the deceased limb-trimmer, drying their watery eyes, with\ncambrick hankerchiefs, and having this motto engraved on their\nwatch cases:\n\n      _He\u2019s gone who made us human shapes,_\n      _And now we must again turn apes._\n\nBut to conclude the procession: Last of all, followed a numerous\ncroud of journeymen taylors, who were all slip-shoed, their\nstockings about their heels, their hats off, a skein of thread\nhung carelessly about their necks; and their shirt collars were\nopen, that they might have liberty to disturb their bosom friends.\nOn their left sleeve was a cushion, whereon stuck abundance of\nSpanish and Whitchapel needles. The tails of their wigs were matted\nlike horses\u2019 manes, just as if they had come off the shop-board\nfrom work. On their left shoulders each had a long strip of\nparchment, whereon was written this motto:\n\n      _The lice bite us, \u2019tis not deny\u2019d,_   }\n      _We bite our masters when employ\u2019d;_   }\n      _And they bite all the world beside._  }\n\nAt the bottom of Cloth-fair, the Corpse was arrested at the suit\nof an old herb-woman for elevenpence halfpenny,[114] which had\nbeen due a long time to the hag, for cabbages and cucumbers, which\nthe deceased had in his life-time: However the journeymen-taylors\nmanfully released the Corpse,[115] and afterwards marched on\nin ample procession to the house of one Ned Kemp, an honest\npiece-broker, where there was a spacious grave dug, between a large\ncabbage and a cucumber plant.\n\nThe FUNERAL SERMON was preached by Obadiah Backstitch, and the\nwords of the text were these:\n\n      _A remnant of all shall be saved._[116]\n\nAfter which, the journeymen taylors were admitted into the\nhouse,[117] and each of them served with a halfpenny-roll, and a\npint of ale, and so went weeping home, for the loss of so good a\nmaster.\n\n\nTHE TAYLOR\u2019S LAST WILL.\n\nI will and bequeath unto Simon Whipstitch,[118] my needle and\nthimble; unto Peter Niggle, my sheers and bodkin; and unto Mrs.\nMary Laycock[118] is my Pincushion, stuck full of needles and pins,\nto which I sewed a watch-chain, key, and seal with which I used to\nstrut about like a crow in a gutter.[119]\n\n\n      _Gae canty book and win a name;_\n        _Nae lyrics ev\u2019er shall ding thee:_\n      _Hope large esteem, and lasting fame,_\n        _For Leper\u2019s name will raise thee._[120]\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_THE HISTORY OF HAVEREL WIVES._\n\n\n  [The title of the edition reprinted here is:--\u2018The Folly of\n  Witless Women Displayed; or, the History of Haverel Wives:\n  Written by Humphray Clinker the Clashing Wives Clerk. Being a\n  Comical Conference between Maggy and Janet his two old Aunties.\n  Glasgow: Printed for the Company of Flying Stationers, in Town\n  and Country, MDCCLXXXI.\u2019 It has been collated with an undated\n  edition issued by Morren of Edinburgh, and one published by the\n  Robertsons of Glasgow in 1807; and also with a reprint by D.\n  Webster & Son, Lothian Street, Edinburgh. This last named firm,\n  considering the reprinting of old Scottish popular tales \u2018in a\n  more correct and neat form\u2019 than hitherto to be a desideratum,\n  issued this chap-book, along with _Janet Clinker\u2019s Oration_, as\n  the first number of what they called the \u2018Caledonian Classics\n  of the Common People.\u2019 _John Cheap_ was announced as the second\n  number. It should be stated that the 1781 edition here followed\n  is exceptional in respect that the _History of the Haverel Wives_\n  is given as a separate and distinct publication. It is an 8 pp.\n  12mo. In all the other editions that have come under the editor\u2019s\n  notice this chap-book and _Janet Clinker\u2019s Oration_ are issued\n  together.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF HAVEREL WIVES, &c.\n\n\nIt is a certain old saying, That where women are conveen\u2019d in\ncrouds there can be but little silence; and some have acknowledged\nthat it was a great bondage for them to hold their peace in the\nchurch: and where there is much talk by ignorant speakers, it is\ndiverting for persons of understanding to hear them. Therefore we\nhave furnished the public with a small collection of old wives\nnoted sayings and wonders, which they relate happened in their own\ntime, also what has been told them by their forefathers.\n\nTwo old wives (Maggy, and Janet) at their rocks, began their cracks\nas follows:\n\nJanet. A dear Maggy, an how auld will ye be now, o\u2019 it\u2019s lang since\nI kend you.\n\nMaggy. Indeed Janet that\u2019s what nae body kens, for my father and\nmither had sae mony o\u2019 us, they ne\u2019er counted how auld ane o\u2019 us\nwas, they minded ay wha o\u2019 us was born first, and wha was neist ane\nanither, and that was a\u2019 that e\u2019er we sought to ken about it; but I\nha\u2019e mind o\u2019 the mirk Munonday.[121]\n\nJan. Hout, tout, woman, the mirk Munonday, I hae mind since there\nwas nae Munondays at a\u2019, and the Sabbath days was nae com\u2019d in\nfashion, there was a day they ca\u2019d Sunday came anes o\u2019 the ouk\nfor it, we kend ay whan it came, for my father cow\u2019d ay his beard\nwhan the bell rang, and then every body ran to the kirk it had\nony thing ado, an it were to buy saut or shune, for the chapman\nchiels set up a\u2019 their creims at the kirk-door, an the lasses wad a\ngotten keeking glasses, red snudes, needles, prins, elshin irons,\ngemlets, brown bread and black saep to buy, forby sweety wives\nthings, and rattless for restless little anes; the men wad a bought\npints o\u2019 ale, an a gotten a whang o\u2019 gude cheese to chow a\u2019 the\ntime a drinking o\u2019t, hout, tout ay, they were braw markets on the\nSundays i\u2019 the time o\u2019 Paepery,[122] we had nae ministers than but\npriests, Mess Johns, Black Friers, and White Friers, Monks, Abbots,\nand Bishops, they had nae wives, yet the best o\u2019 them wad a spoken\nbaudy language, and a kiss\u2019d the lasses, fikle fyking bodies they\nware, unko ill to please, they wad a baith curs\u2019d fouk and bless\u2019d\nthem, just as ye pay\u2019d them; a deed they were unco greedy o\u2019 the\npenny, and pray\u2019d ay to the dead fouk, and gard the living pay them\nfor\u2019t, and although they had play\u2019d the loon wi\u2019 a poor hizey she\ndurst na speak o\u2019t for her very life, for they cou\u2019d gi\u2019 ony body\no\u2019er to the de\u2019il when they liket: They did not gar fouks learn to\nread and pray like our new ministers, but thump on your breast,\nstrake your fingers o\u2019er aboon your nose, tell your beads and rin\nbare-fit thro\u2019 amang hard stanes, and cauld sna\u2019.\n\nMag. A hech woman, an wad they a had carnal dealings wi\u2019 the women,\nand they sae good and haly.\n\nJan. Hout ye daft woman, do ye think their goodness gelded them\ntho\u2019 they had nae wives; there was a great sort o\u2019 them it they\nca\u2019d cardonels, that ay when twa young bodies was married they bute\nto hae the first night o\u2019 the bride.[123]\n\nMag. A wae worth them filthy hureing dogs, if I wadna\u2019 a libbet\nthem mysel, I wonder that the gentle fouks and lairds lote them do\nthe like o\u2019 that.\n\nJan. A dear woman the gentle fouks and the lairds keepet ay in wi\u2019\nthem, for they said they had the command o\u2019 the de\u2019il and the dead\nfouk, and the gentles durst na cast out wi\u2019 them, for they got a\u2019\ntheir sins pardon\u2019d for the less siller.\n\nMag. A dear woman that was unko like, the de\u2019il wad get nae body\nthen but the poor fouk, and them that had nae siller.\n\nJan. A well a wat that was true, for an they pay\u2019d the priest well,\nthe de\u2019il durst na middle wi\u2019 them.\n\nMag. A wow woman, a what\u2019s come o\u2019 them a\u2019 now, am sure the like o\u2019\nthae fouks it had sae meikle power, needed neither die nor yet be\nsick: they wad live a\u2019 their days.\n\nJan. A wat well did they, for the maist o\u2019 them is dead and rotten,\nand the rest o\u2019 them gade awa\u2019 to Italy, where the auld Pape their\nfather, the de\u2019il, the witches, brownies and faries dwal,[124] and\nthen we gat anither sort o\u2019 gospel fouks it they ca\u2019d curits,[125]\nfine sort o\u2019 dainty honest foulks they war, but gay and greedy,\nthey did na\u2019 like sculdudery wark, but said na meikle against it,\nfor a hantle o\u2019 bits a callans wad a gotten twa or three bastards\nbefore they wad a gotten breeks; they beit to hae their tithes of\nevery thing that grew, mony a time my father wist they wad take\nthe tithes of his hemp too, an it were to hang themsels, they were\nay warst whare a poor man or wife died, altho\u2019 they left weans\nfatherless and mitherless, a deed they wad a sent their bellman,\nand wi\u2019 his lang prelatic fingers he wad a harled the upper pair\no\u2019 blankets aff o\u2019 the poor things bed, for some rent that they\ngard fouks pay for dying, a sae did they e\u2019en, and yet they keepit\na hantle o\u2019 bra haly days, and days o\u2019 meikle meat, Fastrens-e\u2019en\nand Yule days, when we gat our wames fou o\u2019 fat brose, and a sippet\nYule sowens till our sarks had been like to rive, and after that a\neaten roasted cheese and white puddings well spiced, O bra times\nfor the guts, well I wat every body might live than that had ony\nthing to live on.\n\nMag. But dear Janet ye\u2019er bra an lang o\u2019 the memory, do ye mind o\u2019\nthe waefu blast, when the foul thief was raging in the air, and\nthe de\u2019il dang doun a\u2019 the kail yard dykes cutted the corn stacks,\ntirr\u2019d the houses and blew giddy Wille\u2019s wig in the wall, they said\nit was some young minister it had rais\u2019d the de\u2019il, and for want o\u2019\na cock, a cat, or some unkirsen\u2019d creature to gi\u2019 him, they could\nna\u2019 get laid again, an he brake the bridle slipped his head an ran\nawa frae them.[126]\n\nJan. A deed woman I heard tell o\u2019 that, and how wood Willie M\u2018Neel\nmet him on the staps in the mids o\u2019 the water, an shot him o\u2019er,\nand thought to drown him, but he gade doun the water like a meikle\nbranded bill roaring, a\u2019 burning fire; but I hae mind the first\ntime it the de\u2019il came to this kintrey was on a Sunday, I was a wi\u2019\nbit gaun lassie my father and a\u2019 the men fouk was at the kirk, the\nware twa o\u2019 them, a humeld ane an a horn\u2019d ane, a goodman de\u2019il,\nand a goodwife de\u2019il as we took them to be, we ran a\u2019 into the\nhouse, and my mither barr\u2019d the door and hunted the dogs at the\nbyre hole, thinking the de\u2019il wou\u2019d rin frae the dogs, but, na, na,\nthey got up on their tae end like twa auld men, they were a rugh\nlang hair like a pyet horse, wi\u2019 lang bairds aneath their chin, and\nthe meikle horn\u2019d de\u2019il box\u2019d the dogs in at the hole agen, we ran\na\u2019 ben the house and grat, but our Jock wha wis a little gabby gaun\nladdock, cry\u2019d ay, mither, mither, what is the de\u2019il seeking here,\nhe\u2019ll be wanting to tak a\u2019 the auld wives an cats to mak witches\no\u2019 them,[127] I true whan my gran mither heard that, she gat up and\nran ben to the spence, and crap in the bear meal barrel to hide\nhersel frae the de\u2019il, and curr\u2019d there \u2019till the kirk skaild, a\ndeed she was sae fear\u2019d, she made her burn in the barrel; and what\nwas\u2019t true ye after a\u2019 but a tupe and a ewe of the highland gaits,\nit the laird had gotten to gie the lady milk, but mony a day we\nleugh at the twa de\u2019ils.\n\nMag. But dear woman, what an a body is that de\u2019il, it ev\u2019ry body is\nsae fear\u2019d for him, is\u2019t na him they ca\u2019 auld nick, what fore do\nthey ca\u2019 him auld nick?\n\nJan. A dead woman I dinna ken what like a body he is, but they say\nhe\u2019s a\u2019 black, and they ca\u2019 him auld nick, because he\u2019s aulder nor\nAdam, and Adam was the first man in the warld, and they say the\nde\u2019il will never die, nor yet be sick, nor yet tak sair een.\n\nMag. A wow Janet but ye\u2019re a witty creature, but can ye tell me\nwhat way the blackamoors is made, some fouk says they\u2019re a\u2019 dipped\nin cats blood and burnt bear strae, but I\u2019m ay thinking the litster\ndoucks them in amang the broe that they lit the black claith wi\u2019,\nand then sells them to the lairds and gentle folks to flee their\nbairns wi\u2019, or dis the gentles eat them when they\u2019re dead think\nye.[128]\n\nJan. Hout awa daft creature, the blackamoors is fouk just like\noursel, but only they hae a black skin on them, did ye never see\nblack sheep and white sheep, black horse and white horse, ye think\nthey\u2019re a\u2019 de\u2019ils because the de\u2019il\u2019s black: I thought mysel lang\nsyne, they were made for the penny, and sell\u2019d the dearer o\u2019 the\nblack skin.\n\nMag. But Janet did ye ever see the de\u2019il, I wad fain ken what like\nhe is, some says he\u2019s like a bill, a bear or an auld beggar man.\n\nJan. Indeed I never saw sae muckle as the de\u2019il a\u2019 my days, but\nI\u2019ve heard the ministers flyting and misca\u2019ing him, and whan they\nsaid a\u2019 that they cou\u2019d say o\u2019 him, they ca\u2019d him an ill spirit,\nand a great liar, mony a ane has war names than a\u2019 that yet.[129]\n\nMag. But do you think there is ony de\u2019ils but ane, every body\u2019s\nspeaking an crying on him, ane couldna answer them a\u2019.\n\nJan. A deed they say there\u2019s black anes and white anes o\u2019 them,\nhumel anes, and horn\u2019d anes, the very witches is haf de\u2019ils whan\nthey\u2019re living, and hail de\u2019ils when they\u2019re dead; the brownies is\nhaf dogs haf de\u2019ils, a\u2019 rugh but the mouth, seeks na claise, ae\nman\u2019s meat \u2019ill sair them, and they\u2019ll work ten mens work in ae\nnight, forby hob-goblins fairies and elfs, that shoots fouks beasts\nto dead, an no a hole to be seen in the skin o\u2019 them;[130] hard\nna ye tell o\u2019 the twa Highland wives, how the tane cry\u2019d oh, on,\noh on, Shenet my cows shot, houp, poup, co\u2019 she, an wha shot her,\na de\u2019d it was the de\u2019il, oh hough, oh hough, Shenet we\u2019ll a\u2019 be\nkill\u2019d whan the de\u2019il has gotten a gun.\n\nMag. A sweet be wi\u2019 us woman, is nit an unco thing they dinna a\u2019\nflee on the minister, whan he flytes and misca\u2019s them sae, do ye\nthink they hear him?\n\nJan. A doubtless but they hear and sees too, they\u2019re neither blind\nnor bleer-ey\u2019d, but ay whan ye speak o\u2019 them, name the day cry it\u2019s\nwansday thro\u2019 a\u2019 the warld and there\u2019s nae fear o\u2019 you.[131]\n\nMag. But what de ye think o\u2019 our minister, is he a good man think\nye?\n\nJan. Indeed I think he\u2019s a gay gabby body, but he has twa fauts,\nand his wife has three, he\u2019s unko greedy o\u2019 siller, and he\u2019s ay\npreaching down pride, and up charity, and yet he\u2019s that fou o\u2019\npride himsel, that he has gotten a glass window on ev\u2019ry side o\u2019\nhis nose, and his een is as clear as twa clocks to luk to, he has\ntwa gigglet gilliegaukies o\u2019 dochters, comes into the kirk wi\u2019\ntheir cobletehow mutches frizel\u2019d up as braid\u2019s their hips, and\nclear things like starns about their necks, and at ev\u2019ry lug a\nwalloping white thing hanging like a snotter at a bubbly wean\u2019s\nnose, syne about their necks, a bit thin claith like a mouse web\nand their twa bits o\u2019 paps playing ay niddity nod, shining through\nit like twa yearning bags, shame fa\u2019 them and their fligmagaries\nbaith, for I get nae good o\u2019 the preaching looking at them; and\nsyne a\u2019 the dirty sherney hought hizies in the parish maun hae the\nlike or lang gae; but an I ware to preach, sic pride sudna hae\nbaith peace and property in my parish, I wou\u2019d point out my very\nfinger to them in the kirk, and name them baith name and sirname,\nand say there sits sherney Meg o\u2019 the mill, stumpy May o\u2019 the\nmoss, sniveling Kate wi\u2019 her hodle-makenster coat, they came into\nthe kirk bobbing their hin quarters like three water wag tails,\nshaking their heads like a hunder pund horse, smacking their lips\nand hauding their mouth like May puddocks; and what shall I compare\nthem to, but painted Jezebels; the whore of Babylon or Rachel\nthe harlot, with a\u2019 their gaudy decoying colours, high taps, and\nspread glittering tails, whan they come sailing into the house of\nprayer, as it were a house o\u2019 dancing and debaushery, go, go, ye\npainted pisweips to fairs and weddings, and there display your\nproud banners of pride which ye are puffed up with, it is the very\nspirit o\u2019 the devil, and unbecoming o\u2019 the house o\u2019 prayer: But\nif these gillygaukies shou\u2019d come into the kirk with their heels\nup and their heads down, our mess John is become like ane o\u2019 the\ndogs of Egypt, he\u2019ll no move his tongue, and I believe he darna for\nClipock his wife; wha\u2019s element is to banter a\u2019 the poor beggars\nfrom her door, nane can stand her but the tinkler wives, and she\u2019s\nay whinging about charity, but it\u2019s to hersel, she widna pity the\ncripple on the blind\u2019s back, but bids gae hame to their ain parish\nfilthy beggar dirt,[132] she casts a\u2019 her cauld paritch and kail to\nthe cocks and hens, kicks the poor colly dogs out at the door, ca\u2019s\nthem filthy useless brutes, because they canna lay eggs, like hens\neggs, she\u2019s ay flyting on her lasses, hungers her servant lad, eats\ncocks and hens hersel, and gars the poor minister eat saut herrin.\n\nMag. A well I wat then I wish he may not turn a drucken body, for\nherring maks fouk ay dry, but well I wat Janet ye hae tell\u2019d their\nfaults on baith the sides, an I hae ae great faut to our minister\nyet, and tho\u2019 I ware dead and rotten the night afore the morn I\u2019ll\nneither forgi\u2019 him nor yet forget him, a what he said to me, that\nI sud be ta\u2019en and douked for offerin to marry agen, a woman at my\nage; an auld man, said he, ought to marry some kindly body to keep\nhim clean in his auld age, but an auld woman (said he) that can\nwash a dud sark to themsels needs nae men; and now no Janet, I am\nno to ca\u2019 very auld although I be stricken in years, I dinna ken\nmy ain age, being kirsen\u2019d in the time o\u2019 Paepery;[133] I hae the\npenny, tho\u2019 bair o\u2019 flesh and blood, has four good teeth before\nand well willin gums in the backside, I canna gang far without a\nstaff, an yet I wad as fain be married as whan I was fifteen year\nauld, O woman! but a man in the bed is an usefu body, they hae a\nsweet breath, and natural heat to keep a body warm; but an our\nminister ware an auld wife, he wad ken what the want of a bit man\nis as well as I, and a\u2019 this began about wanton Wat the town taylor\nthat promis\u2019d to tak me again sic a time or tell me what for, mony\na pickle well butter\u2019d kail bleds I gi\u2019d him, held out frae my ain\nwame and stappit in a his, he said he wad do as muckle to me again,\nbut he has na don\u2019t fause loun carle it he was, cheated me out o\u2019\nsax pund and twa sarks and then gar\u2019d me mak a fool o\u2019 mysel whan\nthe laird\u2019s duket[134] was biggit and made a\u2019 white to gar the dows\ncome, he said an my window ware as white they wad come to me too,\nand I like a poor fool took a basin fu\u2019 o\u2019 good bear meal and made\nit drammock and whitened a my window wi\u2019t, but the never a dow came\nnear hand me the mair o\u2019t, but a\u2019 the town dogs came pyking and\nlicking it at night and day, I was plagued wi\u2019 them till a gude\nshure came and wisht awa agen, the laird an every body came to look\nand laugh at it.[135]\n\nJan. But Maggy an ye be a mind to marry ye maun snod yoursel better\nup, cast awa your staff, singe your whiskers wi\u2019 a candle or fir\nstick, stand straight up like a rash kekle, and looky cantylike\nwhan the carles is gaun by, tak a mouthfu\u2019 o\u2019 good meat, and a drap\ndram in the mornin will keep the dirt aff your face and raise the\nred in your cheek, ye see the hens turns ay red lugget or they\nbegin to lay: a body that wants a bit man will use mony a shift for\nane, I ken how I did mysel whan I was fourteen lang year a widow,\nand thought never to gotten ane, I feed our John, whan he was a\nsaft silly docus callan to ca\u2019 the pleugh, and keepit him three\nyears till he turn\u2019d a wally whincer and fain wad I had him, but\nhe widna speak o\u2019t to me, but ae day we was in the house our lane,\nan I ties a gude hard stane knot on the strings o\u2019 my toy beneath\nmy chin, an fykes wi\u2019t awee, then says, O Johnny my man look an\nye can louse this knot wi\u2019 your teeth, he lays a hand on every\nshouther and louses the knot, and I gripes him by the twa lugs and\ngies him a kiss, and saes poor man Johnny thou has a sweet breath,\nthou needsna want a bit kiss o\u2019 me whan thou likes lad, I true that\nculli\u2019d him hither ay the mair, ha, ha, thou has nae art woman.\n\nEnters Humphray Clinker, hearing a\u2019 that past, perswades his aunt\nMaggy that no man would marry such as her, for she looked like\na picture of death riding upon hunger\u2019s back, a rickle of banes\nrow\u2019d up in a runkly skin, had wasted her body with water lythocks\ninto a scrufe of skin and bane for want of teeth to chow bread\nfor the nourishment of her body, and that he was com\u2019d on purpose\nto write her testament or latter will, that it was a lightness in\nher brain before death; therefore she ought to go to bed and die\ndirectly,[136] which she accordingly did[137] by taking thought\nof what was said to her, the priest being sent for came and\ndiscoursed with her, but still she keeping her purse in her hand,\nwhich he observed, desired she would give it to her friends or she\ndied, to which she would answer by her sooth that she wad not, for\nshe wad tak it wi\u2019 her, for she had heard every body say they were\nthe better o\u2019 the penny wi\u2019 them, gang whare they like, and so died\nsupposed to be an hundred and six years old.\n\nHumphray\u2019s aunt Janet is yet alive an has made an oration in praise\nof the old women, and on the pride of the young.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_JANET CLINKER\u2019S ORATION._\n\n\n  [_Janet Clinker\u2019s Oration_ is commonly found printed along with\n  _The History of Haverel Wives_, and in the chap-book from which\n  the text in the following pages are taken, this is the case. The\n  full title in this case is:--\u2018An Oration on the Virtues of the\n  Old Women, and the Pride of the Young: with a Direction for Young\n  Men, what sort of Women to take, and for Women what sort of Men\n  to Marry. Dictated by Janet Clinker, and written by Humphrey\n  Clinker, the Clashing Wives\u2019 Clerk. Glasgow: Printed by J. &\n  M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1807.\u2019 It has been collated with the\n  editions mentioned in the Introduction to these volumes: together\n  with the reprint published in 1820 by Webster & Son, Edinburgh,\n  referred to in the prefatory note to the _History of the Haverel\n  Wives_.]\n\n\n\n\nAN ORATION ON THE VIRTUES OF THE OLD WOMEN, AND THE PRIDE OF THE\nYOUNG.\n\n\nThe madness of this unmuzzled age has driven me to mountains of\nthoughts, and a continual meditation: It is enough to make an\nauld wife rin red-wood, and drive a body beyond the halter\u2019s-end\nof ill-nature, to see what I see, and here what I hear: Therefore\nthe hinges of my anger are broke, and the bands of my good and\nmild nature are burst in two, the door of civility is laid quite\nopen, plain speech and mild admonition is of none effect; nothing\nmust be used now but thunder-bolts of reproach tartly trimm\u2019d up\nin a tantalizing stile, roughly redd up and manufactured thro\u2019\nan auld Matron\u2019s mouth, who is indeed but frail in the teeth,\nbut will squeeze surprizingly with her auld gums, until her very\nchaft-blades crack in the crushing of your vice.\n\nI shall branch out my discourse into four heads.\n\nFirst, What I have seen, and been witness to.\n\nSecondly, What I now see, and am witness to.\n\nThirdly, What I have heard, does hear, and cannot help; I mean the\ndifference between the old women and the young.\n\nFourthly, Conclude with an advice to young men and young women, how\nto avoid the buying of Janet Juniper\u2019s stinking butter,[138] which\nwill have a rotten rift on their stomach as long as they live.[139]\n\nFirst, The first thing then, I see and observe is, that a wheen\ndaft giddy-headed, cock-nosed, juniper nebbed mothers, bring up\na wheen sky-racket dancing daughters, a\u2019 bred up to be ladies,\nwithout so much as the breadth of their lufe of land, it\u2019s an\nadmiration to me, whare the lairds are a\u2019 to come frae that\u2019s to\nbe coupled to them; work, na, na, my bairn manna work, she\u2019s to\nbe a lady, they ca\u2019 her Miss, I maun hae her lugs bor\u2019d says auld\nNumps the mither; thus the poor pet is brought up like a mitherless\nlamb, or a parrot in a cage; they learn naething but prick and sew,\nand fling their feet when the fidle plays, so they become a parcel\nof yellow-faced female-taylors, unequal matches for countrymen,\nFlanders-babbies, brought up in a box, and must be carried in a\nbasket; knows nothing but pinching-poverty, hunger and pride; can\nneither milk kye, muck a byre, card, spin, nor yet keep a cow from\na corn-rigg; the most of such are as blind penny-worths, as buying\npigs in pocks, and ought only to be matched with Tacket-makers,\nTree-trimmers, and Male-taylors, that they may be male and female\nagreeable in trade, since their piper fac\u2019d fingers are not for\nhard labour; yet they might also pass on a pinch for a black\nSutor\u2019s wife, for the stitching of white seams round the mouth of\na lady\u2019s shoe; or, with Barbers or Bakers they might be buckled,\nbecause of their muslin-mouth and pinch-beck speeches, when barm is\nscant, they can blow up their bread with fair wind, and when the\nrazor is rough, can trim their chafts with a fair tale, oil their\nperuke with their white lips, and powder the beau\u2019s pow with a\nFrench-puff; they are well versed in all the science of flattery,\nmusical tunes, horn-pipes, and country-dances, though perfect in\nnone but the reel of Gamon.\n\nYet these are they the fickle farmer fixes his fancy upon; a\nbundle of clouts, a skeleton of bones, Maggy and the Much, like\ntwa fir-sticks and a pickle tow, neither for his plate nor his\nplow; very unproper plenishing, neither for his profit nor her\npleasure, to plout her hands through Hawkey\u2019s[140] caff-cog, is a\nhateful hardship for Mammy\u2019s Pet, and will hack a\u2019 her hands. All\nthis I have seen and heard, and been witness to; but my pen being\na goose-quill, cannot expose their names nor places of abode, but\nwarns the working-men out of their way.\n\nSecondly, I see another sort, who can work, and maun work till\nthey be married, and become mistresses themselves; but as the\nyoung man receives them, the thrift leaves them; before that, they\nwrought as for a wager, they span as for a premium, busked as for\na brag, scour\u2019d their din skins as a wauker does worsted blankets,\nkept as mim in the mouth as a minister\u2019s wife, comely as Diana,\nchaste as Susanna, yet the whole of their toil is the trimming of\ntheir rigging, though their hulls be everlastingly in a leaking\ncondition; their backs and their bellies are box\u2019d about with the\nfins of a big fish,[141] six petticoats, a gown and apron, besides\na side sark down to the ankle-banes; ah! what monstrous rags are\nhere, what a cloth is consumed for a covering to one pair of\nbuttocks! I leave it to the judgement of any ten taylors in town,\nif 30 pairs of mens\u2019 breeches may not be cut, from a little above\nthe easing of Bessy\u2019s bum, and this makes her a motherly-like\nwoman, as sturdy a fabric as ever strade to market or mill.\n\nBut when she\u2019s married she turns a madam, her mistress did not\nwork much, and why should she! Her mother tell\u2019d ay she wad\nbe a lady, but cou\u2019d never show where her lands lay; but when\nmoney is all spent, credit broken, and conduct out of keeping,\na wheen babling bubly bairns, crying piece minny, parich minny,\nthe witless waster[142] is at her wit\u2019s-end. Work now or want,\nand do not say that the world has war\u2019d you; but Lofty-Nodle,\nyour giddy-headed-mother has led you astray, by learning you to\nbe a lady, before ye was fit to be a servant-lass, by teaching\nyou laziness instead of hard labour, by giving you such a high\nconceit of yourself, that no body thinks any thing of you now, and\nyou may judge yourself to be one of those, that wise people call\nLittleworth; but after all, my Dear Dirty-face, when you begin the\nwarld again, be perfectly rich before you be gentle, work hard for\nwhat you gain, and you\u2019ll ken better how to guide it, for pride is\nan unperfect fortune, and a ludicrous life will not last long.\n\nAnother sort I see, who has got more silver than sense, more gold\nthan good nature, more muslins and means than good manners, tho\u2019 a\nsack can hold their siller, six houses and a half cannot contain\ntheir ambitious desires. Fortunatus\u2019s wonderful purse[143] would\nfail in fetching the fourth part of their worldly wants, and the\nchildren imitate their mothers, chattering like hungry cranes,\ncrying still I want, I want, ever craving, willfully wanting, till\nall be brought to a doleful dish of desolation, and with cleanness\nof teeth, a full breast, an empty belly, big pockets without\npence, pinching penury perfect poverty, drouth, hunger, want of\nmoney, and friends both, old age, dim eyes, feeble joints, without\nshoes or clothes, the real fruits of a bad marriage, which brings\nthoughtless Fops to both faith and repentance in one day.\n\nThirdly, Another thing I see, hear, and cannot help, is the\nbreeding of bairns, and bringing them up like bill-stirks, they gie\nthem walth o\u2019 meat, but nae manners: but whan I was a bairn, if I\ndidna bend to obedience, I ken mysel what I gat which learned me\nwhat to gie mine again; if they had tell\u2019d me tuts, or prute-no,\nI laid them o\u2019er my knee, and a com\u2019d crack for crack o\u2019er their\nhurdies, like a knock bleaching a harn-web, till the red wats stood\non their hips, this brought obedience into my house, and banished\ndods and ill-nature out at the door; I dang the de\u2019il out o\u2019 them,\nand dadded them like a wet dish-clout till they did my bidding: But\nnow the bairns are brought up to spit fire in their mither\u2019s face,\nand cast dirt at their auld daddies: How can they be good who never\nsaw a sample of it; or reverence old age, who practised no precepts\nin their youth? How can they love their parents, who gave them\nblack poison instead of good principles? Who shewed them no good,\nnor taught them no duties! No marvel such children despise old age,\nand reverence their parents as an old horse does his father.\n\nFourthly, The last prevailing evil which I see, all men may\nhear, but none strive to help,[144] the banishment of that noble\nholy-day called the Sabbath, which has been blasted by a whirl-wind\nfrom the south; I am yet alive who saw this hurricane coming\nthro\u2019 the walled city[145] near Solway in the South; it being on\na Sunday, and a beautiful sun-shine day amangst some foul weeks\nin harvest-weather, which caused the Lord Mayor of the place to\nwork hard, and put in the whole fields of wheat harvest, and\nthe priests of that church commended him therefore: Because the\nseason was backward, why should not man be disobedient! And this\ninfection is come here also, surely the loss of this Sabbath-day\nwill be counted a black Saturday to some; when I walk in the\nfields, I know it not but by the stopping of the plow, when in\nthe city, only by the clossness of a few shop-doors and the sound\nof the bells; degenerate ideas of religion indeed! when the high\npraise is sounded only by bell-metal, _A sounding Brass and a\ntinkling Cymbal_: Is it not come to pass, the taverns roar like\n\u00c6tna\u2019s mouth; children follow their gaming, and old sinners their\nstroling about, nothing stopt but coal-carts and common carriers,\nthe Sabbath lasts no longer than the sermon, and the sermon is\nmeasured by a little sand in a glass; many, too many frequent the\nchurch, seemingly only to show their antic dress, with heads of a\nmonstruous form, more surprizing than those described by Aristotle,\nas for length exceeding that of an asses\u2019s head, ears and all; and\nah! How humbling would it be, to see their heads struck into such a\nhideous form, &c.\n\nThey disdain now to ride on pads as of old, or to be hobled on a\nhorse\u2019s hurdies, but must be hurled behind the tail, safely seated\nin a leather conveniency, and there they fly swiftly as in the\nchariot of Aminadab.[146]\n\nThey will not speak the mother language[147] of their native\ncountry, but must have southern oaths, refined like raw-sugar thro\u2019\nthe mills of cursing, finely polished, and fairly struck in the\nprofane mint of London, into a perfect form of flunky-language;\neven the very wild Arabs from the mountain-tops, who have not yet\ngot English to profane his Maker\u2019s name, will cry, _Cot, Cot_;\nhateful it is to hear them swear, who cannot speak. O! strange\nalteration since the days of old![148] the downful of Popery, and\nthe Prelates\u2019 decay, when reformation was alive, and religion in\ntaste and fashion; the people during the sabbath, were all packed\nup in closets, and their children kept within doors, when every\ncity appeared like a sanctuary, nothing to be heard on the streets,\nbut the sound of prayer on the right-hand, and the melodious sound\nof psalms on the left.\n\nNow is the days of counting, scribing, riding of horses, and the\nsound of the post-horn come; surely there will be trade now; and\nnone will miss prosperity when every day is a fair; I add no more\non this head, but every one claim a right to his own set time, &c.\n\nAnother grievance of the female offenders I cannot omit, which\nattacks a man\u2019s fancy, and is the cause of his fall;[149] I mean\nFlighters who has gotten a little of the means of Mammon, more\nsilver than sense, more gold than good nature, haughtiness for\nhumility, value themselves as a treasure incomprehensible, their\nheads and hearts of Ophir-gold, their hips of silver, & their\nwhole body as set about with precious stones, great and many are\nthe congresses of their courtship, and the solemnizing of their\nmarriage is like the conclusion of a peace after a bloody and\ntedious war.[150]\n\nAnd what is she after all! yea, her poor penny will never be\nexhausted, it must be laid out in lunacy and laziness, she must\nhave fine teas and the tuther thing: When pregnancy and the\nspeuing of porich approaches, then she prophecies of her death;\nas she hatches life, she embraces laziness; then O the bed, the\nbed, nothing like the bed for a bad wife, her body becomes as\npar-boil\u2019d,[151] being so bed-ridden, this rots their children in\nthe brewing, and buries them in the bringing up; yea, some mothers\nare so beastly, as to water the bed and blame the child therefore;\nyet such lazy wives live long, and their children soon die; their\nfar fetched feigned sickness, soon render the husband to the\nsubstance of one sixpence, he becomes poor and hen-peck\u2019t under\nsuch petticoat government.\n\nBut when I Janet was a Janet, and had the judgement of my own\nhouse, my husband was thrice happy, I never held him down, he was\nabove me day and night, I sat late and raise early, kept a fu\u2019\nhouse and rough back, when summer came we minded winter\u2019s cauld,\nwe had peace ay at porich-time, and harmony through the day; we\nsupp\u2019d our sowens at supper-time with a seasonable heat, and went\nto bed good bairns kent naething but stark love and kindness, we\nwrought for riches, and our ages and earthly stores increased\nalike, we hated pride and loved peace, he died with a good name; I\nlet you ken I live, but not as many do, not so lordly of my brain\nas some are of their belly! and was not my life strange by that now\npractised? Come help yourselves you hillocat-livers and avoid it.\n\nNow after a\u2019, if a poor man want a perfect wife, let him wale a\nweel blooded hissie wi\u2019 braid shouders an thick about the haunches,\nthat has been lang servant in ae house, tho\u2019 twice or thrice awa\u2019\nand ay fied back, that\u2019s weel liked by the bairns and the bairns\u2019\nmither, that\u2019s naeway cankard to the cats, nor kicks the colly-dogs\namang her feet, that wad let a\u2019 brute-beasts live, but rats, mice,\nlice, flaes, neets and bugs, that bites the wee bairns in their\ncradles, that carefully comb the young things\u2019 heads, washes their\nfaces, and claps their cheeks, snites the snotter frae their\nnose[152] as they were a\u2019 her ain, that\u2019s the lass that will mak a\ngood wife; for them that dauts the young bairns, will ay be kind to\nauld fouk an they had them.\n\nAnd ony hale-hearted halsome hissie, that wants to halter a good\nhusband, never tak a widow\u2019s ae son, for a\u2019 the wifely gates in\nthe warld will be in him, for want of a father to teach him manly\nactions; neither tak a sour looking sumf wi\u2019 a muckle mouth, and a\nwide guts, who will eat like a horse and soss like a sow, suffer\nnone to sup but himsel, eat your meat and the bairns baith; when\nhungry angry, when fu\u2019 full of pride, ten sacks will not haud\nhis sauce, tho\u2019 a pea-shap wad haud his siller: But go, tak your\nchance, and if cheated, channer not on me, for fashionable fouk\nflee to fashionable things, for lust is brutish-blind, and fond\nlove is blear-ey\u2019d. I add no more, says Janet; so be it, said\nHumphray the Clerk.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_THE COMICAL AND WITTY JOKES OF JOHN FALKIRK._\n\n\n  [The text here used is from an edition bearing the following\n  matter on the title-page:--\u2018The Comical and Witty Jokes of John\n  Falkirk the merry Piper; When in Courtship to an old Fiddler\u2019s\n  Widow, who wanted all the Teeth. With a Copy of the Love-Letter\n  he sent her, who is commonly called F--ting Betty.\n\n      Here\u2019s a Piper on a merry pin,\n      Selling his words instead of win,\n      In courtship with an old fiddler\u2019s jigg,\n      As weather beaten as his wigg;\n      Swears by his chanter he can win her bread,\n      Though never a tooth be in her head.\n\n  Edinburgh: Printed in the Year 1777.\u2019 It has been collated with\n  an undated edition published by Morren of Edinburgh. On the title\n  of this latter edition the widow is called \u2018Flinging Betty.\u2019 The\n  1777 edition is an 8 pp. 12mo., containing only the \u2018Jokes\u2019; but\n  in Morren\u2019s Edition the \u2018Jokes\u2019 follow the \u2018Cariches.\u2019 The two\n  were generally printed separately, although they are occasionally\n  to be seen together.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMICAL AND WITTY JOKES OF JOHN FALKIRK.\n\n\nA certain old reverend priest, being one night at supper in a\ngentleman\u2019s house; and for one article having eggs, the server of\nthe table, as usual laid a cloath on every ones knee, wherewith\nto hold their egg in when hot, when supper was over, the priest\nlooking down between his legs, and seeing the white cloath thought\nit was his shirt-tail: and very slyly stops it into his breeches\nbite, and bite, which the lady and her maid observed, but was\nashamed to challenge him; so home he went with the servet in his\nbreeches, and knew nothing of it till going to bed, when it fell\nfrom him, his wife enquired how he came by it, he could not tell,\nbut was surprized how he came to have more bulk in his breeches\nthan formerly, but perceiving the name they sent it back again, the\npriest pleaded to be excused own\u2019d himself only a thief through\nignorance.[153]\n\nAn old gentleman and his two sons, being in a company, his oldest\nson sitting next him, spoke a word which highly displeased his\nfather; for which his father gave him a hearty blow on the side of\nthe head: A well said he, I will not lift my hand to strick at my\nparents, but gives his other brother that sat by him, a blow on the\near, saying give that about by the way of a drink, till it comes to\nmy father again.\n\nA sailor being traveling between _Edinburgh_ and _Linlithgow_\nwhich is twelve long computed miles: and as he was setting out in\nthe morning about 8 o\u2019clock, he seed a vain like young spark go\nrunning past him, which he never minded, but kept jogging on at his\nown leisure: and as he was going into _Linlithgow_, about twelve\no\u2019Clock, up comes the young spark, and asked the sailor, what a\nClock it was, why says the sailor, I see you have a watch and I\nhave none, what is it? out he pulls his watch, ho said he, it\u2019s\ndirectly twelve, and what do you think, it was half an hour after\nten or I came out of _Edinburgh_, I have walked it in an hour and\na half; it is pretty well tript, says the sailor, but pray sir,\nwhat man of business are you? O! said he, I am a watch maker, I\nwas thinking so, said the sailor, for you have made your watch to\nanswer your feet, for those feet can\u2019t answer a right watch, and\nI suppose your tongue can\u2019t keep time with none of them do you\nremember where you went past me this morning about eight o\u2019Clock; O\nyes said he, and off he went.\n\nAs two maids was coming from the milking of their cows, one of them\nsteping over a style, fell and spill\u2019d the whole peal full of milk\nfrom her head O said she, what will I do, what will I do, O said\nthe other maid, let it go who can help it now, you can make it up\nagain it is not your maiden-head: My maiden-head said she, if it\nwere my maiden-head, I would think nothing of it, many, many a\ntime, I have lost my maiden-head with great pleasure, and I got it\nay again, it came ay back to its ain place again, but I\u2019ll never\ngather up my milk again.\n\nA sailor being one night in company with a country taylor, O said\nthe taylor, but your trade is a very dangerous trade, do you ever\npray any? yes said the sailor, when we\u2019re hard beset we pray to\nblast one anothers eyes and limbs, if they wont be nimble and\nquick, a wow man but that\u2019s a sad trade, said the taylor, and what\ntrade was your father? why said the sailor, he was a sailor too,\nand where did he die, said the taylor? why he was drowned at sea,\nand O man! said the taylor are you not fear\u2019d to go to sea? not I\nsaid the sailor: But what trade was your father? indeed said the\ntaylor, he was a taylor as well as me, and where did he die? said\nthe sailor, indeed he died in his bed, says the poor taylor. O then\nsays the sailor, are not you afraid to go to bed lest you die there\ntoo.[154]\n\nThree merry companions having met on a saturdays night at an Ale\nhouse, (a hatter and a shoemaker, and a taylor,) where they drunk\nheartily all that night, and to morrow until mid day; and their\nbeats was who had the lovingest wife: So they agreed for a trial of\ntheir good nature that every man should do, whatever his wife bade\nhim do; as soon as ever he went home, or who did not as she ordered\nhim, was to pay all the reckoning, which was seven and six-pence,\nor if all of them did as their wives bade them: then they were\nto pay all alike: so on this agreement they all came away, first\nto the hatters house, and in he goes like a madman, dancing and\njumping round the floor, his wife at the very time was taking of\nthe pot and setting it in the floor, he still dancing about, now\nsays the wife, ding over the pot with thy madness, so he gives it\na kick, and over it went, and that saved him as he had done what\nhis wife bad him do. Then away he goes to the taylors house, and in\nhe goes dancing likewise, but his wife fell a scolding him. O says\nhe, my dear give me a kiss? kiss my arse you drunken rogue, said\nshe; then to her he flys and whips her over in the bed, up with her\npetty coats and kisses her arse before them all, and that saved\nhim; then away they went to the shoe-makers, and in he goes very\nmerry and dancing about as he saw the other two do: saying come my\ndear heart and give me a kiss: go hang yourself you drunken dog\nsaid she, so he must either go and hang himself directly or pay all\nthe reckoning.\n\nAn honest highlandman not long since, not much acquainted with the\nlaw, fell out with one of his neighbours, and to the law they went;\nhe employed one advocate, and his opposite another, and as they\nwere debeating it in court before the judges, the highlandman being\nthere present, a friend of his asked him how he thought it would\ngo, or who would win the day, indeed said the highland man, his law\nman speaks well, and my law man speaks well, I think we\u2019ll both\nwin, and the judges will lose for they speak but a word now and\nthen.\n\nA young woman by the old accident having got herself with child,\nwas called to the Session for so doing: and after one elder\nanother examining her how she got it, and where she got it, and\nwhat tempt her to get it; and no doubt the de\u2019il wad get her for\nthe getting of it; last of all the minister he fell a enquiring\nhow she got it, which run the poor lass out of all patience about\nthe getting of it, says the priest: tell me plainly where it was\ngotten, I tell you said she, that it was gotten in the byre, at a\ncows staike, and what other place do you want to ken about: but\nsaid he, he did not tye you to the cows staike, no said she, I did\nnot need any tying, and how far was between the byre and the house?\njust butt and ben, up and down twa steps of a stone stair, then\nsays the priest, why did you not cry to the folks in the house:\nindeed sir, said she, I could not get cried for laughing at it.\n\nAn old sodger being on a furlough from the north of Scotland,\nhaving got no breakfast, fell very hungry by the way and no ale\nhouse being near; came into a farmers house, and desired they would\nsell, him some bread, or any kind of victuals: to which the surly\ngood wife reply\u2019d, she never sold any bread, and she was not going\nto begin with him, he had but three miles and a bittok[155] to an\nale-house, and he might march on, and she did fair enough when she\ngide bits of bread for naething to beggars though she gide nane\nto idle sodgers; he had naething to do there awa: Hute said the\ngoodman gi\u2019 him a laidle fu\u2019 o\u2019 our kail, he\u2019s been ay somebodys\nbairn, before he was a sodger,[156] What said she there not a drop\nin the pot, they\u2019re a\u2019 in the plate before you, then gi\u2019 him a\nspoon and let him sup wi\u2019 us, the soldier gets a spoon and thinking\nhe could sup all he seed himself, the first soup he put in his\nmouth, spouted it back again in the plate, and crys out O my sore\nmouth, the hide\u2019s all of it yet since I had the Clap then every\none threw down his spoon, the soldier got all to sup himself, the\nwife stood cursing and scolding all the while, and when he was done\nburnt both plate and spoon in the fire to prevent the Clap: So the\nsoldier came off with a full belly, leaving the wife dressing the\ngoodmans rigging with a four footed stool, for bidding him sup.\n\nA great drover who frequainted a public inn in the north of England\nas he passed and repassed agreed with the servant maid of the\nhouse, for a touch of love: for which he gave her a six and thirty\nshilling piece: But on the next morning mounted his horse without\nasking a bill, or what was to pay, but sir, said the landlord, you\nforgot to pay your reckoning well minded, sir said he, I want my\nchange I gave your maid a six and thirty to change, the poor maid\nis called on in haste, yes said she I got it, but it was not for\nthat, throws it down and off she goes, her mistress understood and\ngave her the challenge, she told her it was so, but she should be\nup with him; so in twelve months thereafter, he came past with his\ndrove, puts up at the same inn as foremerly; then the girl goes to\na neighbour woman, and borrows a young child about three months\nold, comes into the company where he was, lays it down on the\ntable, saying, sir there\u2019s the change of your six and thirty, and\naway she comes; the child crys, and the bells rung, the landlord\nwas ready enough to answer, O sir, said he, call her back for this\nwill ruin my family and crack my credit, but sir said the girl,\nyou thought nothing to ruin my character and crack my maiden head;\npeace, peace said he, my dear, here\u2019s one hundred and fifty pound\nand take away the child and trouble me no more, well said she I\u2019ll\ntake it: But you will make more of buying cows than maiden heads;\nso away she came with the money, and returned the borrowed child to\nits own mother.\n\nA churlish husband and virtuous wife one time fell sadly out,\nbecause the wife had given something to the poor, what, said he,\nmistress, I\u2019ll let you know there is nothing about this house but\nwhat is mine and you\u2019re mine, and your very arse is mine; a well\nwell goodman, then you will let me have nothing take it all and\ngive me peace: So away they went to bed the goodwife turned her\nbackside towards the goodman, and as he was falling asleep, she\ndraws up her smoke, and let\u2019s fly in the goodman\u2019s shirt-tail,\nwhich wakened him in a great fright, as he had been shot; ay, ay,\nwoman, what are ye about; what am I about, said she, dear woman\nyour filling the bed, not I goodman, for when my arse was my own I\ntook care of it, and take you care of it now it is yours. O rise\nwoman and clean the bed, and keep your arse, and a\u2019 the liberty ye\nhad before, and more if you want it, fich fich, what\u2019s this! am a\ndirt.\n\nA ships crew being one time in great distress at sea by reason of\na violent storm, and being all fallen down to prayer, expecting\nevery moment to go to the bottom; there happened to be an old\ngentleman a passenger on board with them who had a great big red\nnose with drinking ale and whisky; and being all at their last\nprayer as they thought, a little boy burst out into loud laughter:\nO thou thoughtless rogue said the captain what makes thee to laugh\nin seeing us all on the point of perishing, why, said the boy, I\ncannot but laugh, to think what a fine sport it will be when we\nare all drowning, to see how that man\u2019s red nose will make the\nwater bizz when it comes about it, at which words they all fell a\nlaughing, and cheered the crew, so that they made another attempt\nto weather it out, and got all safe on shore at last.\n\n_My lovely Bett_,\n\nThe beauty of old age, thy hoary head and loutching shoulders\ninclines to mortality, yet I\u2019ll compare thee to an eagle that has\nrenewed her youth, or a leek with a white head and a green tail,\nthis comes to thee with my kind compliments, for the kisses of thy\nlips, and the kindness I had to thy late bed-fellow fiddler Pate my\nbrother pensioner, ah! how we drank other\u2019s healths with the broe\nof the brewket[157] ewes, we brought from boughts of the German\nBoors, but its nonesence, to blow the dead when in the dust, yet a\nbetter violer never scrided on a silken cord, or kittled a cat\u2019s\ntryps with his finger-ends, his elbow was souple as a eel, and\nhis fingers dabbed at the jigging end like a hungry hen picking\nbarley: I seldom or ever saw him drunk, if keep him from whisky and\nwhisky from him; except that night, he trysted the pair of free\nstone breeches from Joseph the mason, and now my dear Bessy he\u2019s\ngot them he\u2019s got them, for a free stone covers his body, holds him\ndown and will do, and now, now, my dainty thing, my bonny thing,\nmy best match for matrimony come take me now, or tell me now, I am\nin anger,[158] I\u2019ll wait nae langer, I say be clever, either now\nor never, its a rapture of love, that does me move, I\u2019ll have a\nwife or by my life, if she should be blind and criple, I\u2019ll sell my\nwin, for her meat and fun, the like ne\u2019er gade down her thraple;\nso now Bessy I love you and my love lies upon you, and if ye love\nnot me again some ill chance come upon you, as am flyting free and\nflitting free am both in love and banter; or may your rumple rust\nfor me, I\u2019ve sworn it by my chanter.\n\n  _From John Kirk\u2019s Wind-mill at Corky Crown._\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_THE SCOTS PIPER\u2019S QUERIES:\n\nOR\n\nJOHN FALKIRK\u2019S CARICHES._\n\n\n  [Reprinted from an undated edition published by C. Randall,\n  Stirling, and collated with one by J. Morren, Edinburgh, and the\n  modern Glasgow undated edition. The full title is:--\u2018The Scots\n  Piper\u2019s Queries: or John Falkirk\u2019s Cariches, made Both Plain and\n  Easy.\n\n      Old PIPER JOHN if you desire\n      To read at leisure by the fire:\n      \u2019Twill please the Bairns and keep them laughing,\n      And mind the Goodwife o\u2019 her daffing.\n\n  Stirling.--Printed by C. Randall.\u2019]\n\n\n\n\nAN ACCOUNT OF JOHN FALKIRK, THE SCOTS PIPER.[159]\n\n\nJohn Falkirk, commonly called the _Scots Piper_, was a curious\nlittle witty fellow, with a round face and a broad nose. None of\nhis companions could answer the many witty questions he proposed to\nthem, therefore he became the wonder of the age in which he lived.\nBeing born of mean parents he got no education, therefore his witty\ninvention was truly natural; and being bred to no business, he\nwas under the necessity of using his genius in the composition of\nseveral small books, of which the following Cariches was one, which\nhe disposed of for his support. He became author of many small\nTracts, and the following curious and diverting pieces are said to\nbe his composition, viz.:--The History of John Cheap the Chapman,\nThe History of the Haveral Wives, Janet Clinker\u2019s Oration, John\nFalkirk\u2019s Witty Jokes, Jockie and Maggie\u2019s Courtship, The Proverbs\nof the Pride of Women, History of Lothian Tom, with many others,\nwhich are well known in Scotland, England, and Ireland. In a word,\nhe was\n\n      The wittiest fellow in his time,\n      Either for Prose, or making Rhyme.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCOTS PIPER\u2019S QUERIES;\n\nOR,\n\nJOHN FALKIRK\u2019S CARICHES.[160]\n\n\nQ. What is the wisest behaviour of ignorant persons?\n\nA. To speak of nothing but what they know, and to give their\nopinion of nothing but what they understand.\n\nQ. What time is a scolding wife at the best?\n\nA. When she is fast asleep.\n\nQ. What time is a scolding wife at the worst?\n\nA. When she is that wicked as to tear the hair out of her own head,\nwhen she cannot get at her neighbours, and thro\u2019 perfect spite\nbites her own tongue with her own teeth, my hearty wish is, that\nall such wicked vipers may ever do so.\n\nQ. What is the effectual cure and infallible remedy for a scolding\nwife?\n\nA. The only cure is to get out of the hearing of her, but the\ninfallible remedy is to nail her tongue to a growing tree, in\nthe beginning of a cold winter night, and so let her stand till\nsun-rising next morning, she\u2019ll become one of the peacegblest women\nthat ever lay by a man\u2019s side.\n\nQ. What time of the year is it that there is most holes open?\n\nA. In harvest when there are stubbles.\n\nQ. At what time is the cow heaviest?\n\nA. When the bull is on her back.\n\nQ. Who was the goodman\u2019s muckle cow\u2019s calf\u2019s mother?\n\nA. None but the muckle cow herself.\n\nQ. What is the likeliest thing to a man and a horse?\n\nA. A tailor and a mare.\n\nQ. What is the hardest dinner that ever a taylor laid his teeth to?\n\nA. His own goose, tho\u2019 ever so well boiled or roasted.\n\nQ. How many tods\u2019 tails will it take to reach up to the moon?\n\nA. One if it be long enough.\n\nQ. How many sticks gangs to the bigging of a craw\u2019s nest?\n\nA. None for they are all carried.\n\nQ. How many whit\u2019s will a well made pudding prick need?\n\nA. If it be well made it needs no more.\n\nQ. Who was the father of Zebedee\u2019s children?\n\nA. Who but himself.\n\nQ. Where did Moses go when he was full fifteen years old?\n\nA. Into his sixteenth.\n\nQ. How near related is your aunty\u2019s good-brother to you?\n\nA. No nearer than my own father.\n\nQ. How many holes are there in a hen\u2019s doup?\n\nA. Two.\n\nQ. How prove you that?\n\nA. There is one for the dung and another for the egg.\n\nQ. Who is the best for catching of rogues?\n\nA. None so fit as a rogue himself.\n\nQ. Where was the usefulest fair in Scotland kept?\n\nA. At Millgavie.[161]\n\nQ. What sort of commodities were sold there?\n\nA. Nothing but ale and ill wicked wives.\n\nQ. How was it abolished?\n\nA. Because those who went to it once would go to it no more.\n\nQ. For what reason?\n\nA. Because there was no money to be got for them, but fair barter,\nwife for wife, and he who put away a wife for one fault got a wife\nwith two as bad.\n\nQ. What was the reason that in those days, a man could put away his\nwife for pissing the bed, and not for sh----g it?\n\nA. Because he could shute it away with his foot and ly down.\n\nQ. What is the reason now a-days, that men court cast marry, and\nre-marry so many wives, and only but one in public at last?\n\nA. Because private marriage is become as common as smuggling and\ncuckolding the kirk no more thought of than a man to ride a mile or\ntwo upon his neighbour\u2019s mare, men get will and wale of wives, the\nbest portion, and properest person is preferred, the first left the\nweak to the worst, and she whom he does not love, he shutes away\nwith his foot, and lies down with whom he pleases.\n\nQ. How will you know the bairns of our towns by all others in the\nkingdom?\n\nA. By their ill-breeding, and bad manners.\n\nQ. What is their behaviour?\n\nA. If you ask them a question in civility, if it were but the road\nto the next town, they\u2019ll tell you to follow your nose, and if you\ngo wrong curse the guide.\n\nQ. Are young and old of them no better?\n\nA. All the odds lies in the difference, for if you ask a child to\nwhom he belongs, or who is his father, he\u2019ll tell you to kiss his\nfather\u2019s a--.\n\nQ. What sort of creatures is kindliest when they meet?\n\nA. None can exceed the kindness of dogs when they meet in a market.\n\nQ. And what is collie\u2019s kindness there?\n\nA. First, they kiss others mouths and noses, smell all about, and\nlast of all, they are so kind as to kiss others below the tail.\n\nQ. What is the coldest part of a dog?\n\nA. His nose.\n\nQ. What is the coldest part of a man?\n\nA. His knees.\n\nQ. What is the coldest part of a woman?\n\nA. The back parts of her body.\n\nQ. What is the reason, that these three parts of man, woman, and\ndogs, are coldest?\n\nA. Fabulous historian say that there was three little holes in\nNoah\u2019s Ark, and that the dog stopt his nose in one, and the other\nthe man put his knee in it, a third and biggest hole broke, the\nwoman bang\u2019d her backside in it and these parts being exposed to\nthe cold blast, make them always cold ever since.\n\nQ. And what does the women do to warm their cold parts?\n\nA. The married women turn their backsides to the goodman\u2019s belly;\nvirgins and those going mad for marriage the heat of their\nmaidenhead keeps them warm, old matrons, whirl\u2019d o\u2019er maidens,\nwidow and widows bewitch\u2019d hold up their coldest parts to the fire.\n\nQ. And what remedy does the poor dog take for his cold nose?\n\nA. Stops it below his tail the hottest bit in his body.\n\nQ. What is the reason the dogs are worst on the chapmen, than on\nother strange people?\n\nA. It is said the dogs have three accusations against the chapmen,\nhanded down from father to son, or from one generation of dogs to\nanother; the first is as old as \u00c6sop the great wit of Babylon, the\ndog having a lawsuit against the cat, gained the plea, and coming\ntrudging home with the decree below his tail a wicked chapman\nthrowing his ellwan at him, he let it fa\u2019 and so lost all his\nprivileges thereby. The second is, because in old times the chapmen\nused to buy dogs and kill them for their skins. The third, when a\nchapman was quarterd in a farmer\u2019s house, that night the dog lost\nhis property the licking the pot.\n\nQ. What creature resembles most a drunken piper?\n\nA. A cat when she sips milk; she always sings, and so does a piper\nwhen he drinks good ale.\n\nQ. What is the reason a dog runs twice round about before he ly\ndown?\n\nA. Because he does not know the head of his bed from the foot of it.\n\nQ. What creature resembles most a long lean, ill looking\ngreasy-fac\u2019d lady for pride?\n\nA. None so much as the cat, who is continually spitting in her lufe\nand rubbing her face, as many of such ladies do the brown leather\nof their wrinkled chafts.\n\nQ. Amongst what sort of creatures will you observe most of a\nnatural law?\n\nA. The hart and the hind meet at one certain day in the year; the\nbrood goose, lays her first egg on Fasterns Even, old stile; the\ncrows begin to build their nest the first of March old stile; the\nswans observe matrimony, and if the female die, the male dares not\ntake up with another or the rest will put him to death; all the\nbirds in general join in pairs and keep so; but the dove resembles\nthe adulterer, when the shoe-one turns old, he puts her away, and\ntakes another; the locusts observe military order, and march in\nbands; the frogs resemble pipers and preachers, for the young ride\nthe old to death.\n\nQ. Who are the merriest and heartiest people in the world?\n\nA. The sailors, for they\u2019ll be singing and cursing one another when\nthe waves, their graves, are going over their heads.\n\nQ. Which are the disorderliest creatures in battle?\n\nA. Cows and dogs for they all fall on them that are neath-most.\n\nQ. Who are the vainest sort of people in the world?\n\nA. A barber, a tailor, a young soldier, and a poor dominie.\n\nQ. What is the great cause of the barber\u2019s vanity?\n\nA. His being admitted to trim noblemen\u2019s chafts, thyke their\nsculls, take kings by the nose, and hold a razor to his very\nthroat, which no other subject else dare do.\n\nQ. What is the great cause of the tailor\u2019s pride?\n\nA. His making of peoples new clothes, of which every person, young\nand old is proud of, then who can walk in a vainer shew than a\ntailor carrying home a gentleman\u2019s clothes.\n\nQ. What is the cause of a young soldier\u2019s pride?\n\nA. When he lists, he thinks he is free from his mother\u2019s\ncorrection, the hard usage of a bad master, has a liberty to curse,\nswear, whore, and do every thing; until he be convinced by four\nhalberts and the drummer\u2019s whip that he has now got both a military\nand civil law above his head, and perhaps worse masters than ever.\n\nQ. What is the cause of the poor dominie\u2019s pride?\n\nA. As he is a teacher of the young and ignorant, he supposes no man\nknows what he knows, the boys call him master therefore he thinks\nhimself a great man.\n\nQ. What sort of a song is it that is sung without a tongue, and its\nnotes are understood by people of all nations?\n\nA. It is a fart which every person knows to be but wind.\n\nQ. What is the reason that young people are vain, giddy-headed, and\nairy, and not so humble as the children of former years?\n\nA. Because they are brought up and educat after a more haughty\nstrain, by reading fables, plays, novels, and romances; gospel\nbooks, such as the psalm-book, proverbs, and the catechisms are\nlike old almanacks; nothing in vogue, but fiddle, flute, Troy\nand Babylonish tunes; our plain English corrupted with beauish\ncants, dont, wont, nen, and ken, a jargon worse than the Yorkshire\ndialect.[162]\n\nQ. Why is swearing become so common amongst the Scot people?\n\nA. Because so many lofty teachers come from the south amongst us,\nwhere swearing is practised in its true grammatical perfection, hot\noaths, new struck, with as bright a lustre as a new quarter guinea.\n\nQ. How will you know the bones of a mason\u2019s mare at the back of a\ndyke amongst the bones of a hundred dead horses.\n\nA. Because it is made of wood.\n\nQ. Which are the two things not to be spared, but not to be abused.\n\nA. A soldier\u2019s coat, and a hired horse.[163]\n\nQ. How is a man in debt like a nobleman?\n\nA. Because he has many to wait on and call for him.\n\nQ. How is swearing like a shabby coat?\n\nA. Because it is a bad habit.\n\nQ. How is a bad pen like a wicked and profligate man?\n\nA. Because it wants mending.\n\nQ. Why is a church bell like a story that is handed about?\n\nA. Because it is often toll\u2019d.\n\nQ. What is a man like that is in the midst of a river and cannot\nswim?\n\nA. He is like to be drowned.\n\nQ. Why is a drawn tooth like a thing that is forgot?\n\nA. Because it is out of one\u2019s head.\n\nQ. Why is a book like a tree?\n\nA. Because it is full of leaves.\n\nQ. Why is a good sermon like a plump pudding?\n\nA. Because there is reasons in it.\n\nQ. How is a whorish woman like a charitable person?\n\nA. Because she brings her husband to a piece of bread.[164]\n\nQ. How is a lawyer like a contentious person?\n\nA. Because he breeds wrangling and jangling.\n\nQ. Who is the greatest fool in the world?\n\nA. A whore; for she hazards soul and body for a miserable\nlivelihood.\n\nQ. Who are the two greatest thieves in Great Britain?\n\nA. Tea and Tobacco, for they pick the pockets of the whole nation.\n\nQ. What is the difference between Ale-drapers and Linen-drapers?\n\nA. Only this, the one cheats you with froth and the other with\ncloth.\n\nQ. If Extortioners cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven, where will\nUsurers, Tallymen, and Pawn-brokers go?\n\nA. The same road with Extortioners.\n\nQ. What is the consequence of immoderate gaming?\n\nA. By cards and dice, a man is ruin\u2019d in a trice, for gaming and\nwhoring often hang together.\n\nQ. What employments are likest to one another?\n\nA. Soldiers and Butchers are bloody near relations, for they both\nlive by slaughtering and killing.\n\nQ. What are the two hardest things to be found, and yet they are\nboth good in their kind?\n\nA. Good women and good small beer.\n\nQ. Who is the likest to a Boatman?\n\nA. An hypocrite, who always look one way and rows another, in all\nhis transactions.\n\nQ. What are the five greatest rarities to be found in the world?\n\nA. A black Swan, a Ph\u0153nix, an Unicorn, the Philosophers\u2019 Stone, and\na maiden at sixteen.\n\nQ. What is the greatest folly that sensible people can be guilty of?\n\nA. To go to law about trifles, for whatever way the plea end, the\nlawyers will be the greatest gainers.\n\nQ. Who has the honestest trade in the world?\n\nA. Ballad-singers; for they always deal with ready-money: and it is\nas ancient as the Siege of Troy, for Homer was a ballad-singer.\n\nQ. What is the surest method for one to become both rich and\nrespectable?\n\nA. To be sober and industrious.\n\nQ. What is the best method of overcoming the argument of a positive\nperson?\n\nA. Either to say with him, or give him no answer.\n\nQ. What is the wisest course to be followed by a man who has a\nbrawling and scolding wife?\n\nA. To keep silent, and then she\u2019ll bite her own fingers with anger.\n\nQ. What thing is that which is lengthened by being cut at both ends?\n\nA. A Ditch.\n\nQ. What is that which was born without a soul, lived and had a\nsoul, yet died without a soul?\n\nA. The whale that swallowed Jona.\n\nQ. What is the longest and the shortest thing in the world? the\nswiftest and the slowest? the most indivisible and the most\nextended? the least valued and the most regretted? without which\nnothing can be done? which devours all that is small, yet gives\nlife and spirit to all that is great?\n\nA. Time.\n\nQ. What creatures are those which appear closely connected, yet\nupon examination are found to be three distinct bodies, with eight\nlegs, five on one side, and three on the other; three mouths, two\nstraight forwards, and the third on one side; six eyes, four on one\nside, two on the other: six ears, four on one side, and two on the\nother?\n\nA. A Man and Woman on horseback.\n\nQ. Why is a churchyard like an inn?\n\nA. Because it receives weary travellers.\n\nQ. Why is a carrotty[165] lady like a troop of soldiers?\n\nA. Because she bears fire-locks.\n\nQ. What did Adam first set in the garden of Eden?\n\nA. His foot.\n\nQ. How is it that a clergyman\u2019s horse is like a King?\n\nA. Because he is guided by a minister.\n\nQ. What is the difference between a boiled sheep\u2019s head and a\nsheep\u2019s head boiled?\n\nA. In the first the sheep is boiled and in the last the head is\nboiled.\n\nQ. What kind of snuff is that, the more that is taken the fuller\nthe box is?\n\nA. It is the snuff off the candle.\n\nQ. What relation is that child to its own father who is not its\nfather\u2019 own son?\n\nA. Surely his daughter.\n\nQ. What is that which is often brought to table, always cut, but\nnever eaten?\n\nA. A pack of cards.\n\nQ. Where was Peter when his candle went out?\n\nA. He was in the dark.\n\nQ. What relation is your uncle\u2019s brother to you who is not your\nuncle?\n\nA. He must be your father.\n\nQ. What difference is there between twice five and twenty and twice\ntwenty five?\n\nA. The former is 30, the latter is 50.\n\nQ. Why is a brewer\u2019s horse like a tap-ster?\n\nA. Because they draw drafts of drink.\n\n\nEND OF THE CARICHES.\n\n\n\n\n_THE COMICAL SAYINGS OF PADY FROM CORK._\n\n\n  [The text here followed is that of an edition in the possession\n  of Matthew Shields, Esq. The full title is:--\u2018The Comical\n  Sayings of Pady from Cork, with his coat button\u2019d behind. Being\n  an Elegant Conference between English Tom and Irish Teague:\n  With Pady\u2019s Catechism, his Opinion of Purgatory, the State of\n  the dead; and his Supplication when a Mountain Sailor. To which\n  is added, a Creed for all Romish Believers. In all its parts,\n  carefully corrected. Glasgow, Printed by J. & M. Robertson, (No.\n  18.) Saltmarket, 1807.\u2019 It is a 24 pp. 12mo. Pady\u2019s Catechism and\n  petition, and the Creed, have been collated with the versions of\n  them given in the 1777 edition of _Lothian Tom_. See prefatory\n  note to that chap-book at p. 66 of the present volume, and also\n  footnote at p. 84.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMICAL SAYINGS OF PADY FROM CORK.\n\n\nPART I.\n\n_Tom._ Good morrow, Sir, this is a very cold day.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, yesternight was a very cold morning.\n\n_Tom._ Well brother traveller, of what nation art thou?\n\n_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I come from my own kingdom.\n\n_Tom._ Why, Sir, I know that, but where is thy kingdom?\n\n_Teag._ Allelieu dear honey, don\u2019t you know Cork in Ireland.\n\n_Tom._ O you fool, Cork is not a kingdom, but a city.\n\n_Teag._ Then dear shoy, I\u2019m shure it is in a kingdom.\n\n_Tom._ And what is the reason you have come and left your own dear\ncountry?\n\n_Teag._ Arra dear honey, by shaint Patrick, they have got such\ncomical laws in our country, that they\u2019ll put a man to death in\nperfect health; so to be free and plain with you, neighbour, I\nwas obliged to come away, for I did not choose to stay among such\na people that can hang a poor man when they please, if he either\nsteals, robs, or kills a man.\n\n_Tom._ Ay, but I take you to be more of an honest man, than to\nsteal, rob, or kill a man.\n\n_Teag._ Honest, I am perfectly honest, when I was but a child, my\nmother would have trusted me with a house full of mill-stones.\n\n_Tom._ What was the matter, was you guilty of nothing?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I did harm to nobody? but fancied an old\ngentleman\u2019s gun, and afterwards made it my own.\n\n_Tom._ Very well boy, and did you keep it so?\n\n_Teag._ Keep it, I would have kept it with all my heart while I\nlived, death itself could not have parted us, but the old rogue,\nthe gentleman, being a justice of the peace himself, had me tried\nfor the rights of it, and how I came by it, and so took it again.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you clear yourself without punishment?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I told him a parcel of lies, but they\nwould not believe me; for I said that I got it from my father when\nit was a little pistol, and I had keeped it till it had grown a\ngun, and was designed to use it well until it had grown a big\ncannon, and then sell it to the military. They all fell a laughing\nat me as I had been a fool, and bade me go home to my mother and\nclean the potatoes.\n\n_Tom._ How long is it since you left your own country?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I do not mind whether it be a fortnight\nor four months, but I think myself, it is a long time; they tell\nme my mother is dead since, but I won\u2019t believe it, until I get a\nletter from her own hand, for she is a very good scholar, suppose\nshe can neither write nor read.\n\n_Tom._ Was you ever in England before?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, that I was, and in Scotland too.\n\n_Tom._ And were they kind to you when you was in Scotland?\n\n_Teag._ They were that kind, that they kick\u2019t my arse for me, and\nthe reason was because I would not pay the whole of the liquor that\nwas drunk in the company, though the landlord and his two sons got\nmouthful about of it; they would have me pay it all, tho\u2019 I did not\ndrink it all, and I told them it was a trick upon travellers, first\nto drink his liquor, and then to kick him out of doors.\n\n_Tom._ I really think they have used you badly, but could you not\nbeat them?\n\n_Teag._ That\u2019s what I did, beat them all to their own contentment;\nbut there was one of them stronger than me, who would have killed\nme, if the other two had not pulled me away, and I had to run for\nit, till his passion was over; then they made us drink and gree\nagain; we shook hands, and made a bargain, never to harm other\nmore; but this bargain did not last long, for, as I was kissing his\nmouth, by shaint Patrick, I bit his nose, which caused him to beat\nme very sore for my pains.\n\n_Tom._ Well Pady, what calling was you when in Scotland.\n\n_Teag._ Why sir, I was no business at all, but what do you call the\ngreen tree that\u2019s like a whin bush, many people makes a thing to\nsweep the house of it!\n\n_Tom._ O yes Pady, they call it a broom.\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, you have it, then I was a gentleman\u2019s broom, only\nwaited on his horses, and washed the dishes for the cook; and when\nmy master rode a hunting, I ran behind along with the dogs.\n\n_Tom._ O yes, Pady, it was a groom you mean, but I fancy you was\ncook\u2019s mate, or kitchen-boy.\n\n_Teag._ No, no, it was the broom that I was, and if I had staid\nthere till now, I might have been advanced as high as my master,\nfor the ladies loved me so well, that they laughed at me.\n\n_Tom._ They might admire you for a fool.\n\n_Teag._ What sir, do you imagine that I am not a fool, no, no, my\nmaster asked counsel of me in all his matters, and I always gave\nhim a reason for every thing: I told him one morning that he went\ntoo soon to the hunting, that the hares were not got out of their\nbeds; and neither the barking of horns nor the blowing of dogs,\ncould make them rise, it was such a cold morning that night; so\nthey all ran away that we catched, when we did not see them. Then\nmy master told my words to several gentlemen that was at dinner\nwith him, and they admired me for want of wisdom, saying, I was\ncertainly a man of great judgement, for my head was all of a lump,\nadded, they were going a-fishing along with my master and me in\nthe afternoon; but I told them it was a very unhappy thing for any\nman to go a hunting in the morning and a fishing in the afternoon;\nyet they would try it, but they had better staid at home, for\nit came on a most terrible fine night of south-west rain and\neven-down-wind: so the fishes got all below the water to keep them\ndry from the shower, and we catched them all, but got none of them.\n\n_Tom._ And how long did you serve that gentleman, Pady?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was with him six weeks, and he beat me\nseven times.\n\n_Tom._ For what did he beat you? was it for your madness and\nfoolish tricks?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, it was not; but for being too inquisitive and\ngoing sharply about business. First, he sent me to the post-office,\nto enquire if there was any letters for him: so when I came there,\nsaid I, is there any letters here for my master to-day? Then they\nasked who was my master; sir, said I, it is very bad manners in you\nto ask any gentleman\u2019s name: at this they laughed, mocking me, and\nsaid they could give me none, if I would not tell my master\u2019s name:\nso I returned to my master, and told the impudence of the fellow,\nhow he would give me no letters unless I would tell him your name,\nmaster. My master at this flew in a great passion, and kicked me\ndown stairs, saying, Go you rogue and tell my name directly, how\ncan the gentleman give letters, when he knows not who is asking for\nthem! Then I returned and told my master\u2019s name, so they told me\nthere was one for him, I looked at it, but being very small, and\nasking the price of it; they told me it was sixpence! sixpence,\nsaid I, will you take sixpence for that small thing, and selling\nbigger ones for twopence; faith I am not such a big fool; you think\nto cheat me, now, this is not a conscionable way of dealing, I\u2019ll\nacquaint my master of it first; so I came and told my master how\nthey would have sixpence for his letter and was selling bigger\nones for twopence; he took up my head and broke his cane with it,\ncalling me a thousand fools, saying, the man was more just, than to\ntake any thing but the right for it: but I was sure there was none\nof the right buying and selling such dear penny-worths: So I came\nagain for my dear sixpence letter; and as the fellow was shuffling\nthrough a parcel of them, seeking for it again, to make the best\nof a dear market, I pick\u2019t up two, and home I comes to my master,\nthinking he would be well pleased with what I had done, now, said\nI, master, I think I have put a trick on them fellows, for selling\nthe letter to you: What have you done? said he, said I, I have\nonly taken other two letters; here\u2019s one for you, master, to help\nyour dear penny-worth, and I\u2019ll send the other to my mother to see\nwhether she be dead or alive, for she\u2019s always angry I don\u2019t write\nto her: I had not the word well spoken, till he got up his stick\nand beat me heartily for it, and sent me back to the fellows again\nwith the two: I had a very ill will to go, but nobody would buy\nthem of me by the way.\n\n_Tom._ A well, Pady, I think you was to blame, and your master\ntoo, for he ought to have taught you how to have gone about those\naffairs, and not beat you so.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I had too much wit of my own to be\nteached by him, or any body else; he began to instruct me after\nthat, how I should serve the table, and such nasty things as those:\none night I took ben a roasted fish in one hand, and a piece\nof bread in the other; the old gentleman was so saucy he would\nnot take it, and told me, I should bring nothing to him without\na trencher below it: the same night as he was going to bed, he\ncalled for his slippers and pish-pot, so I clapt a trencher below\nthe pish-pot, and another below the slippers, and ben I goes,\none in every hand: no sooner did I enter the room, than he threw\nthe pish-pot at me which broke both my head and the pish-pot at\none blow: now, said I, the devil is in my master altogether, for\nwhat he commands at one time he countermands at another. Next day\nI went with him to the market to buy a sack of potatoes, I went\nto the potatoe-monger, and asked what he took for the full of a\nScot\u2019s cog, he weighed them in, he asked no less than fourpence;\nfourpence, said I, if I were but in Dublin, I could get the full of\nthat for nothing, and in Cork and Kinsale far cheaper; them is but\nsmall things like pease, said I, but the potatoes in my country is\nas big as your head, fine meat, all made up in blessed mouthfuls;\nthe potatoe-merchant called me a liar, and my master called me a\nfool, so the one fell a-kicking me, and the other a cuffing me, I\nwas in such bad bread among them, that I called myself both a liar\nand a fool to get off alive.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you carry your potatoes home from the market?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I carried the horse and them both, besides\na big loaf, and two bottles of wine: for I put the old horse on my\nback, and drove the potatoes before me: and when I tied the load to\nthe loaf, I had nothing to do but to carry the bottle in my hand:\nbut bad luck to the way as I came home, for a nail out of the heal\nof my foot sprung a leak in my brogue, which pricked the very bone,\nbruised the skin, and made my brogue itself to blood: and I having\nno hammer by me, but a hatchet I left at home, I had to beat down\nthe nail with the bottom of the bottle: and by the book, dear shoy,\nit broke to pieces, and scattered the wine in my mouth.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you recompense your master for the loss of your\nbottle of wine?\n\n_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I had a mind to cheat him, and myself too,\nfor I took the bottle to a blacksmith, and desired him to mend it,\nthat I might go to the butcher and get it full of bloody water, but\nhe told me he could not work in any thing but steel and iron. Arra,\nsaid I, if I were in my own kingdom, I could get a blacksmith who\nwould make a bottle out of a stone, and a stone out of nothing.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you trick your master out of it?\n\n_Teag._ Why the old rogue began to chide me, asking me what way\nI broke it, then I held up the other as high as my head, and let\nit fall to the ground on a stone, which broke it all in pieces\nlikewise: now, said I, master, that\u2019s the way, and then he beat me\nvery heartily, until I had to shout out mercy and murder all at\nonce.\n\n_Tom._ Why did you not leave him when he used you so badly.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I could never think to leave him while I\ncould eat, he gave me so many good victuals, and promised to prefer\nme to be his own bone-picker. But by shaint Patrick, I had to run\naway with my life or all was done, else I had lost my dear shoul\nand body too by him, and then I came home much poorer than I went\naway. The great big bitch dog which was my master\u2019s best beloved,\nput his head into a pitcher to lick out some milk, and when it\nwas in he could not get it out, and I to save the pitcher got the\nhatchet and cut off the dog\u2019s head, and then I had to break the\npitcher to get out the head; by this I lost both the dog and the\npitcher. My master, hearing of this, swore he would cut the head\noff me, for the poor dog was made useless, and could not see to\nfollow any body for want of his eyes: And when I heard of this, I\nran away with my own head, for if I had wanted it I had lost my\neyes too, then I would not have seen the road to Port Patrick,\nthrough Glen-nap, but by shaint Patrick I came home alive in spite\nof them all.\n\n_Tom._ O rarely done Pady, you behaved like a man, but what is the\nreason that you Irish people swear always by shaint Patrick, what\nis this shaint Patrick?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, he was the best shaint in the world, the\nfather of all good people in the kingdom, he has a great kindness\nfor an Irishman, when he hears him calling on his name; he was the\nfirst that sow\u2019d the potatoes in Ireland, for he knew it was a bit\nof good fit ground, it being a gentleman\u2019s garden before Noah\u2019s\nflood.\n\n_Tom._ But dear Pady, is shaint Patrick yet alive, that he hears\nthe Irish people when they speak of his name?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I don\u2019t know whether he be dead or alive,\nbut it\u2019s a long time since they killed him, the people turned all\nheathens, for he would not change his profession, and was going to\nrun the country with it, and for taking his gospel away to England,\nso the barbarous tories of Dublin cutted off his head, and what do\nyou think he did when his head was off?\n\n_Tom._ What could a dead man do you fool?\n\n_Teag._ Dead, faith he was not such a big fool as to die yet, he\nswimmed over to England after this, and brought his head along with\nhim.[166]\n\n_Tom._ And how did he carry his head and swim too?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, he carried his head in his teeth.\n\n_Tom._ No, Pady, it won\u2019t hold, I must have caution for that.\n\n_Teag._ If you won\u2019t believe me, I\u2019ll swear it over again.\n\n\nPART II.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you get safe out of Scotland at last?\n\n_Teag._ By the law dear honey, when I came to Port Patrick, and saw\nmy own kingdom, I thought I was safe at home, but I was clean dead\nand almost drowned before I could get riding over the water: for\nI, with nine passengers more, leapt in a little young boat, having\nbut four men dwelling in a little house, in the one end of it,\nwhich was all thacked with deals: and after they had pulled up her\ntether-stick, and laid her long halter over her mane, they pulled\nup a long big sheet like three pair of blankets to the riggen of\nthe house, and the wind blew in that, which made her gallop up one\nhill and down another, till I thought she would have run to the\nworld\u2019s end if some part of the world had not catch\u2019t her by the\nfoot.\n\n_Tom._ I fancy, Pady, you was by this time very sick?\n\n_Teag._ Sick, ay sick beyond all sickness, clean dead as a\ndoor-nail; for as I had lost the key of my backside, I bock\u2019d up\nthe very bottom of my belly, and I thought that liver and lungs,\nand all that I had should have gone together; then I called to the\nfellow that held by her tail behind, to pull down his sheet and\nhold her head, till I got leasure to die, and then say my prayers.\n\n_Tom._ Well then, Pady, and got you safe ashore at last?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, we came ashore very fast; but, by shaint Patrick, I\nshall never venture my dear shoul and body in such a young boat\nagain, while the wind blows out of Scots Galloway.[167]\n\n_Tom._ Well, Pady, and where did you go when you came to Ireland\nagain?\n\n_Teag._ Arra dear honey, and where did I go, but to my own dear\ncousin, who was now become very rich by the death of the old buck\nhis father: who died but a few weeks before I went over, and the\nparish had to bury him out of pity, it did not cost him a farthing.\n\n_Tom._ And what entertainment or good usage did you get there, Pady?\n\n_Teag._ O my dear shoy, I was kindly used as another gentleman,\nfor I told him I had made something of it, by my travels, as well\nas himself, but I had got no money, therefore I had to work for my\nvictuals while I staid with him.\n\n_Tom._ Ho, poor Pady, I suppose you would not stay long there.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I could have staid there long enough, but\nwhen a man is poor his friends think little of him: I told him I\nwas going to see my brother Harry: Harry, said he, is dead: dead\nsaid I, and who killed him? Why said he, death: Allelieu, dear\nhoney, and where did he kill him? said I. In his bed, said he; O\nwhat for a cowardly action was that, said I, to kill a man in his\nbed: and what is this fellow death? said I. What is he, He is one\nthat kills more than the head butcher in all Cork does. Arra, dear\nhoney, said I, if he had been upon Newry mountains with his brogues\non, and his broad sword by his side, all the deaths in Ireland had\nnot have killed him: O that impudent fellow death, if he had let\nhim alone till he died for want of butter milk and potatoes, I am\nsure he had lived all the days of his life.\n\n_Tom._ In all your travels when abroad, did you never see any of\nyour countrymen, to inform you of what happened at home concerning\nyour relations?\n\n_Teag._ Arra dear shoy, I saw none but Tom Jack one day in the\nstreet; but when I came to him, it was not him, but one just like\nhim.\n\n_Tom._ On what account did you go a travelling?\n\n_Teag._ Why, a decruiting sergeant listed me to be a captain, and\nafter all advanced me no higher than a soldier itself, but only he\ncalled me his dear countryman recruit: for I did not know what the\nregiment was when I saw them; I thought they were all gentlemen\u2019s\nsons and collegeoners, when I saw a box like a bible upon their\nbellies: until I saw K for King George upon it, and R for God bless\nhim: ho, ho, said I, I shan\u2019t be long here.\n\n_Tom._ O then Pady, you deserted from them?\n\n_Teag._ Ah that\u2019s what I did, and run to the mountains like a wild\nbuck, and ever since when I see any soldiers I close my eyes, lest\nthey should look and know me.\n\n_Tom._ And what exploits did you do when you were a soldier?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I killed a man.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you that?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, when he dropt his sword, I drew mine, and\nadvanced boldly to him, and then cutted off his foot.\n\n_Tom._ O then what a big fool was you; for you ought first to have\ncut off his head.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, his head was cutted off before I engaged\nhim, else I had not done it.\n\n_Tom._ O then Pady, you acted like a fool; but you are not such a\nbig fool as many take you to be, you might pass for a philosopher.\n\n_Teag._ A fulusifair, my father was a fulusifair, besides he was a\nman under great authority by law, condemning the just and clearing\nthe guilty: do you know how they call the horse\u2019s mother?\n\n_Tom._ Why they call her a mare.\n\n_Teag._ A mare, ay very well minded, by shaint Patrick, my father\nwas a mare in Cork.\n\n_Tom._ And what riches was left you by the death of your mother?\n\n_Teag._ A bad luck to her old barren belly, for she lived in great\nplenty, and died in great poverty: devoured up all or she died,\nbut two hens and a pockful of potatoes, a poor estate for an Irish\ngentleman, in faith.\n\n_Tom._ And what did you make of your hens and potatoes, did you sow\nthem?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I sowed them in my belly, and sold the\nhens to a cadger.\n\n_Tom._ And what business did your mother follow after?\n\n_Teag._ Greatly in the merchant way.\n\n_Tom._ And what sort of goods did she deal in?\n\n_Teag._ Dear honey, she went through the country and sold small\nfishes, onions and apples: bought hens and eggs, and then hatched\nthem herself. I remember one long-necked cock she had of an oversea\nbrood, that stood on the midden and picked all the stars out of the\nnorth-west so they were never so thick there since.\n\n_Tom._ Now Pady, that\u2019s a bull surpasses all: but is there none of\nthat cock\u2019s offspring alive in Ireland now?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I don\u2019t think that there are, but it is a\npity but they had, for they would fly with people above the sea,\nwhich would put the use of ships out of fashion, and then there\nwould be nobody drowned at sea at all.\n\n_Tom._ Very well Pady: but in all your travels did you ever get a\nwife?\n\n_Teag._ Ay that\u2019s what I did, and wicked wife too.\n\n_Tom._ And what is become of her now?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, I can\u2019t tell whether she is gone to Purgatory,\nor the parish of Pig-trantrum: for she told me she should certainly\ndie the first opportunity she could get, as this present evil\nworld was not worth the waiting on, so she would go and see what\ngood things is in the world to come; and so when that old rover\ncalled the Fever, came raging like a madman over the whole kingdom,\nknocking the people on the head with deadly blows, she went away\nand died out of spite, leaving me with nothing but two motherless\nchildren.\n\n_Tom._ O, but Pady, you ought to have gone to a doctor, and got\nsome pills and physic for her.\n\n_Teag._ By shaint Patrick I had as good a pill of my own as any\ndoctor in the kingdom could give her, and as for sneeshing, she\ncould never use snuff nor tobacco in her life.\n\n_Tom._ O you fool that is not what I mean; you ought to have\nbrought the doctor to feel her pulse, and let blood of her if he\nthought it needful.\n\n_Teag._ Yes, that\u2019s what I did; for I ran to the doctor whenever\nshe died, and sought something for a dead or dying woman; the old\nfoolish devil was at his dinner, and began to ask me some dirty\nquestions, which I answered distinctly.\n\n_Tom._ And what did he ask, Pady?\n\n_Teag._ Why, he asked me, How did my wife go to stool? to which I\nanswered, the same way that other women go to a chair: no, said he,\nthat\u2019s not what I mean, how does she purge? Arra, Mr. Doctor, said\nI, all the fire in Purgatory wont purge her clean; for she has both\na cold and stinking breath. Sir, said he, that is not what I ask\nyou, whether does she shit thick or thin? Arra, Mr. Doctor, said\nI, it is sometimes so thick and hard that you may take it in your\nhand, and eat it like a piece of cheese or pudding, and at other\ntimes you may drink it, or sup it with a spoon. At this he flew in\na most terrible rage, and kicked me down stairs, and would give me\nnothing to her, but called me a dirty scoundrel for speaking of\nshit before ladies.\n\n_Tom._ And was you sorry when your wife died?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, if any body had beat me, I was fit to cry\nmyself.\n\n_Tom._ And in what good order did you bury your wife when she died?\n\n_Teag._ O my dear shoy she was buried in all manner of pomp,\npride, and splendour; a fine coffin with cords in it, and within\nthe coffin along with herself, she got a pair of new brogues, a\npenny candle, a good hard-headed old hammer, with an Irish sixpenny\npiece, to pay her passage at the gate and what more could she look\nfor.[168]\n\n_Tom._ I really think you gave her enough along with her, but you\nought to have cried for her, if it was no more but to be in the\nfashion.\n\n_Teag._ And why should I cry without sorrow? when we hired two\ncriers to cry all the way before her to keep in the fashion.\n\n_Tom._ And what do they cry before a dead woman?\n\n_Teag._ Why they cry the common cry, or funeral lament that is used\nin our Irish country.\n\n_Tom._ And what manner of cry is that, Pady?\n\n_Teag._ Dear Tom, if you don\u2019t know, I\u2019ll tell you, when any dies,\nthere is a number of criers goes before, saying, Luff, fuff, fou,\nallelieu, dear honey, what aileth thee to die! it was not for want\nof good buttermilk and potatoes.\n\n\nPART III.\n\n_Tom._ Well Pady, and what did you do when your wife died?\n\n_Teag._ Dear honey, what would I do: do you think I was such a big\nfool as to die too, I am sure, If I had I would not have got fair\nplay, when I am not so old yet as my father was when he died.\n\n_Tom._ No, Pady, it is not that I mean, was you sorry, or did you\nweep for her?\n\n_Teag._ Weep for her; by shaint Patrick I would not weep nor yet be\nsorry, suppose my own mother and all the women in Ireland had died\nseven years before I was born.\n\n_Tom._ What did you do with your children when she died?\n\n_Teag._ Do you imagine I was such a big fool as bury my children\nalive, along with a dead woman: Arra, dear honey, we always\ncommonly give nothing along with a dead person, but an old shirt,\na winding sheet, a big hammer, with a long candle, and an Irish\nsilver three-penny piece?\n\n_Tom._ Dear Pady, and what use do they make of all them things?\n\n_Teag._ Then, Tom, since you are so inquisitive, you must go ask\nthe priest.\n\n_Tom._ What did you make of your children then Pady?\n\n_Teag._ And what should I make of them, do you imagine that I\nshould give them into the hands of the butchers, as they had been a\nparcel of young hogs: by shaint Patrick, I had more unnaturality in\nme, than to put them in an hospital as others do.\n\n_Tom._ No, I suppose you would leave them with your friends?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, a poor man\u2019s friends is sometimes worse than a\nprofest enemy: the best friend I ever had in the world was my own\npocket while my money lasted; but I left two babes between the\npriest\u2019s door and the parish church, because I thought it was a\nplace of mercy, and then set out for England in quest of another\nfortune.\n\n_Tom._ And did you not take good-night with your friends ere you\ncame away?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I had no friends in the world but an\nIrish half-crown, and I would have been very sorry to parted with\nsuch a dear pocket-companion at such a time.\n\n_Tom._ I fancy Pady, you\u2019ve come off with what they call a\nmoon-shine flitting.\n\n_Teag._ You lie like a thief now, for I did not see sun, moon, nor\nstars, all the night then: for I set out from Cork at the dawn of\nnight, and I had travelled twenty miles all but twelve, before\ngloaming in the morning.\n\n_Tom._ And where did you go to take shipping?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I came to a country village called\nDublin, as a big a city as any market-town in all England, where I\ngot myself abroad of a little young boat, with a parcel of fellows,\nand a long leather bag, I supposed them to be tinkers, until I\nasked what they carried in that leather sack; they told me it was\nthe English mail they were going over with: then said I, is the\nmilns so scant in England, that they must send over their corn to\nIreland to grind it; the comical cunning fellows persuaded me it\nwas so; then I went down to a little house below the water, hard\nby the rigg-back of the boat, and laid me down on their leather\nsack, where I slept myself almost to death with hunger. And dear\nTom, to tell you plainly, when I awaked I did not know where I was,\nbut thought I was dead and buried, for I found nothing all round me\nbut wooden walls and timber above.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you come to yourself, to know where you was at\nlast.\n\n_Teag._ By the law, dear shoy, I scratched my head in a hundred\nparts, and then set me down to think upon it, so I minded it was my\nwife that was dead, and not me, and that I was alive in the young\npost boat, with the fellows that carries over English meal from the\nIrish milns.\n\n_Tom._ O then, Pady, I am sure yon was glad when you found yourself\nalive?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was very sure I was alive, but I did not\nthink to live long, so I thought it was better for me to steal and\nbe hanged, than to live all my days, and die directly with hunger\nat last.\n\n_Tom._ What, had you no meat nor money along with you?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I gave all the money to the captain of the\nhouse or gudeman of the ship, to carry me into the sea, or over\nto England, and when I was like to eat my old brogues for want of\nvictuals, I drew my hanger and cut their leather sack thinkin\u2019 to\nget a lick of their meal; but allelieu, dear shoy, I found nothing,\nmeal nor seeds, but a parcel of papers and letters, a poor morsel\nindeed for a hungry man.\n\n_Tom._ O then Pady you laid down your honesty for nothing.\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, I was a great theif, but got nothing to steal.\n\n_Tom._ And how did you come to get victuals at last?\n\n_Teag._ Allelieu, dear honey, the thoughts of meat and drink, death\nand life, and every thing else, was out of my mind, I had not a\nthought but one.\n\n_Tom._ And what was that Pady?\n\n_Teag._ To go down among the fishes and become a whale; then I\nwould have lived an easy life all my days, having nothing to do but\ndrink salt water, and eat caller oysters.\n\n_Tom._ What Pady, was you like to be drowned again?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, drowned, as cleanly drowned as a fish, for the sea\nblew very loud, and the wind ran so high, that we were all cast\naway safe on shore, and not one of us drowned at all.\n\n_Tom._ And where did you go when you came on shore?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was not able to go any where, you might\ncast a knot on my belly, I was so hollow in my middle so I went\ninto a gentleman\u2019s house and told him the bad fortune I had of\nbeing drowned between Ireland and the foot of his garden; where we\ncame all safe ashore. But all the comfort I got from him was a word\nof truth.\n\n_Tom._ And what was that Pady?\n\n_Teag._ Why he told me if I had been a good boy at home: I needed\nnot to have gone so far to push my fortune with an empty pocket; to\nwhich I answered, and what magnifies that, as long as I am a good\nworkman at no trade at all.\n\n_Tom._ I suppose, Pady, the gentleman would make you dine with him?\n\n_Teag._ I really thought I was, when I saw them roasting and\nskinning so many black chickens which was nothing but a few dead\ncrows they were going to eat; ho, ho, said I, them is but dry meat\nat the best, of all the fowls that flie, commend me to the wing of\nan ox: but all that came to my share, was a piece of boiled herring\nand a roasted potatoe, that was the first bit of bread I ever eat\nin England.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Pady, what business did you follow after in England,\nwhen you was so poor?\n\n_Teag._ What sir, do you imagine I was poor when I came over on\nsuch an honourable occasion as to list, and bring myself to no\npreferment at all. As I was an able bodied man in the face, I\nthought to be made a brigadeer, a grandedeer, or a fuzeleer, or\neven one of them blew gowns that holds the fiery stick to the\nbung-hole of the big cannons, when they let them off, to fright\naway the French; I was as sure as no man alive ere I came from\nCork, the least preferment I could get, was to be riding-master to\na regiment of marines, or one of the black horse itself.\n\n_Tom._ Well Pady, you seem to be a very clever man, to be all in\none body, what height are you?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I am five foot nothing, all but one inch.\n\n_Tom._ And where in England was it you listed?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I was going through that little country\nvillage, the famous city of Chester, the streets was very sore by\nreason of the hardness of my feet, and lameness of my brogues, so\nI went but very slowly a-cross the streets, from port to port is\na pretty long way, but I being weary thought nothing of it: then\nthe people came all crowding to me as I had been a world\u2019s wonder,\nor the wandering Jew: For the rain blew in my face, and the wind\nwetted all my belly, which caused me to turn the backside of my\ncoat before, and my buttons behind, which was a good safeguard to\nmy body, and the starvation of my naked back: as I had not a good\nshirt.\n\n_Tom._ I am sure then, Pady, they would take you for a fool?\n\n_Teag._ No, no, sir, they admired me for my wisdom, for I always\nturned my buttons before, when the wind blew on behind, but I\nwondered greatly how the people knew my name, and where I came\nfrom: for every one told another, that was Pady from Cork: I\nsuppose they knew my face by seeing my name in the newspapers.\n\n_Tom._ Well, Pady, what business did you follow in Chester?\n\n_Teag._ To be sure I was not idle, working at nothing at all, until\na decruiting sergeant came to town with two or three fellows along\nwith him, one beating on a fiddle, and another playing on a drum,\ntossing their airs thro\u2019 the street, as if they were going to be\nmarried: and I saw them courting none but young men; so to bring\nmyself to no preferment at all, I listed for a soldier because I\nwas too high for a grandedeer.\n\n_Tom._ And what listing money did you get, Pady?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I got five thirteens and a pair of English\nbrogues; the guinea and the rest of the gold was sent away to\nLondon, to the King my master, to buy me new shirts, a cockade, and\ncommon treasing for my hat, they made me swear the malicious oath\nof devilrie against the King, the colours, and my captain, telling\nme if ever I desert and not run away, that I should be shot, and\nthen whipt to death, through the regiment.\n\n_Tom._ No Pady: it is first whipt and then shot you mean.\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, it is all one thing at last, but it is\nbest to be shot and then whipt, the cleverest way to die, I\u2019ll\nwarrant you.\n\n_Tom._ How much pay did you get, Pady?\n\n_Teag._ Do you know the little tall fat seargeant that feed me to\nbe a soldier?\n\n_Tom._ And how should I know them I never saw, you fool?\n\n_Teag._ Dear shoy, you may know him whether you see him or not! for\nhis face is all bored in big holes with the small pox, his nose\nis the colour of a lobster-toe, and his chin like a well washen\npotatoe: he\u2019s the biggest rogue in our kingdom, you\u2019ll know him\nwhen he cheats you, and the wide world; and another mark, he dights\nhis mouth before he drinks, and blows his nose before he takes a\nsnuff; the rogue height me sixpence a day, kill or no kill: and\nwhen I laid Sunday and Saturday both together, and all the days in\none day, I can\u2019t make a penny above fivepence of it.\n\n_Tom._ You should have kept an account, and asked your arrears once\na month.\n\n_Teag._ That\u2019s what I did, but he read a paternoster, out of his\nprayer book, wherein all our names are written; so much for a\nstop-hold to my gun, to bucklers, to a pair of comical harn-hose,\nwith leather buttons from top to toe; and worst of all, he would\nhave no less than a penny a week to a doctor; arra, said I, I never\nhad a sore finger nor yet a sick toe, all the days of my life, then\nwhat have I to do with the doctor, or the doctor to do with me?\n\n_Tom._ And did he make you pay all these things?\n\n_Teag._ Ay, ay, pay and better pay; he took me before his captain,\nwho made me pay all was in his book. Arra, master captain, said I,\nyou are a comical sort of a fellow now, you might as well make me\npay for my coffin before I be dead, as to pay for a doctor before\nI be sick; to which he answered in a passion, sirra, said he, I\nhave seen many a better man buried without a coffin: sir, said I,\nthen I\u2019ll have a coffin, die when I will, if there be as much wood\nin all the world, or I shall not be buried at all. Then he called\nfor the sergeant, saying, you, sir, go and buy that man\u2019s coffin,\nand put it in the store till he die, and stop sixpence a week off\nhis pay for it: No, no, sir, said I, I\u2019ll rather die without a\ncoffin; and seek none when I\u2019m dead; but if you are for clipping\nanother sixpence off my poor pay, keep it all to yourself, and I\u2019ll\nswear all your oaths of agreement we had back again, and then seek\nsoldiers where you will.\n\n_Tom._ O then Pady, how did you end the matter?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, by the mights of shaint Patrick and help\nof my own brogues, I both ended it, and mended it, for the next\nnight before that, I gave them leg bail for my fidelity, and then\nwent about the country a fortune-teller, dumb and deaf as I was not.\n\n_Tom._ How old was you Pady when you was a soldier last?\n\n_Teag._ Arra, dear honey, I was three dozen all but two, and it is\nonly but two years since, so I want only four years of three dozen\nyet, and when I live six dozen more, I\u2019ll be older than I am, I\u2019ll\nwarrand you.\n\n_Tom._ O but Pady, by your account, you are three dozen of years\nold already.\n\n_Teag._ O what for a big fool are you now Tom, when you count the\nyears I lay sick; which time I count no time at all.\n\n\nA NEW CATECHISM, &c.\n\n_Tom._ Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now, Pady,\nof what profession art thou?\n\n_Pady._ Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter\nto carry out of my own country: I was afraid that you English\nPresbyterians should pluck it away from me.\n\n_Tom._ What, Pady, was your religion such a load that you could not\ncarry it along with you?\n\n_Pady._ Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me\nwhen at home, my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear\nbutton hole.\n\n_Tom._ And what manner of worship did you perform by that?\n\n_Pady._ Why I adored my cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed\nOliver, as black as a crow, and swears myself a cut throat against\nall Protestants and church of Englandmen.\n\n_Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of\nEnglandman, or a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Pady?\n\n_Pady._ Because it is unnatural for an Irishman, but had shaint\nPatrick been a Presbyterian, I had been the same.\n\n_Tom._ And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Pady?\n\n_Pady._ Because they have a liberty to eat flesh in lent, and every\nthing that\u2019s fit for the belly.\n\n_Tom._ What, Pady, are you such a lover of flesh that you would\nchange your profession for it?\n\n_Pady._ O yes, that\u2019s what I did, I love flesh of all kinds,\nsheep\u2019s beef, swine\u2019s mutton, hare\u2019s flesh, and hen\u2019s venison;\nbut our religion is one of the hungriest in all the world, ah!\nbut it makes my teeth to weep, and my belly to water, when I see\nthe Scotch Presbyterians and English churchmen, in time of lent,\nfeeding upon bull\u2019s bastards, and sheep\u2019s young children.\n\n_Tom._ Why Pady, do you say the bull is a fornicator, and gets\nbastards?\n\n_Pady._ Arra, dear shoy, I never saw the cow and her husband, all\nthe days of my life, nor before I was born, going to the church\nto be married, and what then can his sons and daughters be but\nbastards?\n\n_Tom._ O Pady, Pady, the cow is but a cow, but and so are you: but\nwhat reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing your\nbelly so while you are alive?\n\n_Pady._ By shaint Patrick I\u2019ll live like a king when I\u2019m dead, for\nI will neither pay for meat nor drink.\n\n_Tom._ What, Pady, do you think that you are to come alive again\nwhen you are dead?\n\n_Pady._ O yes, we that are true Roman Catholicks we will live a\nlong time after we are dead; when we die in love with the priests,\nand the good people of our profession.\n\n_Tom._ And what assurance can your priests give you of that?\n\n_Pady._ Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, and a good\nshoul, who can repeat a patter-noster, and Ave Maria, which will\nfright the very horned devil himself and make him run for it, until\nhe be like to fall and break his neck.\n\n_Tom._ And what does he give you when you are dying that makes you\ncome alive again?\n\n_Pady._ Why he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a\nwafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and\ndirection in our right-hand, who to call for at the ports of\nPurgatory?\n\n_Tom._ And to whom do they direct the dead?\n\n_Pady._ Why the English Romans when they die are all directed to\nshaint George, the Scots to shaint Andrew, the Welch to shaint\nDavid, and our own dear countrymen must every shoul of them go to\nshaint Patrick, but them that have no money to pay the priest for\na pardon, or those that are drown\u2019d or die by themselves in the\nfields without a priest, is lost, and sent away as black-guard\nscoundrels, to wander up and down while the world stands, among the\nbrownies, fairies, mermaids, sea-devils, and water kelpies.\n\n_Tom._ And what money design you to give the priests for your\npardon?\n\n_Pady._ Dear shoy, I wish I had first the money he would take for\nit, I would rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill\nand my honest word, payable in the other world.\n\n_Tom._ And how then are you to get a passage to the other world, or\nwho is to carry you there?\n\n_Pady._ O my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter; for,\nwhen I die, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt and bones,\nonly my skin will be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear\nshoul I mean; and then I will be blown over to the other world,\non the wings of the wind; and after that I shall never be kill\u2019d\nhang\u2019d nor drowned, nor yet die in my bed, for when any hits me a\nblow, my new body will play buff upon it like a bladder.\n\n_Tom._ But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it?\n\n_Pady._ Arra, dear shoy, the priest knows where it is, but I do\nnot, but the Pope of Rome keeps the outer-port, shaint Patrick the\ninner-port, and gives us a direction of the way to shaint Patrick\u2019s\npalace, which stands on the head of the Stalian-loch, where I\u2019ll\nhave no more to do but chap at the gate.\n\n_Tom._ What is the need for chapping at the gate, is it not always\nopen?\n\n_Pady._ Dear Shoy, you know little about it, for there is none can\nenter in but red-hot Irishmen, for when I call, \u201cAllelieu, dear\nhoney, shaint Patrick countenance your own dear countryman if you\nwill.\u201d Then the gates will be opened directly to me, for he knows\nand loves an Irishman\u2019s voice, as he loves his own heart.\n\n_Tom._ And what entertainment will you get when you are in?\n\n_Pady._ O my dear, we are all kept there until a general review,\nwhich is commonly once in the week; and then we are drawn up, like\nas many young recruits, and all the black-guard scoundrels is\npickt out of the ranks, and one half of them is sent away to the\nElysian fields, to curry the weeds from among the potatoes, the\nother half of them to the river Sticks, to catch fishes for shaint\nPatrick\u2019s table; and all them that is owing the priests any money,\nis put in the black hole, and then given into the hands of a great\nblack bitch of a devil which they keep for a hangman, who whips\nthem up and down the smoaky dungeon every morning for six months,\nthen holds their bare back-side to a great fire, until their hips\nbe all in one blister, and after all, they are sent away to the\npoor parish of Pig-trantum, where they get nothing to eat but cold\nsowens, burgue, and butter-milk.\n\n_Tom._ And where does your good people go when they are separated\nfrom the bad?\n\n_Pady._ And where would you have them to go, but unto shaint\nPatrick\u2019s palace, and then they may go down the back stairs into\nthe garden of Eden, now called Paradise: ah! my dear shoy, this\nis the real fundamental truths of our Romish Religion, and a deep\ndoctrine it is, but your Presbyterians and English churchmen will\nnot believe it, and, by shaint Patrick, neither can I, until I see\nmore of it come to pass.\n\n_Tom._ And what manner of life does your priest ordain you to live\nin the world to come?\n\n_Pady._ Arra, dear shoy, if I had money enough to buy pardons from\nour priest, I might commit all the lies forbidden in the holy\nbooks, as he gives them a toleration to lie and cheat all the\nworld, but those of our own profession.\n\n_Tom._ What, Pady, are you not to do as much justice to a\nProtestant as a Papist?\n\n_Pady._ O my dear shoy, the most justice we are commanded to do\nto a Protestant, is to whip and torment them until they confess\nthemselves in the Romish Faith, and then cut their throats that\nthey may die believers.\n\n_Tom._ What business do you follow after at present?\n\n_Pady._ Arra, dear shoy, I am a mountain sailor, and my\nsupplication is as follows,\n\n\nPADY\u2019S HUMBLE PETITION, OR SUPPLICATION.\n\nGood Christian people behold me a man! who has com\u2019d thro\u2019 a\nworld of wonders, a hell full of hardships, dangers by sea, and\ndangers by land, and yet I am alive, you may see my hand crooked\nlike a fowl\u2019s foot, and that is no wonder at all, considering my\nsufferings and sorrows: Oh! oh! oh! good people I was a man in my\ntime who had plenty of the gold, plenty of the silver, plenty of\nthe clothes, plenty of the butter, the beer, beef, and bisket. And\nnow, now I have nothing: being taken by the Turks and relieved\nby the Spaniards, lay sixty-six days at the siege of Gibraltar,\nand got nothing to eat but sea wreck and raw mussels; then put to\nsea for our safety, cast upon the Barbarian coast among the woful\nwicked Algerines, where we were taken, and tied with tugs and\ntadders, horse-locks and cow-chains: then cut and custrate yard\nand testicles quite away, if you will not believe, put in your hand\nand feel how every female\u2019s made smooth by the sheer-bone, where\nnothing is to be seen but what is natural. Then made our escape\nto the desert wild wilderness of Arabia: where we lived amongst\nthe wild asses, upon wind, sand, and sapless ling. Afterwards put\nto sea in the hull of an old house; where we was tossed above\nand below the clouds, being driven thro\u2019 thickets and groves by\nfierce, coarse, calm and contrary winds; at last, was cast away\nupon Salisbury plains, where our vessel was dash\u2019d to pieces\nagainst a cabbage-stock. And now my humble petition to you good\nChristian people is, for one hundred of your beef, one hundred\nof your butter, another of your cheese, a cask of your bisket, a\ntun of your beer, a keg of your rum, with a pipe of your wine, a\nlump of your gold, a piece of your silver, a few of your halfpence\nor farthings, a waught of your butter-milk, a pair of your old\nbreeches, stockings, or shoes, even a chaw of tobacco for charity\u2019s\nsake.\n\n\nA CREED FOR ROMISH BELIEVERS.\n\nI believe the Pope of Rome, to be the right heir and true successor\nof Peter the Apostle, and that he has a power above all the\nkings of the world, being spiritual and temporal; endowed with a\ncommunication from beyond the grave, and can bring up any departed\nshoul[169] he pleases, even as the woman of Endor brought up Samuel\nto Saul, by the same power he can, assisted by the enchantments\nof old Manasseh, a king in Israel. I believe also in the Romish\npriests that they are very civil chaste gentlemen, keep no wives\nof their own, but partake a little of other men\u2019s, when in secret\nconfession. I acknowledge the worshipping of images and relicks of\nshaints departed to be very just; but if they hear us and not help\nus, O they are but a parcel of ungrateful wretches.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES._\n\n\n  [\u2018The Comical History of Simple John, and his Twelve Misfortunes;\n  which happened all in twelve Days after the unhappy Day of his\n  Marriage. Giving a particular account of his Courtship and\n  Marriage to a Scolding Wife; which has been a mortifying Misery\n  to many a poor Man.\n\n      O Sirs will you see,\n      What it is to married be!\n\n  Glasgow: Printed for the Company of Flying Stationers, in Town\n  and country. MDCCLXXX.\u2019 Such is the full title of the edition\n  here used. It has been with the following editions:--\u2018Edinburgh:\n  printed for the booksellers, 1823\u2019; and \u2018Stirling: printed by\n  William Macnie, and sold wholesale and retail, 1823\u2019; and also\n  with the modern Glasgow one.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMICAL HISTORY OF SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES.\n\n\nSimple John was a widow\u2019s son, and a coarse country weaver to his\ntrade; he made nothing but such as canvas for caff-beds, corn and\ncoal-sacks, druggit and harn was the finest webs he could lay his\nfingers to; he was a great lump of a lang lean lad, aboon sax\nfit high afore he was aughteen year auld, and as he said himsel\nhe grew sae fast and was in sic a hurry to be high, that he did\nnot stay to bring a\u2019 his judgment wi\u2019 him, but yet he hoped it\nwould follow him, and he would meet wi\u2019t as mony a are does after\nthey\u2019re married; he had but ae sister, and she had as little sense\nas himsel, she was married on Sleeky Willy, the wylie weaver, his\nmither was a rattling rattle-scul\u2019d wife, and they lived a\u2019 in ae\nhouse, and every body held them as a family of fools. When John\ncame to man\u2019s state, to the age of twenty-one years, he tell\u2019d his\nmither he would hae a wife o\u2019 some sort, either young or auld,\nwidow or lass, if they had but head and hips, tongue and tail, he\nshou\u2019d tak them, and weel I wat mither, quoth he, they\u2019ll get a\nlumping penny-worth o\u2019 me, get me wha will.\n\nHis mither tells him o\u2019 the black butcher on Ti\u2019ot-side, who had\nthree dochters, and every ane of them had something, there was\nKate, Ann, and Girzy, had hunder merks the piece, Kate and Ann had\nboth bastards. Girzy the eldest had a hump back, a high breast,\nbaker legs, a short wry neck, thrawn mouth, and goggle ey\u2019d, a\nperfect \u00c6sop of the female kind, with as many crooked conditions\nwithin as without, a very lump of loun-like ill nature, row\u2019d a\u2019\ntogether, as if she had been nine months in a haggies, a second\nedition of crooked backed Richard an old English king, that was\nborn wi\u2019 teeth to bite a\u2019 round about him; and yet the wight gaed\nmad to be married.\n\nJohn\u2019s mother tell\u2019d him the road where to go, and what to say,\nand accordingly he sets out wi\u2019 his sunday\u2019s coat on, and a\u2019 his\nbraws, and a pair o\u2019 new pillonian breeks o\u2019 his mither\u2019s making.\nIn he comes and tell\u2019d his errand before he would sit down, says\ngood day to you goodman, what are you a\u2019 doing here? I am wanting\na wife, an\u2019 ye\u2019re a flesher and has a gude sorting aside you, my\nmither says ye can sair me or ony body like me, what say ye till\u2019t\ngoodman, how mony dochters hae ye? are they a\u2019 married yet? I fain\nwou\u2019d tak a look o\u2019 some o\u2019 them gin ye like.\n\nA wow said the goodwife come in by honest lad and rest you, an ye\nbe a wooer sit down an gi\u2019s a snuff; a deed goodwife I hae nae mill\nbut my mither\u2019s, and it\u2019s at hame. A whar win ye, I\u2019se no ken ye;\nI wat quoth he, my name\u2019s Jock Sandeman, they ca\u2019 me simple John\nthe sack weaver, I hae nae tocher but my loom, a pirn wheel, a\nkettle pat, a brass pan, twa piggs, four cogs and a candlestick, a\ngood cock, a cat, two eerocks new begun to lay; my sister Sara is\nmarried on sleeky Willie the wylie weaver, and I maun hae a hagwife\nor my mither die, for truly she\u2019s very frail, and ony harle o\u2019\nhealth she has is about dinner-time; what say ye till\u2019t, goodman?\ncan ye buckle me or no?\n\nGoodman. A dear John ye\u2019re in an unco haste, ye wadna hae you\u2019re\nwife hame wi\u2019 ye? they\u2019re a\u2019 there before ye, which o\u2019 them will ye\ntak?\n\nHout tout says John, ony o\u2019 them \u2019ill sare me, but my mither says\nthere\u2019s twa o\u2019 them has fauts: and what is their fauts said the\ngoodwife, hout said John, it\u2019s no meikle faut, but I dinna like it,\nthey got men or they were married. And what shall I do wi\u2019 them\nsaid the goodman.\n\nJohn. A deed goodman as ye\u2019re ay dealing among dead beasts and\nliving beasts, I wad put them awa amang ither beasts, or gin ye be\naun ony penny, let some body tak them up o\u2019 desperate debt, I sud\nflay the sikes frae them, they anger\u2019d you an\u2019 sham\u2019d you baith wi\u2019\ntheir bastards, a wheen daft jades it gets men or they be married,\nand bairns or they get bridals.\n\nGoodwife. A wat weel that\u2019s true lad.\n\nGirzy. A weel John than, will ye tak me, I hae nae bastards, how\nwill you and I do?\n\nJohn. I watna gin ye be able to get a bastard, yet ye may hae some\nwar faut; but ye maun be my pennyworth for ye\u2019re unco little, and\nI\u2019m o\u2019er muckle, and gin ye and I war ance cairded thro\u2019 ither, we\nmay get bonny weans o\u2019 a midlen mak; I hae nae fauts to ye, but ye\nhae a high breast, a hump back, a short neck, and high shoulders,\nthe hands and legs may do, tho\u2019 your mouth be a wee bit to the tae\nside it will ly well to the rock and I hae a hantle o\u2019 tow to spin,\nwill be baith sarks and sacks till us, ye\u2019ll be my sonsy dauty up\nand down; a perfect beauty, wi\u2019 cats yellow een, black brows and\nred lips, and your very nose is a purpey colour, ye hae nae fauts\nat a\u2019: now whan will we be married.\n\nGirzy. Ha, ha, John lad, we maun think on that yet.\n\nJohn. What the yeltow lass, shoudna ye be ready whan I\u2019m ready, and\nevery body says that the women\u2019s aye ready.\n\nGoodman. Ye\u2019ll hae to come back and bring somebody wi\u2019 you, and\nwe\u2019ll gree about it, and set the day whan ye\u2019ll be married.\n\nJohn. A well goodman I\u2019ll tell my mither o\u2019t, and come back on\nmunonday, and we\u2019ll hae a chappin o\u2019 ale and roasted cheese on the\ngude chance o\u2019t, but I maun hae a word o\u2019 the bride outby to convoy\nme, an a quiet speak to hersel about it.\n\nGood wife. A wow na John, the daft louns will laugh at you, and\nshe\u2019ll think shame, gang ye out by and she\u2019ll speak to you thro\u2019\nthe gavel window.\n\nOut goes John, and the bride and her twa sisters goes to the window\nwithin to hear the diversion, and what he would say; now says John,\nGirzy my dear, my braw pretty woman, an ye be in earnest tell me,\nfor by my suthe I\u2019m no scorning.\n\nGirzy. Indeed John I\u2019m very willing to tak you, but ye need na tell\nevery body about it.\n\nJohn. Then gi\u2019 me a kiss on that? He shutes his head in at the\nwindow, making a lang neck to win down to her, and she stood on a\nlittle stool to win up to him, O cries he, an ye were good flesh I\ncould eat you a\u2019 I like you sae well, it\u2019s a pity there is sic a\nhard wa\u2019 a \u2019tween us, I\u2019se tell my mither sae bonny as ye\u2019re: O gi\u2019\nme anither kiss yet an then I\u2019ll go; one of her sisters standing\nby in a dark corner, get\u2019s ha\u2019d of a cow\u2019s head which wanted a\u2019 the\nskin but about the mouth, and shutes it towards his mouth, which\nhe kiss\u2019d in the dark, O cry\u2019d he, but your mouth be cauld since I\nkiss\u2019d ye last, and I think ye hae a beard, I saw nae that afore,\nor is\u2019t wi\u2019 spinning tow that maks your mouth sae rough at e\u2019en?\n\nHame he comes, and tells his mither the speed and properties of\nthe marriage; a\u2019 things was got ready, and next week sleeky Willy\nthe weaver and him came to gree the marriage and stay a\u2019 night wi\u2019\nthe bride, and teach John gude manners, for whan John was hungry\nhe minded his meat more than his gude behaviour, and as he never\nwas fu\u2019 till the dish was tume, Willy the weaver was to tramp on\nhis fit when he thought he had supped enough; so all things being\nagreed upon short and easy terms and the wedding day sett, they\nwere to be three times cry\u2019d on Sunday and quietly married on\nMunonday, neither piper nor fidler to be employ\u2019d, but sweith awa\u2019\nhame frae the minister, and into the bed amang the blankets, ha,\nha, cries John, that\u2019s the best o\u2019t a\u2019.\n\nNow every thing being concluded and proposed, the supper was\nbrought, a large fat haggies, the very smell would done a hungry\nbody gude, but John had only got twa or three soups until are of\nthe butcher\u2019s meikle dogs tramped on John\u2019s fit, which he took to\nbe the weaver, and then he would sip no more; after supper they\nwent to bed, John and the weaver lay together, and then he abused\nthe weaver for tramping sae soon which he denied; but O, said John,\nthere\u2019s a hantle o\u2019t left, and I saw where it was set, they\u2019re a\u2019\nsleeping, I\u2019ll go rise and tak a soup o\u2019t yet, ay een do sae said\nSleeky Willy, and bring a soup to me too; away then John goes to\nthe amry and lays to the haggies, till his ain haggies cou\u2019d had\nnae mair, then brings the rest to Sleeky Willy, but instead of\ngoing to the bed whare he was, goes to the bed whare the bride and\nher twa sisters lay, they being fast asleep, speaks slowly, will ye\ntak it, will ye tak it, but they making no answers, he turns up the\nblankets to put a soup into Willy\u2019s mouth, but instead of doing so,\nhe puts a great spoonful close into one of their backsides, Sleeky\nWilly hears all that past, comes out o\u2019 the bed, and sups out the\nremainders, and sets up the dish whare it was, leaves the amry door\nopen to let the cats get the blame of supping the haggies, and awa\u2019\nthey goes to bed, but poor John cou\u2019d get nae sleep for drouth, up\nhe gets in search of the water can, and finding an empty pitcher,\nputs in his hand to find if there was any water in it, but finding\nnone, he closed his hand when it was within the pitcher, and then\ncould not get it out, goes to the bed and tells Sleeky Willy what\nhad happened him, who advised him to open the door and go out to a\nknocking-stane that stood before the door, and break it there to\nget out his hand, and not to mak a noise in the house, so out he\ngoes, but the bride\u2019s sister who had gotten the great spoonful of\nthe haggies laid to her backside was out before him, rubbing the\nnastiness (as she took it to be) off the tail of her sark, and she\nbeing in a louting posture, he took her for the knocking-stane, and\ncomes o\u2019er her hurdies with the pitcher, till it flew in pieces\nabout her, then off she runs wi\u2019 the fright, round a turf stack and\ninto the house before him; John comes in trembling to the bed again\nwi\u2019 the fright, praying to preserve him, for sic a knocking stane\nhe never saw, for it ran clean awa\u2019 when he brake the pigg upon it.\n\nNow John was furnished in a house by his Father-in-law, the\nbed, loom, heddles, treadles, thrums, reeds and pirn-wheel was\na\u2019 brought and set up, before the marriage, which was kept as a\nprofound secret; so that John got the first night of his ain wife,\nand his ain house a\u2019 at ae time: So on the next morning after the\nmarriage, John and his wife made up some articles, how they were\nto work, and keep house, John was to keep the house in meat, meal,\nfire, and water; Girzy was to mak the meat and keep the house in\nclothes, the Father-in-law to pay their rent for three years, they\nwere to hae no servants, until they had children, and the first\nchild was to be a John after its ain Daddy, get it wha will, if a\nboy, and if a girl, Girzy after its ain Minny, as he said, wha had\nwrought best for\u2019t.[170]\n\nI. Then she ordered John to rise and begin his work, by putting on\na fire, and take the twa new piggs and gang to the well, no sooner\nhad John opened the door, and gone out with a pigg in every hand,\nthan a\u2019 the boys and girls being gathered in a croud to see him,\ngave a loud huzza, and clapping their hands at him, poor John not\nknowing what it meant, thought it was fine sport, began to clap his\nhands too, and not minding the two piggs, clashes the tane against\nthe tither, till baith went in pieces, and that was a chearful\nhuzza, to baith young and auld that was looking at him. Girzel the\nwife draws him into the house, and to him she flies with the wicked\nwife\u2019s wapons, her Tongue and Tangs, made his ribbs to crack,\nsaying, They tell\u2019d me ye was daft, but I\u2019ll ding the daffing out\no\u2019 ye, I\u2019ll begin wi\u2019 ye as I\u2019m amind to end wi\u2019 ye; poor John sat\ncrying and clawing his lugs. Ha, ha, said he, its nae bairns play\nto be married, I find that already; his Mither-in-law came in and\nmade up peace, went to a cooper, and got them a big wooden stoup to\ncarry in their water.\n\nII. Next morning John was sent to the flesh-market an errand to\nhis Father-in-law, who gave him a piece of flesh to carry home,\nand as he was coming out of the market, he saw six or seven of\nthe fleshers-dogs fall on and worry at a poor country colley\ndog, Justice, justice, cries John to the dogs, ye\u2019re but a wheen\nunmannerly raskel\u2019s, that fa\u2019s a on ae poor beast, heth ye sude a\u2019\nbe put in the toubooth, and tane to the bailies, and hang\u2019d for the\nlike o\u2019 that, it\u2019s perfect murder, and in he runs amongst the dogs,\nand be hang\u2019d to you a\u2019 the-gither, What is the quarrel? What is\nthe quarrel? John flings down the flesh he had carrying, and grips\nthe colley, who took John for an enemy too, and bites his hands,\ntill the blood followed, the whole of the tykes comes on a poor\nJohn, till down he goes in the dirt amongst their feet, and one\nof the dogs runs off with his flesh, so John went hame both dirty\nand bloody without his flesh, tell\u2019d Girzy how it happened, who\napplied her old plaister, her tangs and tongue, made John to curse\nthe very minister that married them, and wished he might never do a\nbetter turn.\n\nIII. Next morning, John was sent to the well with the great stoup\nto bring in water for breakfast, and as he was pulling the stoup\nout of the well, in he tumbles, and his head down, the well being\nnarrow, he you\u2019d na win out, some people passing, by chance heard\nthe slunge, cried, and runs to his relief, hail\u2019d him out half\ndead, and helped him into the house, and after getting a dry sark,\nhe was comforted with the old plaister, her tongue and the hard\ntangs.\n\nIV. Next day, she says, John, I must go to the market myself, for\nif you go, you\u2019ll fight wi\u2019 the dogs, and let them run awa\u2019 wi\u2019 ony\nthing ye buy, see that ye put on the pot, and hae\u2019t boiling again\nI come hame; John promised well, but performs very badly, she\u2019s no\nsooner gone, than he puts on the new pot without any water in it,\nand a good fire to make it boil, and away he goes to the unhappy\nwell, fills his stoup and sets it down, to look at a parcel of boys\nplaying at Cat and Dog, they perswades John to take a game wi\u2019\nthem, on he plays till are o\u2019 the boys cries, hy John, yonder\u2019s\nyour Girzy coming. John runs into the house wi\u2019 the water, and the\npot being red hot on the fire, he tumes in the cold water into it,\nwhich made the pot flee all in pieces, just as she was entering the\ndoor. John runs for it, and she runs after him, crying, haud the\nthief, some persons stop\u2019d him, she comes up, and then she laboured\nhim all the way home, and he crying, O sirs, ye see what it is to\nbe married; the Mither-in-law had to make up a peace again, and he\npromised good behaviour in time to come.\n\nV. On the next morning she sent him to the water to wash some cows\npuddings, and turn them on a spindle, showing him how he was to do\nor he went away; John goes to the water very willingly, and as he\nturn\u2019d and wash\u2019d them, he laid them down behind him, where one of\nhis Father-in-law\u2019s big dogs stood, and ate them up as fast as he\nlaid them down till all was gone but the very last one, which he\ncarried home in his hand, crying like a child, and underwent a\nsevere tost of the old plaister, before any mercy was shown.\n\nVI. His Father-in-law next day sent him away to bring home a fat\ncalf he had bought in the country, and tied up the money in a\nnapkin, which he carried in his hand for fear he should lose it,\nbeing very weighty as it was all in halfpence, and as he was going\nalongst a bridge, he meets a man running after a horse, who cries\nto John to stop the horse, John meets him on the top of the bridge,\nand when he wou\u2019d not be stopped for him, he knocks the horse on\nthe face wi\u2019 the napkin and the money, so the napkin broke and most\nof the half-pence flew over the bridge in the water, which made\npoor John go home crying very bitterly for his loss, and dread of\nthe auld plaister which he got very sickerly.\n\nVII. On the next morning, she sent him again to the bridge to see\nif he you\u2019d find any of it in the water, and there he found some\nducks sweeming, and ducking down with their heads below the water,\nas he thought gathering up his money he kills one of them and rips\nher up, but found none of it in her guts or gabbie, then says he,\nthey have been but looking for it, I\u2019ll go do as they did, strips\noff his clothes and leaves them on the bridge, goes in a ducking,\nin which time a rag man came past and took away all his clothes, so\nhe went home naked to get a bath of the old plaister.\n\nVIII. The next morning she sent him to a farm house for a piggful\nof butter milk, and as he was returning through the fields the\nfarmer\u2019s bull and anither bull was fighting, the farmer\u2019s bull\nbeing like to lose, John runs in behind him and sets his head to\nthe bull\u2019s tail, in purpose to help him to push against the other,\nbut the poor bull thought John was some other bull attacking him\nbehind, fled aside, and the other bull came full-drive upon John,\npushed him down, broke the pigg and spilt the milk, so John went\nhome to his auld plaister, which began to be an usual diet to him,\nand so he regarded it the less.\n\nIX. His Mother-in-law with several auld witty wives held a private\ncounsel on John\u2019s conduct and bad luck, and concluded he was\nbewitched, John was of the same opinion, and went to the minister,\nand told him he was the cause of a\u2019 his misfortunes, ca\u2019d him a\nwarlock to his face, and said, he had put such a black bargain in\nhis hand, that he was ruin\u2019d for ever; insisted either to unmarry\nthem again, or send death and the bell-man to take her awa\u2019, for\nshe has a lump of mischief on her back and anither on her breast,\nand the rest of her body is a clean deil. The minister began to\nexhort him to peace and patience, telling him that marriage was\nmade in heaven: ye\u2019re a baist liar, says John, for I was married in\nyour ain kitchen, an a\u2019 the blackguards about the town was there,\nan it had a-been heaven they wadna win in, yet tell\u2019t me that\nmatrimony was sic a happy state, but an ye had gotten as mony we\u2019ll\npaid skins as I hae gotten, ye wad ken what it is; ill chance on\nyou stir, and out he goes, cursing like a madman, throwing stanes,\nand breaking the minister\u2019s windows, for which he was catch\u2019d and\nput twa hours i\u2019 the stocks, and at last his Lump of Corruption\ncame and rubbed his lugs, threw his nose, got him out, and drove\nhim home before her; took a resolution never to set him about any\nbisiness in time coming, but keep him on his loom.\n\nX. Now she giving him no sleep a\u2019 that night for scolding; John got\nup in the morning lang or day, leaving his tormentor in bed; fell\nasleep upon his loom with his candle in his hand, and so set the\nweb, heddles, reed, and treadle cords in a fire, by chance his old\nViper looked out of the bed, or the whole house had been gone; up\nshe got, and with her cries alarm\u2019d the neighbourhood who came to\nher relief, but poor John underwent a dreadful swabing for this.\n\nXI. After the former hurry and beating being over, his work being\nstopt, he went to bed and sleept a\u2019 that day, and following night,\non the next day having nothing to do; she sent him in search of a\nhen\u2019s-nest, who had taken some by-place to lay her eggs in, so as\npoor John was in an auld kill searching a\u2019 about the walls, the\nkill-ribs brake, and down he goes with a vengeance into the logie\ncutted and bruised himself in a terrible manner, up he could not\nwin, but had to creep out at the logie below, scarcely able to get\nhame, his face and nose a\u2019 running o\u2019 blood, in this condition she\npitied and lamented for him very much, tied his sores and laid him\nin bed, then sat down very kindly, saying, My dear and my lamb, do\nye think there is ony o\u2019 your banes broken, and what part o\u2019 you is\nsairest? And what will I get to do you good? O! said he Girzy I\u2019m\na brizel\u2019d atween the feet; Are ye indeed quoth she, then I wish\nye had broken your neck, that I might a gotten anither, useless ae\nway, and useless mae ways, a po\u2019 my word, ye\u2019s no be here, gang\nwhar ye like.\n\nXII. Now, as poor John was turn\u2019d out o\u2019 doors next morning, to\ngo awa\u2019 hirpling on a staff, one came and told him his Mother had\ndied last night, Oh hoch, said John, and is my Mither clean dead;\nO an she wad but look down thro\u2019 the lift, and see how I\u2019m guided\nthis morning, I\u2019m sure she wad send death for me too: I\u2019m out o\u2019 a\nmither, and out o\u2019 a wife, out o\u2019 my health and strength and a\u2019 my\nwarklooms. His mother-in-law came and pleaded for him: haud your\ntongue, mither, said Girzy, if ye kend what ail\u2019d him, ye wadna\nspeak about him, he\u2019s useless, no worth the keeping in a house, but\nto ca\u2019 him to die like an auld beast at a dyke-side, hout tout, co\u2019\nthe auld wife, we\u2019ll mak o\u2019 him and he\u2019ll mend again: so John got\npeace made up after a\u2019, and he was easier mended than the burnt\nweb; got all his treadles and warklooms set in order the wife\u2019s\ntongue excepted, which was made of wormwood, and the rest of her\nbody of sea-water, which is always in a continual tempest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo John appeals to a Jedburgh jury, if it be not easier to deal\nwi\u2019 fools, than headstrong fashous fouks; owns he has but an empty\nscull, but his wicked wife wants wit to pour judgment into it,\nnever tells him o\u2019 danger till it come upon him, for his mother\nsaid, he was a bidable bairn, if ony body had been to learn him wit.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_THE ANCIENT AND MODERN HISTORY OF BUCK-HAVEN._\n\n\n  [This is one of the most valuable folk-lore chap-books ever\n  issued from the press. Its richness in this respect has attracted\n  the attention of Professor Stephens of Copenhagen, who gave\n  some quotations from it in the second volume of _The Folk-Lore\n  Record_. The edition used here is from the library of Alexander\n  Macdonald, Esq., and bears the following on the title-page:--\u2018The\n  Ancient and Modern History of Buck-haven in Fife-shire. Wherein\n  is contained, The Antiquities of their old Dress. The Bucky-boat,\n  with a flag of a green tree; with their dancing, Willy and his\n  trusty rapper. Their Burgess Ticket, with a view of their new\n  College: the noted sayings and exploits of Wise Willy in the\n  Brae, Witty Eppie the ale-wife, and Lingle-tail\u2019d Nancy. By Merry\n  Andrew at Tamtallon. Glasgow, Printed by J. and M. Robertson,\n  Saltmarket, 1806.\u2019 It is a 24 pp. 12mo, and is illustrated by\n  several rough woodcuts which had apparently done service in\n  other chap-books. The editor has carefully collated it with the\n  following editions:--One, undated, by Morren, Cowgate, Edinburgh;\n  another, also without date, by Morren, but a different issue\n  from the other, there being a change in the illustrations;\n  one published in 1817 by R. Hutchison & Co., 10 Saltmarket,\n  Glasgow; and an abridged one by M. Randall, Stirling (without\n  date), with this short title--\u2018The Exploits of Wise Willie, and\n  Witty Eppie the Ale-Wife of Buchaven.\u2019 The three editions last\n  mentioned, were courteously sent to the editor, all the way from\n  Copenhagen, by Professor Stephens. There is also a modern Glasgow\n  edition, greatly abridged, the text, as issued by Randall, having\n  evidently been used by its publishers.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF BUCK-HAVEN.\n\n\nAmongst several ancient records, this Bucky is not mentioned; there\nwas a set called Buccaniers, who were pirates, that is to say\nsea-robbers, and after a strict search for that set of sea-robbers,\nthey dispersed; what of them escaped justice in the southern\nclimate, are said to have sheltered at or near Berwick upon Tweed.\nAfter a smart battle, among themselves, they divided, and \u2019tis\nsaid, the party who gained this Bucky-battle, fearing the English\nlaw to take place, set northward and took up their residence at\nthis Buck-haven, so called not only from the great quantity of\nBuckies that are found in and about that place, but on account of\nthe battle they had with their neighbours at Berwick when they\ndivided, which was then called bucking one another, but is now\nnamed boxing or fighting. Another party of these Buckers settled\nin another town northward of Banff, called Bucky, near the river\nSpey, which is a large sea-town, but among all the sea-towns in\nScotland, the fishers still retain a language, quite different from\nthe people in the country, and they almost all shift the letter H,\nand use O, instead thereof which no country-people do in Scotland,\nbut themselves.[171] There is a corruption of speech, in every\ncounty over all Britain, and likewise they use different tones and\npronouncing words from others, even some in the South of Scotland,\ncan hardly be understood by those in the North, though both pretend\nto speak English, and have a liberal part of education: but since\nlearning is now so easy to be obtained, ignorance and corruption of\nspeech are greatly decreased.[172]\n\nIn the county of Fife, on the sea-coast, there stands a little\ntown, inhabited by few but fishers, called Bucky-harbour, because\nof the sea buckies and shells to be found so plenty on the rocks,\nin and about that place; there is little mention made of this town\nby historians, to know its original extraction and antiquities, but\nin their own burges-ticket, which was part of it perfect truths,\nbut more of it by way of lampoon; this ticket was dated the two and\nthirty day of the month of Julius C\u00e6sar, their coat of arms was two\nhands gripping each other over a Scate\u2019s rumple, their oath was, \u201cI\nwish the de\u2019il may tak me an I binna an honest man to you, an ye\nbinna de like to me.\u201d An article of good neighbourhood they had,\nwhoever was first up in a good morning, was to raise all the rest\nto go to sea, but if a bad morning, they piss and lie down again\ntill break of day then raise Wise Willy, who could judge of the\nweather by the blowing of the wind.\n\nTheir freedoms were to take all sorts of fish contained in their\ntickets, viz., lobsters, partans, podles, spout-fish, sea-cats,\nsea-dogs, flukes, pikes, dike-padocks, and p-- fish.\n\nAmong these people were said to be one Tom and his two sons, who\nwere fishers on the coast of Norway, and in a violent storm were\nblown over, and got ashore at Bucky-harbour, where they settled,\nand the whole of his children were called Thomsons,[173] this is\na historical saying, handed down from one generation to another.\nSo in course of time they grew up and multiplied, that they soon\nbecame a little town by themselves; few of any other name dwelt\namong them, and were all called the Thomsons; they kept but little\ncommunication with the country people, for a farmer in those days\nthought his daughter cast awa, if she married one of the fishers of\nBucky-harbour,[174] and Witty Eppie the ale-wife, wad a sworn be-go\nladdie, I wad rather see my boat and a\u2019 my three sons dadet against\nthe Bass or I saw ony ane o\u2019 them married on a muck-a-byre\u2019s\ndaughter, a wheen useless taupies, that can do naething but rive\nat a tow-rock, and cut corn; they can neither bait a hook nor red a\nline, hook sandles nor gather periwinkles.\n\nNow Wise Willy and Witty Eppie the ale-wife lived there, about\nan hundred years ago. Eppie\u2019s chamber was their college and\ncourt-house, where they decided their controversies, and explained\ntheir wonders, for the house was wide like a little kirk, had four\nwindows and a gavel-door, the wives got leave to flyte their fill,\nbut fighting was forbidden, (as Eppie said, up hands was fair\nplay) their fines, were a\u2019 in pints o\u2019 ale, and Eppie sold it at a\nplack the pint; they had neither minister nor magistrate, nor yet\na burly-bailie to brag them wi\u2019 his tolbooth; my Lord was their\nlandlord,[175] Wise Willy and Witty Eppie the ale-wife were the\nrulers of the town.\n\nNow Eppie had a daughter, call\u2019d Lingle-tail\u2019d Nancy, because\nof her feckless growth, her waist was like a twitter, had nae\ncurpen for a creel, being Embruch bred, and brought up wi\u2019 her\nLowdin aunty, was learned to read and sew, make corse-claiths and\ncallico-mutches,[176] there wasna scholar in the town but hersel,\nshe read the Bible and the book of Kirk-sangs which was newly come\nin fashion, Willy and Eppie tell\u2019d ay what it meant, and said a\u2019\nthe letters in it, was litted by my Lord, for they saw him hae a\nfeather that he dipped in black water, and made crooked scores just\nlike the same, and then he spoke to it o\u2019er again, and it tell\u2019d\nhim what to say.\n\nIt happened on a day, that two of their wives found a horse-shoe\nnear the town, brought it hame, and sent for Wise Willy to see what\nit was. Willy comes and looks at it, Indeed co\u2019 Willy, its a thing\nand holes in\u2019t. Then said they, he would get a name til\u2019t, aha, co\u2019\nWilly, but whair did ye find it? aneath my Lords ain house, Willy.\nAdeed, said Willy, its the auld moon, I ken by the holes in\u2019t for\nnailing it to the lift; but I wonder it she fell in Fife, for the\nlast time I saw her she was hinging on her back aboon Embruch, a\nhech co\u2019 Willy we\u2019ll hae her set up on the highest house in the\ntown, and we\u2019ll hae moon-light o\u2019 our ain a\u2019 the days o\u2019 the year.\nThe whole town ran to see the moon; hout tout, cried Witty Eppie,\nye\u2019re a\u2019 fools together, it is but ane o\u2019 the things it my Lord\u2019s\nmare wears upo\u2019 her lufe.[177]\n\nAt another time, one of the wives found a hare with its legs\nbroken, lying among her kail in the yard; she, not knowing what\nit was, called out her neighbours to see it, some said it was a\ngentleman\u2019s cat, or my lady\u2019s lap-dog, or a sheep\u2019s young kitlen,\nbecause it had saft horns; Na, na, cry\u2019d Wise Willy, its ane o\u2019 the\nmaukens, that gentlemen\u2019s dogs worrie. What will you do wi\u2019t? haith\nco\u2019 Maggy, I\u2019ll singe the woo\u2019 afi\u2019t, and mak fish and sauce o\u2019t to\nmy Tammy\u2019s parrich: No, no, said Witty Eppie, better gie\u2019t to my\nLord, and he\u2019d stap an iron stick thro\u2019 the guts o\u2019t, and gar\u2019t rin\nround afore the fire till it be roasted; Na, na, said Wise Willy,\nwe\u2019ll no do that indeed, for my Lord wad mak us a\u2019 dogs, an gar us\nrin thro\u2019 the kintry seeking maukins till him.\n\nIt happened on a dark winter morning, that two of the wives were\ngoing to Dysart to sell their fish, and near the road-side there\nhappened to be a tinker\u2019s ass tedder\u2019d, and the poor ass seeing the\nwives coming with their creels, thought it was the tinkers coming\nto flit or remove him, fell a crying, the two wives threw their\nfish away, and ran home like mad persons, crying, they had seen the\nde\u2019il, aye the very horned de\u2019il, an that he had spoken to them,\nand cried after them, but they did not ken what he said, for it was\nworse words than a Highlandman\u2019s. The whole town was in an uproar,\nsome would go with picks and spades and hag him a\u2019 in pieces,\nothers wad gang and catch him in a strong net, and then they could\neither hang or drown him. Na, na, co\u2019 Wise Willy, we manna cast out\nwi\u2019 him at the first, as he\u2019s gotten the twa burden o\u2019 fish, he\u2019ll\nables gang his wa\u2019 and no fash nae mair, he is o\u2019er souple to be\ncatch\u2019d in a net, a\u2019 your pith \u2019ill neither hang him nor drown him,\nan\u2019 the kintry he comes frae is a\u2019 het coals, he\u2019ll never burn,\nwe\u2019ll go to him in a civil manner, and see what he wants: get out\nEppie the ale-wife, and lingle-tail\u2019d Nancy, with the Bible and the\nSaum-book:[178] so aff they came in a croud, either to kill the\nde\u2019il or catch him alive, and as they came near the place, the ass\nfell a crying, which caused many of them to faint and run back:\nNa, na, co\u2019 Willy, that\u2019s no the de\u2019ils words ava\u2019, it\u2019s my Lord\u2019s\ntrumpeter touting on his brass whistle, Willy ventured till he saw\nthe ass\u2019s twa lugs, now, cried Willy back to the rest, come forward\nand hand him fast, I see his twa horns, hech sirs, he has a white\nbeard like an auld beggar man, so they enclosed the poor ass on all\nsides thinking it was the de\u2019il: but when Wise Willy saw he had nae\ncloven feet, he cried out, Fearna\u2019 lads, this is no the de\u2019il, it\u2019s\nsome living beast, \u2019tis neither a cow nor a horse, and what is it\nthen Willy? Indeed co\u2019 Willie, \u2019tis the father o\u2019 a\u2019 the maukens, I\nken by its lugs.\n\nNow some say, this is too satirical a history, but it is according\nto the knowledge of those times, not to say in any place by\nanother, old wives tell us yet of many such stories, as the devil\nappearing to their grandfathers and grandmothers, and dead wives\ncoming back again to visit their families, long after their being\nburied: but this Bucky-haven which was once noted for droll\nexploits, is now become more knowing, and is a place said to\nproduce the best and hardiest watermen or sailors of any town on\nthe Scots coast, yet many of the old people in it, still retain the\nold tincture of their old and uncultivated speech, as be-go-laddie,\nalso a fiery nature, if you ask any of the wives where their\ncollege stands, they\u2019ll tell you, if your nose were in their arse,\nyour mouth would be at the door of it.\n\nNow, it happened, when Wise Willy turned old he took a great\nswelling in his wame, and casting up o\u2019 his kail, collops and\ncauld fish, that nothing staid on his stomach, and a stout stomach\nhad he, for crab-heads, or scate-brose, or fat-brose on a bridal\nmorning; yet it fail\u2019d him; he fell sick, and none could cure\nhim, or tell what ail\u2019d him, till a mountebank stage-doctor came\nto Kirkcaldy, that could judge by people\u2019s water, the troubles of\ntheir person, and Willy hearing of his fame, pissed into a bottle,\nand sent it away with his daughter; the bottle being uncorked,\nhis daughter spilt it by the way, and to conceal her sloth in so\ndoing, pissed in it herself, and on she goes, till she comes to the\nstage, and cries, Sir Dochter, Sir Dochter, here is a bottle o\u2019 my\nfather\u2019s wash, he has a sair guts, and never needs to drite ony, he\nspues a\u2019 he eats, \u2019tis true I tell you my dow; the doctor looks at\nit, and says, It is not your father\u2019s, surely it is your mother\u2019s;\nde\u2019il\u2019s i\u2019 the man, co\u2019 she, divna I ken my father by my mother?\nThen, said he, he is with child: A de\u2019il\u2019s i\u2019 the man co\u2019 she, for\nmy mother bore a\u2019 de bairns before, dat\u2019s no true sir, a figs ye\u2019re\na great liar, home she came, and tell\u2019d Willy her father, that the\ndoctor said he was wi\u2019 bairn. O waes me, co\u2019 Willy, for I hae a\nmuckle wame, and I fear its o\u2019er true, O plague on you Janet, for\nye\u2019re the father o\u2019t, and I\u2019m sure to die in the bearing o\u2019t. Witty\nEppie was sent for, as she was houdy, and fand a\u2019 Willy\u2019s wame, to\nbe sure about it, indeed co\u2019 Eppie ye\u2019re the first man e\u2019er I saw\nwi\u2019 bairn before; and how ye\u2019ll bear\u2019t I dinna ken, ye hae a wally\nwame, weel I wat, but how men bear bairns I never saw them yet,\nbut I would drink sa\u2019t water and drown\u2019t in my guts, for an men\nget anes the gate o\u2019 bearing weans themsells, they\u2019ll seek nae mae\nwives: so Willy drank sea-water till his guts was like to rive, and\nout he goes to ease himself among the kail, and with the terrible\nhurl of farting, up starts a mauken behind him, thinking she was\nshot, Willy sees her jumping o\u2019er the dike, thought it was a child\nbrought forth, cries, Come back my dear and be christened, and no\nrin to the hills and be a Pagan,[179] so Willy grew better every\nday thereafter, being brought to bed in the kail-yard: but his\ndaughter was brought to bed some months thereafter, which was the\ncause of the doctor\u2019s mistake.\n\n\nPART II.\n\nNow Wise Willie had a daughter, called Rolloching Jenny, because\nshe spoke thick, sax words at three times, half sense and half\nnonsense, as her own words and actions will bear witness. She being\nwith child, was brought to bed of a bonnie lass bairn: and a\u2019 the\nwives in the town, cried, Be-go-laddie, its just like its ain\ndaddy, lang Sandy Tason (or Thomson) we ken by its nose: for Sandy\nhad a great muckle red nose like a lobster-tae, bowed at the point\nlike a hawk\u2019s neb, and Sandy himself said, that it was surely his\nor some ither body\u2019s, but he had used a\u2019 his birr at the getting\no\u2019t, to fey his ability, being the first time e\u2019er he was at sic\na business before, and when he had done a\u2019 that man could do at\nit, said, it was nonsense and shamefa\u2019 him, but he wad rather row\nhis boat round the Bass and back again, or he did the like again:\nFor Wise Willy gade wood at the wean, and said, it had mair ill\nnature in\u2019t, than the auldest wife about the town, it piss\u2019d the\nbed, and shute the bed, skirl\u2019d like a wil-cat, and kept him frae\nhis night\u2019s rest; and a\u2019 the auld haggs about the town, ca\u2019d him\nSandy de bairn\u2019s daddy, and a\u2019 the young gilly-gawkie lasses, held\nout their fingers, and cried, Tie, hie, Sandy, the kirk will kittle\nyour hips for yon yet.\n\nAnd after a\u2019, the blear-ein\u2019d bell-man came bladdering about\nthe buttock-mail, summoned him and her before the hally-band,\na court that held in the kirk on Saturday morning; and a\u2019 the\nbred ladies[180] round about, cried, Ay, ay, Sandy, pay the\nbill-siller, or we\u2019ll cut the cow\u2019s tail awa\u2019, so poor Sandy\nsuffered sadly in the flesh, besides the penalty and kirk-penance.\n\nBut Wise Willy had pity upon them, and gade wi\u2019 them to the\nkirk-court, what learned folks call the session, Jenny was first\ncalled upon, and in she goes where all the hally-band were\nconveened, elders and youngers, deacons, and dog-payers keeping the\ndoor, the cankerdest Carles that could be gotten between Dysart and\nDubby-side, white heads and bald heads sitting wanting bonnets, wi\u2019\ntheir white headed staves and hodden-grey jockey-coats about them.\n\nMess John says, Come away Janet, we\u2019re a\u2019 waiting on you here.\n\nMin. Now Janet, where was this child gotten? you must tell plainly.\n\nJan. A deed stir, it was gotten amang the black stanes, at the\ncheek of the crab-holes.\n\nMess John stares at her, not knowing the place but some of the\nelders did; then said he, O Janet, but the de\u2019il was busy with you\nat that time.\n\nJan. A by my fegs stir, that\u2019s a great lie ye\u2019re telling now, for\nthe de\u2019il wasna thereabout, it I saw, nor nae body else, to bid us\ndo either ae thing or anither, we loo\u2019d ither unco\u2019 weel for a lang\ntime before that, and syne we tell\u2019d ither, and agreed to marry\nither like ither honest fouk, than mightna we learn to do the thing\nmarried fouk does, without the de\u2019il helping us.\n\nWhisht, whisht, cried they, you should be scurged, fause loon quean\nit thou is, ye\u2019re speaking nonsense.\n\nJan. The deil\u2019s i\u2019 the carles, for you and your minister is liars,\nwhen ye say it de de\u2019il was helping Sandy and me to get the bairn.\n\nCome, come, say they, pay down the kirk-dues, and come back to the\nstool the morn, four pound, and a groat to the bell-man.\n\nJan. The auld thief speed the dearth o\u2019t stir, for less might sair\nyou and your bell-man baith, O but this be a hard warld indeed,\nwhen poor honest fouk maun pay for making use o\u2019 their ain a--, ye\nmisca\u2019 ay the poor de\u2019il a-hint his back, and gie him the wyte o\u2019\na\u2019 de ill it\u2019s done in the kintry, bastard barns and every thing,\nand if it be sae as ye say, ye may thank de de\u2019il for that gude\nfour pund and de groat I hae gi\u2019en you, that gars your pots boil\nbrown, and get jockey-coats, and purl-handed sarks and white-headed\nstaves, when my father\u2019s pot wallops up rough bear and blue water.\n\nThe woman\u2019s mad, said they, for this money is a\u2019 given to the poor\nof the parish.\n\nJan. The poor of the parish, said she, and that\u2019s the way o\u2019t, a\nfint hate ye gie them but wee pickles o\u2019 pease-meal, didna I see\u2019t\nin their pocks, and the minister\u2019s wife gie\u2019s naething ava to unco\nbeggars, but bids them gang hame to their ain parish, and yet ye\u2019ll\ntak de purse frae poor fouks, for naething but playing the loun\nawee or they be married, and syne cocks them up to be looked on and\nlaught at by every body, a de\u2019il speed you and your justice stir;\nhute, tute, ye are a coming on me like a wheen colly dogs, hunting\nawa\u2019 a poor ragget chapman frae the door, and out she comes cursing\nand greeting: Sandy\u2019s next called upon, and in he goes.\n\nMin. Now Saunders, you maun tell us how this child was gotten?\n\nSan. A wow, Mess John stir, you hae bairns o\u2019 your ain, how did you\nget them? but yours is a\u2019 laddies, and mine is but a lassie, if\nyou\u2019ll tell me how ye got your laddie, I\u2019ll tell you how I got my\nlassie, and then we\u2019ll be baith alike good o\u2019 the business.\n\nThe minister looks at him, hute, tute, Saunders, lay down four\npund and a groat, and come back to-morrow to the stool, and give\nsatisfaction to the congregation, you had more need to be seeking\nrepentance for that abominable sin of uncleanness, than speaking so\nto me.\n\nSan. Then there is your siller stir, I hae gotten but poor\npenny-worths for\u2019t, and ye\u2019ll tell me to repent for\u2019t, what the\nauld thief needs I repent, when I\u2019m gaun to marry de woman, and\nthen I\u2019ll hae to do\u2019t o\u2019er again every day, or they\u2019ll be nae peace\nin the house; figs it\u2019s nonsense to pay siller, repent, and do\u2019t\nagain too, a fine advice indeed master minister, and that is how ye\nlive.\n\nWise Willy. Now stir, you and master elders, ye manna put them on\nthe black creepy till they be married; they suffered enough at ae\ntime.\n\nA well, a well, said they, but they must marry very soon then.\n\nI trow sae says Sandy, ye\u2019ll be wanting mair siller, fule hate\nye\u2019ll do for naething here.\n\nHame came Sandy, starving o\u2019 hunger, ye might a casten a knot\non his lang guts, his mither was baking pease bannocks, up he\ngets a lump of her leaven into his mouth, auld thief be in your\nhaggies-bag, Sandy, kirk-fouks is ay greedy, ye been wi\u2019 the\nminister the day, ye\u2019d get a good lang grace, he might a gi\u2019en you\nmeat thou filthy dog that tu is, thou hast the bulk of a little\nwhalpie o\u2019 my leaven in your guts, it wada been four good bannocks\nand a scone, and a sair\u2019d our Sunday\u2019s dinner, sae wad it een, but\nan ye keep a reeking house and a rocking cradle three eleven years\nas I hae done, less o\u2019 that will sair ye yet, baggity beast it tu\nis, mair it I bore thee now, a hear ye that my dow.\n\nThe next exploit was an action at law, against the goodman of\nMuir-edge, a farmer who lived near by, that kept sheep and swine,\nhis sheep came down and broke into their yards and ate up their\nkail; the wild hares, they thought, belonged to the same man, as\nthey ran towards his house when they were hunted; the swine came\nvery often in and about their houses, seeking fish guts and ony\nthing they cou\u2019d get, so it happened that one of their children,\nsitting easing itself, one of the swine tumbles it over, and bites\na piece out of the child\u2019s backside: The whole town rose in an\nuproar, and after Grunkie, as they called her, they catched her\nand took her before Wise Willy: Willy takes an ax and cuts two or\nthree inches off her long nose, now says Willy, I trow I have made\nthee something Christian-like, thou had sic a long mouth and nose\nbefore, it wad a frighted a very de\u2019il to look at ye; but now your\nfac\u2019d like a little horse or cow: the poor sow ran home roaring all\nblood and wanting the nose, which caused Muir-edge to warn them in\nbefore my Lord: so the wives that had their kail eaten, appeared\nfirst in the court, complaining against Muir-edge. Indeed, my Lord,\nMuir-edge is no a good man, when he\u2019s sick an ill neighbour, he\nkeeps black hares and white hares, little wee brown backed hares\nwi\u2019 white arses, and loose wagging horns, de muckle anes loups o\u2019er\nthe dyke and eats a de kail, and de little anes wi\u2019 de wagging\nhorns, creeps in at our water gush-holes, and does the like, when\nwe cry pisue, they ran awa\u2019 hame to Muir-edge, but I\u2019ll gar my\ncolly hand \u2019em by the fit, and I\u2019ll hand \u2019em by the horn, an pu\u2019 a\u2019\nde hair aff \u2019em, and send \u2019em hame wanting the skin, as he did wi\u2019\nSowen Tammy\u2019s wi\u2019 Sandy, for codding o\u2019 his pease, he took aff de\npoor laddies coat, a sae did he e\u2019en.\n\nA well then, said my Lord, what do you say, but call in Wise Willy.\n\nIn he comes, A well my Lord, I shall suppose an ye were a sow, and\nme sitting d----g, and you to bite my arse, sudna I tak amends o\u2019\nyou for that? Od my Lord, ye wadna hae sic a bit out o\u2019 your arse\nfor twenty merks, ye maun just gar Muir-edge gie ten merks to buy a\nplaister to heal the poor bit wean\u2019s arse again. Well said, Willy,\nsays my Lord, but who puts on the sow\u2019s nose again? A figs my lord,\nsaid Willy, she\u2019s honester-like wanting it, and she\u2019ll bite nae\nmair arses wi\u2019t, and gin ye had hane a nose, my Lord, as lang as\nthe sow had, ye\u2019d been obliged to ony body it wad cut a piece aft.\n\nA gentleman coming past near their town, asked one of their wives\nwhere their college stood, said she, Give me a shilling, and I\u2019ll\nlet you see both sides o\u2019t, he gives her a shilling, thinking to\nsee some curious sight, now there\u2019s one side of your shilling and\nthere\u2019s the other, and \u2019tis mine now.\n\n\nPART III.[181]\n\nNow Wise Willy was so admired for his just judgement in cutting\noff the sow\u2019s nose, that my Lord in a mocking manner, made him\nburly-bailie[182] of Bucky-hine. Lang Sandy was provost, and John\nThrums, the weaver, was dean of guild, but Witty Eppie had ay the\ncasting vote in a\u2019 their courts and controverses.\n\nThere happened one day a running horse to stand at one of their\ndoors, and a child going about, the horse trampled on the child\u2019s\nfoot, which caused the poor child to cry, the mother came running\nin a passion; crying, A wae be to you for a \u2019orse it ere ye was\nborn o\u2019 a woman, filthy barbarian bruit it t\u2019ou is, setting your\nmuckle iron lufe on my bairn\u2019s wee fittie, od stir, I\u2019ll drive the\nhair out o\u2019 your head, gripping the horse by the mane and the twa\nlugs, cuffing his chafts as if he had been her fellow creature,\ncrying, Be-go-laddie, I\u2019ll gar you as good, I\u2019ll tak you before\nWise Willy the bailie, and he will cut aff wi\u2019 de iron lufe, and\ndan you will be cripple, and gang thro\u2019 the kintry on a barrow,\nor on twa shule-staffs[183] like Rab the Randy, an a meal-pock\nabout your neck; Her neighbour wife hearing and seeing what past,\ncried, A ye fool taupy, what gars you say that a \u2019orse was born o\u2019\na woman, do you think dat a \u2019orse has a fadder or a midder like\nyou or me, or ony ither body about; a what way do they come to the\nworld dan? A ye fool taupy, divna they whalp like the louses, ae\nauld \u2019orse hobbles on anither anes back, and dat whalps a young\n\u2019orse: Gosh woman, it wad be ill-far\u2019d to see a woman sitting wi\u2019 a\nyoung \u2019orse on her knee, dighting its arse, and gien it de pap.\n\nThe next occasion was Lang Sandy, and Rolloching Jenny\u2019s wedding;\nwhich held three days and twa nights, my Lord and my Lady, with\nseveral gentlemen and ladies, attended for diversion\u2019s sake,[184]\nthe piper of Kirkcaldy and the fidler of Kinghorn, were both\nbidden by Wise Willy the bride\u2019s father, and if ony mae came to\nplay unbidden, Wise Willy swore they should sit unsair\u2019d, for\nthese twa should get a\u2019 the siller that was to be gien or won that\nday, the dinner and dorder-meat sat a\u2019 in Eppie\u2019s college, and the\ndancing stood in twa rings before the door, and the first day with\ndunting and dangling of their heels, dang doun the sea-dyke, some\ntumbled in and some held by the stanes, the fidler fell o\u2019er the\nlugs an drouket a\u2019 his fiddle, the strings gade out of order, and\nthe tripes turned saft like pudding skins, so the bagpipe had to\ndo for a\u2019, and the fidler got nought to do but sup kail, and pike\nbanes wi the rest o\u2019 them.\n\nNow my Lord\u2019s cook was to order the kettle, but Pate o\u2019 the\nPans[185] play\u2019d a sad prat, by casting in twa pounds of candle\namong the kail, which made them fat, for some could not sup them,\nfor the candle wicks came ay into their cutties like sutter\u2019s\nlingles in the dish, but some wi\u2019 stronger stomachs, stripped them\nthro\u2019 their teeth like ratton tails, an said, Mony a ane wad be\nblythe o\u2019 sic a string to tie their hose wi\u2019 in a pinch; my Lord\nand the Gentry, Mess John and the clerk were all placed at the\nhead of the table, opposite to the bride, but would sup none of\nthe candle kail. Wise Willy and the Bridegroom served the table,\nand cried, Sup and a sorrow to you, for I never liked sour kail\nabout my house; when the flesh came, the bride got a ram\u2019s rumple\nto pick, she takes it up and wags it at my Lord, saying, Ti hie;\nmy Lord, what an a piece is dat? O, said he, bride, that\u2019s the\ntail-piece, it belongs to you, Me, my Lord, it\u2019s no mine, I never\nhad a ting like dat, it\u2019s a fish tail, see as it wags, it\u2019s a bit\no\u2019 a dead beast. O yes, said he, bride, you hit it now; but how\ncome you to eat with your gloves on! Indeed my Lord, there is\na reason for dat, I hae scabbit hands. O fy, said he, I cannot\nbelieve you, so she pulls down a piece o\u2019 her gloves, and shows\nhim, O yes, said he, I see it is so; Aha, but my Lord, I wish you\nsaw my a--, it\u2019s a\u2019 in ae hatter; O fy, said he, bride, you should\nnot speak so before Ladies and your maiden; I wonder, said he to\nWise Willy her father, you do not teach your daughter to speak\notherwise. A be my sae, my Lord, ye may as soon kiss her a--, as\ngar her speak otherwise; I find so, said my Lord, but it lies much\nin lack of a teacher.[186]\n\nThe next dish that was presented on the table, was roasted hens,\nand the bride\u2019s portion being laid upon her plate, she says to my\nLord, will ye let me dip my fowl arse, amang your sauce? Upon my\nword, and that I will not, said he, if it be as you tell\u2019d me; hout\nmy Lord, it\u2019s no my arse, it\u2019s but de hen\u2019s I mean; O but, said he,\nbride, it\u2019s the fashion to every one to eat off their own trencher;\nyou may get more sauce, I can manage all mine myself; indeed, my\nLord, I thought ye liket me better than ony body; O but, said he, I\nlove myself better than you, bride; Deed my Lord, I think ye\u2019re the\nbest body about the house, for your Lady\u2019s but a stinking pridefu\u2019\njade, she thinks that we sud mak the fish a\u2019 alike, be-go, my Lord,\nshe thinks we sud mak the haddies a\u2019 like herrin, and that we can\nshape them as the hens do their eggs wi\u2019 deir arse. O bride, said\nhe, you, should not speak ill of my Lady; for she hears you very\nwell: O deed my Lord, I had nae mind o\u2019 that, a well then, said he,\ndrink to me, or them ye like best; then here\u2019s to you a\u2019 de gither,\narse o\u2019er head. Very well said, says my Lord, that\u2019s good sense or\nsomething like it.\n\nDinner being over, my Lord desired the bride to dance; Indeed, my\nLord, I canna dance ony, but I\u2019ll gar my wame wallop foment yours,\nand then rin round about as fast as ye can; very well, said he,\nbride, that will just do, we shall neither kiss nor shake hands,\nbut I\u2019ll bow to you, and ye\u2019ll beck to me, and so we\u2019ll have done.\n\nNow, after dinner and dancing, my Lord exhorted the bride to be\na good neighbour, and to gree well, wi\u2019 every body round about,\nI wat well my Lord, ye ken I did never cast out wi\u2019 nae body but\nlang Pate o\u2019 de Pans, and he was a\u2019 de wyte o\u2019t, it began wi\u2019 a\nhiertieing, and a jamffing me about Sandy, de black-stanes and\nde crab-holes, where de wean was gotten, and then it turn\u2019d to a\nhub-bub and colly-shangy, an or e\u2019er ye wad said kiss my a--, my\nLord, we are aboon ither on the mussel midden, I trow I tell\u2019d him\no\u2019 Randy Rob his uncle, his feif-titty it steal\u2019d de sarks and\ndrank de siller, an how his midder sell\u2019d mauky mutton, an mair nor\na\u2019 that, a sae did I een, my Lord.\n\nMy Lord had a friend of his own who was a captain in the army,\nwho came to visit him, and hearing of the Buckers\u2019 sayings and\nexploits; was desirous to see them, and my Lord as desirous to put\nthem in a fright, sent his servant, and ordered them, both men\nand women, to come up before his gate, directly the morn about\nkail-time, and all that did not come, was to flit and remove out\nof my Lord\u2019s ground directly, this put the whole of them in great\nterror, some ran to Wise Willy to see what it mean\u2019d, Willy said,\nit was before something, and he was sure that death would be the\nwarst o\u2019t, come what will; But Witty Eppie said, I ken weel what\u2019s\nto come, he\u2019s gaun to mak de men o\u2019 us sogers, and the wives\ndragoons, because we\u2019ve de best fighters; I ken there is something\nto come on the town, for our Nancy saw Maggy\u2019s gaist the streen,\nit was bury\u2019d four ouks syne;[187] a hech co\u2019 Willy, that\u2019s a sign\nthe meal is dear i\u2019 the ither warld, when she comes to think on\u2019t\nagain; we will tak our dinner or we go, we\u2019ll may be ne\u2019er come\nback again, so away they went lamenting all in a crowd. My Lord and\nthe Captain were looking out at the window to them, the Captain\ncries to them, To the right about, to which they answered, good\nbliss you my Lord, what does that man say? Then said my Lord, turn\nyour face to Maggy Millheads, and your arse to the sea; this they\ndid in all haste. And what will we do now? said Willy; no more,\nsaid my Lord, but gang away home Willy; O my bows, O my blessings\ncome o\u2019er your bonny face, my Lord, I wish you may never die, nor\nyet grow sick, nor naebody kill you: ye\u2019re the best Lord I ken on\nearth, for we thought a\u2019 to be made dead men and sogers, ye\u2019re\nwiser than a\u2019 the witches in Fife.\n\nThere was in Bucky-harbour, a method when they got a hearty drink,\nthat they went down to dance among the boats, one, two, or three\nof the oldest went into a boat to see the rest dance; when e\u2019er\nthey admitted a burgher there was always a dance. One day they\nadmitted a glied Rob Thomson, from the island of May, an\u2019 after he\nwas admitted they got account from Wise Willy that glied Rob was a\nwitch, which made them all stop their dancing, and Rob was cried on\nto make answer to this weighty matter. Gly\u2019d Rob cried none of you\nshall stir a fit for two hours, I\u2019se warrand you: so Rob spang\u2019d\nand jump\u2019d over the boat several times and put them in great\nterror, some cried, O \u2019tis i\u2019 the air, and then they cried they saw\nhim i\u2019 the air hinging, so that Rob was obliged to go back to the\nMay, and carry coals to the light house.[188]\n\nIt was reported that gly\u2019d Rob was born in Bucky and that his\nfather was Willy Thomson\u2019s son, who was banish\u2019d for a slave to the\nMay,[189] to carry coals; he would not tak with him, on account he\nhad but ae eye. After that there was no more dancing at admitting\nof burgers; but the old usual way of scate rumple, and then drink\nuntil they were almost blind.\n\nUpon the Rood day,[190] four young Bucky lasses were away early in\nthe morning with their creels full of fish, and about a mile from\nthe town, they saw coming down a brae like a man driving a beast,\nwhen they came near Tardy-Tib says, \u2019tis a man driving a big mauken\nTib flang her creel and fish away, the other three ran anther\nway, and got clear; they said it was a horned devil. Tib told the\nfrightsome story, and many ran to see the poor cadger man and his\nass driving the auld mauken. The fishers look on all maukens to be\ndevils and witches, and if they but see the sight of a dead mauken,\nit sets them a trembling.[191] The fisher lasses look with disdain\non a farmer\u2019s daughter, and a\u2019 country lasses; they call them\nmuck-byers and sherney-tail\u2019d jades.\n\nThe Bucky lads and lasses when they go to gather bait tell strange\nstories about Witches, Ghosts, Willy with the Wisp, and the Kelpy,\nFairies and Maukens, and boggles of all sorts.\n\nThe Ghosts, like old horses, go all night for fear they are seen,\nand be made to carry scate or fish, or be carted; and witches are\nthe warst kind of devils, and mak use of cats to ride upon, or\nkill-kebbers, and besoms, and sail over seas in cockle-shells, and\nwitch lads and lasses, and disable bridegrooms. As for Willy and\nthe Wisp, he is a fiery devil, and leads people off their road in\norder to drown them, for he sparks sometimes at our feet, and then\nturns before us with his candle, as if he were twa or three miles\nbefore us, many a good boat has Spunkie drown\u2019d; the boats coming\nto land in the night-time, they observe a light off the land, and\nset in upon it and drown.\n\nThe Kelpy[192] is a sly devil, he roars before a loss at sea, and\nfrightens both young and old upon the shore. Fairies are terrible\ntroublesome, they gang dancing round fouks lums, and rin through\nthe houses, they haunt, and play odd tricks, and lift new born\nbairns from their mothers, and none of them is safe to ly with\ntheir mothers, a night or two after they are born, unless the\nmother gets a pair of men\u2019s breeches under her head for the first\nthree nights; when the Fairies are frighted, they will leave an\nold stock with the woman, and whip away the child. One tried to\nburn an old stock that the Fairies left in the cradle; but when\nthe fire was put on, the old stock jumped on upon a cat and up the\nlum.[193] Maukens are most terrible, and have bad luck, none will\ngo to sea that day they see a Mauken, or if a wretched body put in\na Mauken\u2019s fit in their creels, they need not lift them that day,\nas it will be bad luck, either broken backs, or legs, or arms, or\nhear bad accounts of the boats at sea.[194]\n\nThey are terrified for all sorts of boggles both by land and by sea.\n\n\nTHE MINISTER AND MUSSEL MOU\u2019D HARRY.\n\nMussel Mou\u2019d Harry, the skull-maker,[195] whose lug was nailed to\na tree near my Lord\u2019s garden, for cutting young saughs, for to\nmake sculls and creels of. He assumed a headdress as he had been\na devil, and went playing his tricks in the night-time, which\nfrighted the whole town, until the time he was catched by my Lord\u2019s\npiper. He was then sent for to the minister, and was obliged to\nput on his frightful dress, with the appearance of two horns on\nhis head; the minister rebuked him, but he had the assurance to\ntell the minister, that he only frighted his own town, but that he\nfrighted the whole parish, by telling them to repent or be d----d,\nthis is your gate o\u2019t stir, so I made them repent by fright, and\nI think, I sud be paid by your honour for\u2019t; as you tell me stir\nabout my Lord\u2019s saughs which I suffered for, if your \u2019onour\u2019s lug\nhad been there, you could not get off so easy, for stir, your lugs\nis as long as my grey cat\u2019s, so I bid you farewel until our next\nmeeting.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n_THE WITTY AND ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS OF GEORGE BUCHANAN._\n\n\n  [The following pages have been reprinted from an edition having\n  the following on the title-page:--\u2018The Witty and Entertaining\n  Exploits of George Buchanan, who was commonly called, The King\u2019s\n  Fool. In six parts. Stirling: Printed and Sold by C. Randall,\n  MDCCXCV.\u2019 Some stories to be found in an edition \u2018printed in\n  Falkirk\u2019 in 1799, and not in the edition which has been followed\n  here, have been inserted in the text, and the fact noted. In\n  addition to the Falkirk edition, the text has been collated\n  with--(1) An edition published by G. Angus, Newcastle; one by J.\n  Morren, Cowgate, Edinburgh, 1809; and undated Edinburgh, Glasgow,\n  Aberdeen, and Newcastle-on-Tyne editions. Many of the stories are\n  drawn from a variety of sources, and Buchanan is made their hero.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITTY AND ENTERTAINING EXPLOITS OF GEORGE BUCHANAN.\n\n\nPART I.\n\nMr. George Buchanan was a Scotsman born, and though of mean\nparentage, made great progress in learning.--As for his\nunderstanding and ready wit, he excelled all men then alive in\nthat age, that ever proposed questions to him.--He was servant or\nteacher to King James VI. as his private counsellor, but publicly\nhe acted as his fool.\n\nIt happened one day, that a young airy noble man went into the\nking\u2019s garden to pull a flower for a young lady he fancied: George\nfollowed at a distance; so, when the young man found a flower\nto his pleasure, he would not pull it himself, but to find it\nagain, without further searching, he covered it with his hat, and\nwent away for his sweetheart: no sooner was he gone, but up goes\nGeorge, lifts his hat, and pulls the flower, then cases himself\non the spot, and covers it with the hat again, and away he goes.\nIn comes the young man, leading his sweetheart to pull the flower\nbelow the hat; but as soon as he lifted the hat, and seeing what\nwas below, he looked like a fool. The lady flies in a passion, off\nshe goes, and never would countenance him any more. The young man\nbeing sadly vexed at this affront done to him by George, sent him\na challenge to fight him, appointing the day and place where they\nwere to meet. Being to fight on horseback, George gets an old stiff\nhorse, and for harnassing, covers him about with blown bladders,\nwith a little small stone in each, without either sword or spear,\naway to the field he goes, where the duel was appointed; so when\nGeorge saw his enemy coming against him, all in glittering armour,\narmed with sword and spear, he rode up to him with all the speed\nhis horse could carry him, and his horse, as is said being all\ncovered over with bladders, the small stones in them, made such a\nterrible noise, that the gentleman\u2019s fine gelding would not stand\nthe battle, but ran away, and threw his master to the ground,\nwhich caused all the spectators to laugh, and say the gentleman\nwas more fool than George. The gentleman being so enraged at this\nsecond affront, he would fight with George on foot; but his friends\npersuaded him that it would be no honour for him to fight and kill\nthe king\u2019s fool, and far less to be killed by the fool, so they\nwere advised both to agree; but the gentleman would try another\nexploit with George, for to have it said he was still the cleverest\nman, to hold him a jumping-bout publicly the next day thereafter.\nWith all my heart, says George, and we will end in and about where\nwe began; they not knowing his meaning in this. The place and hour\nbeing set where they were to meet next morning, George in the\nnight caused a deep pit to be made, and the earth of it carried\naway, afterwards filled it up with dung from a privy, covered it\nover with a green turf, so that it might not be known by the other\nground; so, according to promise, they both met in the morning\nagainst the appointed time: now George being the oldest man, and\nby them counted the greatest fool, the young spark permitted him\nto jump first, which he, according to order, performed; and jumped\nwithin a foot of the place where the ground was falsified: the\nyoung man seeing this, made his performance afterwards with great\nairs and all his might, so that he jumped a foot over George, but\nto the oxters among clean dung; whereat the whole multitude of\nspectators cried out with huzzas and laughter. Now, says George, I\ntold you we would end in and about where we began, and that is in\nclean dirt.\n\nOn a time after this, the king and his court was going into the\ncountry, and they would have George to ride before them in the\nfool\u2019s dress, whereunto he seemed unwilling, but it was the king\u2019s\npleasure. So George was mounted upon an old horse, a pair of old\nriven boots, with the heels hanging down, and a palmer coat patched\nover with pictures of divers kinds. George rode before them in this\nposture, which caused great laughter and diversion until they came\nto an inn, where they alighted to dine; and in the time they were\nat dinner George went into the stables, and with a knife cut all\nthe horses chaffs, not sore, but so as they might bleed. Now, as\nsoon as dinner was over, and they mounted on their horses again,\nGeorge riding before them as usual, in his palmer coat and old\nboots, they began to make their game of him: then George turned\nabout suddenly, and clapping his hands with loud laughter; the king\nasked him, what made him laugh so? Laugh, says George, how can I\nbut laugh, when horses cannot hold their peace? O my sovereign,\nsays he, don\u2019t you see how your horses have rent their chafts\nlaughing at my old boots; then every man looking at his horse\u2019s\nmouth, they were all in a rage against George; the king caused\nhim to be dismounted directly, and charged him never to let him\nsee his face on English ground. Now George knowing that nothing\ncould reconcile the king at this time, he came away to Scotland,\nand caused make him a pair of great boots and put a quantity of\nScottish earth in each of them, and away he goes for England to\nsee the king once more. He hearing the king and his court were to\npass through a country village, George places himself up in an old\nwindow, and sets up his bare arse to the king and his court as\nthey passed by. The king was greatly amazed to see such an unusual\nhonour done to him, was curious to know the performer; so he called\nunto him, asking him to come down, and finding it to be George,\nSir, says the king, did not I charge you never to let me see your\nface again? True, my sovereign, says George, for which cause I let\nyou see my arse. Ay but says the king, you was never to come on\nEnglish ground again. Neither I did, says George, pulling off his\nboots before the king, saying, Behold, my Sovereign, \u2019tis all Scots\nground I stand upon.--The king and his court being so diverted with\nthis merry joke, George was admitted again to the king\u2019s favour.\n\nAfter this, there arose a debate betwixt the king and the queen\nabout votes in the parliament; as the king had two votes, the queen\nwould have one, and would needs be a parliamenter, or no peace\nwithout the preferment: this matter was committed to George by\nthe king; so it was agreed among the parliamenters that the Queen\nshould be admitted into parliament for a day; and accordingly she\ncame, and was received with all the honour and congratulation, as\nwas due, and becoming her high station; but before any matter of\nconsequence was brought to the board, George seated himself hard\nby the queen\u2019s seat; all being silent, he rose up quickly, and\nlifted one of his legs, and then gave a great fart, which set the\nwhole house a laughing; whereat the Queen was greatly offended,\ncrying, Go take the rogue and hang him; to which George answered,\nA fine parliamenter indeed, to hang a man for a sinless infirmity,\nand that\u2019s a fart. The Queen being so enraged at this affront put\non her first proposal to parliament, went off in a passion, and\nnever would countenance them any more. But yet to be revenged on\nGeorge, she would never give the King rest till he delivered George\ninto her hands, that he might be punished at her pleasure: which\nthe king accordingly commanded to be done, knowing that George\nwould rescue himself by some intrigue or other. No sooner was he\ndelivered into her hands, to be at her disposal, but she and her\nMaries[196] pronounced his doom, which is as follows: As he had\naffronted the Queen among so great an equipage, who ought to be\nhonoured in chief, and above all women in the nation, that he\nshould be stoned to death by the hands of women. Now the time being\ncome that he was to die, according to their appointment, he was\ntaken into a park, where a great number of women was waiting upon\nhim, with their aprons full of stones, to fall upon him, and to put\nhim to death, according to the queen\u2019s appointment.\n\n\n      His SPEECH to his Executioners.\n\n      Here\u2019s a female band with bags of stones,\n      To kill a man for rumple groans.\n      I\u2019m clean of rapine, blood, and thefts,\n      Could I convert my farts to rifts;\n      Since I, the first, for farting die,\n      Close up the place from whence they fly;\n      To commit my crime, I think ye\u2019ll scarce,\n      If once you do cork up your arse.\n      And now since women stones do carry,\n      Men need not in the world tarry.\n      Judge if such women be chaste complete,\n      With forty stones between their feet.\n      But since \u2019tis so, ye will come on,\n      The greatest whore throw the first stone.\n\nWhen he had ended with these words, The greatest whore throw the\nfirst stone, every one put it to another to cast the first stone;\nbut knowing they would attain the character of a whore for so\ndoing, they all refused, till the dying hour was past, and then he\ntook a protest against them, and by that mean gained his life.\n\nAfter this he was admitted to the Queen\u2019s favour and presence,\nattending the court as formerly. About this time the French king\nnot knowing how to pick a quarrel with Great Britain, sent a\nletter to the king, desiring it to be read before the Parliament,\nand the writing was as follows: Will I come? Will I come? Will I\ncome?--This letter being read before the king and his courtiers,\nthey all concluded that the French king designed to invade England;\ntherefore they wrote a letter on purpose to send to him again\nupbraiding him with the breach of peace, and putting him in mind\nof the last treaty. The answer being read before the King and his\nNobles, they all condescended that it should be sent as an answer;\nbut George smiling and shaking his head, cried out,\n\n      Many men, many minds;\n      Who knows what he designs?\n\nThen they asked George what he thought the French king meant\nby such a letter? to which he answered, I suppose he wants an\ninvitation to come over to dine, and then go back in a friendly\nmanner; but you are going to charge him with a breach of peace,\nbefore he has given any signal of offence or war: his letter is\nindeed dark and mystical, but send him an answer according to his\nquestion. Now George being ordered to write the answer, it was, And\nye come, And ye come, And ye come. This being sent to the French\nKing, he admired it beyond expression, saying, It was an answer\nmore valiant and daring than he expected; so the enmity he intended\nwas thereby turned into love.\n\nAbout this time it happened that a malignant party in Scotland sent\nup a great spokesman to the King and Parliament, for the seducing\nof the church: George hearing of his coming, went away and met him\non the bridge, and the salutation that he gave him was, the cutting\noff his head, and throwing it over the bridge, then ran to the king\nwith all his might, falling down before him, pleading most heartily\nfor a pardon, or without it he was a dead man; the king most\nseriously asked him what he had done now? to which he answered, He\nhad only thrown the Scots bishop\u2019s hat over the bridge, which made\nthe king to laugh, to hear him ask pardon for such a small fault;\nbut he had no sooner got the pardon sealed by the King\u2019s hand, then\nhe said, indeed my sovereign, I threw his hat over the bridge, but\nhis head was in it. Geordy, Geordy, says the King, thou wilt never\ngive over till thou be hanged.\n\nAfter this, a nobleman in England agreed with the King to put a\ntrick upon George, to try his manly courage, in sending him to\na certain house for a bag of money. On his way home through St.\nJames\u2019s Park, they caused a sturdy fellow to go and set the way\nupon him, and take the money; he being armed with sword and pistol,\ncame up briskly, and attacked George with these words, You, Sir,\ndeliver what money you have, or you are a dead man: to which George\nanswered, Sir I have money indeed, but \u2019tis not my own, and I am\nsorry to give it; nevertheless, since I am not armed as you are to\nexchange blows for it, you shall have it; but pray do me the favour\nas to fire your pistol through the flap of my cloak, that the\nowners may see I have been in danger of my life before I lost the\nmoney; which he accordingly performed. No sooner had he fired it,\nthan George whips out his hanger from below his cloak, and with one\nstroke cut off his right hand, wherein he held his sword, so that\nboth his sword and the hand fell to the ground; but George lifted\nhis hand, and carried it to the King. No sooner did he come before\nthem, but they asked him, saying, Well George, did you see any body\nto trouble you by the way? No, said he, but one fellow, who was\ngoing to take the money from me; but I made him give me his hand\nhe would not do the like again. You did, says the fellow\u2019s master?\nYes, I did, says George, let work bear Witness, throwing down the\nfellow\u2019s hand on the table before them.\n\nNow this last exploit of George\u2019s caused many of the English to\nhate him, and among the rest, a young nobleman fell a jocking of\nGeorge, in saying, he would be as famous a champion for Scotland as\nSir William Wallace was: Ay, ay, says George, William Wallace was\na brave man in his time. True, indeed, says the other, but when he\ncame to London, we did him all manner of justice, and for honour of\nthe Scots, we have his effigy in the shite-houses to this very day.\nAnd do you not know the reason of that, says George? No, I don\u2019t,\nsays he: Well, I\u2019ll tell you, says George, he was such a terror to\nthe Englishmen when he was alive, that the sight of him yet makes\nthem beshite themselves. The English took this as a great affront,\nand forthwith caused Wallace\u2019s picture to be taken out of that\nplace.\n\nThere was a young English girl in love with a Scotsman, and\npetitioned him several times for to marry her, which he refused,\nand upon revenge thereof, she went to a Justice, and swore a rape\nagainst him, which is death by the law. George hearing this, went\ninto the prison where the young man was, and instructed him how\nto behave before the judge. So in the time of the trial, George\ncame in, while the judge was crying to the man, but never a word\ncould he get him to answer, to tell whether he was guilty or not.\nAfter the judge had given him over for deaf and dumb, others fell\na-shouting in his ears, but never a word he would speak. Then the\njudge perceiving George, called him, saying, George, do you know\nwhat is the matter with this man? Yes I do, very well, says George.\nWhat is it, says the judge? Why, says George, the woman made such\na noise and crying, when he was ravishing her, it has put the poor\nman quite deaf, I assure you. Is it so, says the judge. No, no,\nsays the woman, my lord judge, you may believe me, I lay as mute as\na lamb, and never spoke a word all the time. Very well confessed,\nsaid the judge, and you have sworn a rape against him; go take the\nwhore to Newgate, and let the poor man go about his business, and\nso it ended.[197]\n\n\nPART II.\n\nGeorge happened one night to be in company with a Bishop, and so\nthey fell to argumenting anent religion,[198] wherein George got\nthe better of him, and the Bishop found himself he was wrong; then\none of the company addressed himself to George in these words, thou\nScot, said he, ought not have left the country; For what, says\nGeorge? Because thou hast brought all the knowledge that is in it\nalong with thee. No, no, says George, the shepherds in Scotland\nwill argument with any Bishop in England, and exceed them mighty\nfar in knowledge. The English clergy took this as a great affront,\nand several noblemen affirmed it to be as George had said. Wagers\nwere laid thereon, and three of the English clergy were chosen and\nsent away to Scotland to dispute it with the shepherds, accompanied\nwith several gentlemen who were to bear witness of what they heard\npass between them. Now George knowing what way they were gone, took\nanother road, and came into the Scots bounds before them, made up\nhis acquaintance with a shepherd at the border, whose pasture lay\nhard by the way side, where the clergymen were to pass; and here\nGeorge mounted himself in a shepherd\u2019s dress, and when he saw the\nclergymen coming, he conveyed his flock to the road side, and fell\na singing a latin song; and so, to begin the quarrel, one of them\nasked him, in French, What o\u2019clock it was? To which he answered in\nHebrew, It is directly about the time of the day it was yesterday\nat this time. Another asked him in Greek, What countryman he was?\nTo which he answered in Flemish, If you knew that, you would be as\nwise as myself. A third asked him in Dutch, Where was you educate?\nTo which he answered in Earse, herding my sheep between this and\nLochaber. This, they begged him to explain in English, which he\naccordingly did. Now, said they one to another, we need not go\nany farther, What, says George, are you butchers? I\u2019ll sell you a\nfew sheep. To this they made no answer, but went away shamefully,\nswearing that the Scots had gone through all the nations in the\nworld to learn their language, or the devil had taught them it, for\nwe have no share here but shame.\n\nAfter that George had ended the dispute with the English clergymen,\nhe stript of his shepherd\u2019s dress, and up through England with all\nthe haste imaginable, so that he arrived at the place from whence\nthey set out, three days before them, and went every day asking if\nthey were come, so that he might not be suspected. Now, upon their\narrival, all that were concerned in the matter, and many more, to\nhear what news from the Scots shepherds, came crowding in, to know\nwhat was done. No sooner had the three gentlemen declared what\nwas past between the clergymen and the shepherds, whom they found\non the Scots border, but the old bishop made answer, and think\nyou, said he, that a shepherd could answer these questions? It has\nbeen none else but the devil, for the Scots ministers themselves\ncould not do it; they are but ignorant of such matters; a parcel\nof beardless boys. Then George thought it was time to take speech\nin hand. Well, my lord bishop, says he, you call them a parcel of\nignorant beardless boys, you have a great long beard yourself, my\nlord bishop, and if the grace of God were measured by beards, you\nbishops, and the goats will have it all, and that will be quite\naverse to scripture. What, says the bishop, are you a Scot? Yes,\nsays George, I am a Scot: Well, says the bishop, and what is the\ndifference between a Scot and a sot? Nothing at present, says\nGeorge, but the breadth of the table, there being a table betwixt\nthe bishop and George; so the bishop went off in a high passion,\nwhile the whole multitude were like to split their jaws with\nlaughter.[199]\n\nAbout this time there was an act of parliament for the benefit\nof murderers, that any person if they committed murder, if they\nforfeited 500 merks, which went under the name of Kin Boot,[200]\nbecause so much of this fine went to the murdered person\u2019s nearest\nrelation, as the price of blood, the murderer got a remit. Now\nGeorge knowing this to be contrary to Moses\u2019 laws, was very much\ngrieved to see many pardons sealed with the king\u2019s hand for murder,\nalmost one every week; it being so usual for the king to subscribe\nthem, that he would not read them, nor enquire what they were: for\nwhich cause George writes a right to the crown, and sent it to the\nking to be subscribed, which he actually did, and never looking\nwhat it was, returned it to George; no sooner had he received it,\nbut he goes to the king, and told him it was not time for him now\nto be sitting there, whereat the king, greatly amazed, started up,\nthen George in great haste sets himself down on the king\u2019s chair,\nforthwith declaring himself king, saying, You who was king must be\nmy fool, for I am now the wisest man. The king at this was greatly\noffended, until George shewed him his seal and superscription; but,\nfrom that day forth the king knew what he subscribed.\n\nThe next pardon that came to be sealed by the king, was to a\ngentleman who had killed two men before, and had gotten pardons for\nthem by money. This being the third, the king looked very silent in\nlooking over the petition, George, standing by, asked the king what\nhe was going to seal now? To which he answered, It is a remit for a\nman who had killed three men at sundry times, I gave him two remits\nbefore. O! says George, he has killed but one man; and who killed\nthe other two? says the king; you did, says George, for if you had\ngiven him justice when he had killed the first, he had killed no\nmore. When the king heard these words, he threw down the pen, and\ndeclared that such an act, to save a murderer, shall be null ever\nafter by him.\n\nOne day after this, George having no money, he goes away and gets a\npick and spade, and then falls a digging at a corner of the king\u2019s\npalace, which the king perceiving from his window, calls what he\nwas wanting there? are you going to undermine my house, and make\nit fall? No, my sovereign, said he, but it is verily reported that\nthere is plenty of money about this house, and where can it be? I\ncannot find it; for it is not within the house to do me service,\nthen surely it must be below it. O George that is a crave after the\nnew fashion: What money you want I\u2019ll order it for you. Then, my\nsovereign, I\u2019ll dig no more.\n\nOne time after this George being in the country, he came to an inn\nwhere he alighted to refresh himself and his horse; the innkeeper\ncharged him double price for every thing he called for; George\nnever grumbled at this, but gave him all his demands, and away he\ngoes on his journey; and where he quartered the night following,\nhe was used after the same manner, if not worse. Now George having\nlittle farther to go, he returned the next day, and came that night\nto the inn where he refreshed himself the day before; so when he\nalighted, the boy asking him, sir, what shall I give your horse?\nWhat you will, boy, says George. No sooner had he gone into his\nroom, but the drawer asked him, What will you have to drink, sir.\nWhat you will, says George. The master of the inn came into his\nroom before supper, asking him, What will you have for supper,\nsir? What you will, landlord, says George. Now after supper being\nended, and a hearty bowl to put all over, George went to bed, and\ngot up pretty early in the morning, he called for the boy to make\nready his horse in all haste, for he designed to mount him and go\ndirectly: so in a short time he went into the stable where the boy\nwas, calling for his horse, when he mounting him with all the speed\nhe could, and giving the boy a piece of money, saying, here, my\nboy, this is for your taking care of my horse, I have paid for all\nI called for in the house, and off he goes. Now, about mid day,\nhe alighted again at an inn to refresh himself and his horse, and\nthere he chanced to be in company with his other landlord, where he\nwas the night before, and charged him with the double reckoning, so\nGeorge addressed himself to him as follows: Sir, says George, I do\nbelieve I was in your house yesternight. Oh yes, sir, I mind of you\npretty well; and where was you last night? Last night! says George,\nI was in one of the finest inns, and the civilest landlord I ever\nhad in my life; they brought all things that I stood in need of\nunto me without calling for it, and when I came off this morning,\nthey charged me nothing, and I paid nothing but sixpence to the boy\nfor dressing my horse. Blood and wounds, said the old fellow, then\nI\u2019ll go there this night. Ay, says George, do; and mind this, when\nthey ask you what you will have for your horse, answer nothing, but\nwhat you will, sir. Now George smiled within himself, to think how\nhe had got the one extortioner to take amends of the other. So the\nforesaid innkeeper rode that night until many of the people of the\ninn were gone to bed before he came. No sooner was he alighted from\nhis horse, than the boy asked him, What shall I give to your horse,\nmaster? To which he answered, What you will, boy. The boy hearing\nthis, he runs away (leaving him and his horse to stand at the\ndoor), up stairs to his master\u2019s room, crying, Master, Master, What\nyou will is come again? O the rogue, cries he, where is he? I\u2019ll\ncane him, I\u2019ll what you will him by and by, and to him he runs with\nhis cane, licks and kicks him until he was scarce able to mount his\nhorse, and would give him no entertainment there; which caused him\nto ride the whole length of a cold winter night, after he had got\nhis bones all beat and bruised. So the one pursued the other as a\nmurderer; and his defence was, that he was a cheat and a scorner of\nhis house, until the truth was found out.\n\nAbout this time the French king sent and demanded from the king of\nEngland three men of different qualities; the first was to be a\nmighty strong man, the other a very wise man, and the third a great\nfool: so that he might have none in all France to match them in\ntheir stations. So accordingly there were two men chosen, the one\na strong man, and the other a wise man, but George was to act as a\nfool: nevertheless, he was the teacher of the other two. On their\nway to France, George asked the strong man, what will you answer\nthe French king, if he ask if you be a strong man? I\u2019ll say I am.\nThen, says George, he\u2019ll possibly get a stronger man than you, who\nmay kill you and affront your country. What shall I say then? said\nthe strong man. Why, says George, tell him you are strong enough\nuntried. Then, says George to the wise man, and what will you say\nto the king, when he asks if you are a wise man? I\u2019ll tell him\nI am, and answer him all the questions I know. Very well, says\nGeorge, and what if he ask you what you do not know, then you\u2019ll\naffront your country, and be looked upon as a greater fool than\nme. What shall I answer then? said the wise man. Why, says George,\ntell him, he is only a wise man that can take care of himself;\nand I shall come in after you, and take care of you all together.\nNo sooner were they arrived at the king\u2019s palace, than the king\nsent for them to try them. The strong man being first called for,\nhe goes; then the king asked him, Are you a strong man? to which\nhe answered, O king, I am strong enough untried; very good, said\nthe king. After him entered the wise man, to whom the king put\nthe question, sir, are you a wise man? to which he answered, He\nis only a wise man who can take care of himself: very good, says\nthe king. With that George pushed up the door, and in he goes with\nloud laughter, pisses directly in the king\u2019s face, which blinded\nboth his eyes, and put the whole court in amaze. Now, now, says the\nking, it is true enough what the Wise man says, for if I had taken\ncare of myself, I need not have been pissed upon by the English\nfool. O no, says George, fools always strive to make fools of\nothers, but Wise men make fools of themselves. The king imagined as\nmuch as he was made the greatest fool, and charged them forthwith\nto go home, for he wanted no more of England\u2019s strength, wisdom, or\nfolly.\n\nOne night after this, a Highland drover chanced to have a drinking\nbout with an English captain of a ship, and at last the English\ncaptain and him came to be very hearty over their cup; so that\nthey called in their servants to have a share of their liquor; the\ndrover\u2019s servant looked like a wild man, going without breeches,\nstockings or shoes, not so much as a bonnet on his head, with a\nlong peel\u2019d rung in his hand. The captain asked him how long it was\nsince he catched him? it is about two years since I haul\u2019d him out\nof the sea with a net, and afterwards he ran into the mountains,\nwhere I catched him with a pack of hounds. The captain believed it\nwas so; but, says he, I have a servant the best swimmer in Europe.\nO but, says the drover, my servant will swim him to death. No,\nsays the captain, I\u2019ll lay 200 guineas[201] on it. Then says the\ndrover, I hold it one for one, and stakes it directly, the day\nbeing appointed when the trial was to be made. Now, the drover,\nwhen he came to himself, thinking on what a bargain he had made,\ndid not know what to do, knowing very well his servant could swim\nnone. He hearing of George, being in town, who was always a good\nfriend to a Scotsman; he went unto him, and told him the whole\nstory, and that he would be entirely broke, and durst never return\nto his own country, for he was sure to lose it. Now George called\nthe drover and his servant aside, and instructed them how to bring\nhim off with safety, and gain too; so accordingly they met at the\nplace appointed; the captain\u2019s servant stripped directly, and\nthrew himself into the sea, taking a turn until the highlandman\nwas ready, for the drover took some time to put his servant in\norder: after he was stripped, his master took his plaid, and rolled\na kebbock of cheese, a big loaf, and a bottle of gin in it, and\nthis he bound on his shoulders, giving him a direction to tell his\nwife and children that he was well; to be sure he returned with an\nanswer against that day se\u2019ennight. So as he went into the sea, he\nlooked back to his master, and call\u2019d out to him for his claymore.\nAnd, what waits he for now? says he who was to swim along with him.\nHe wants his sword, says his master; his sword! says the fellow,\nwhat is he to do with a sword? Why, says his master, if he meets\nwith a Whale or a monstrous beast, it is to defend his life; I\nknow he\u2019ll have to fight his way through the north seas, e\u2019er he\ngo to Lochaber. Then, cries the other, I\u2019ll swim none with him, if\nhe takes his sword. Ay, but, says the master, you shall, or lose\nthe wager; take you another sword with you. No, says the fellow,\nI never did swim with a sword, nor any man else, that ever I saw\nor heard of; I know not but that wild man will kill me in the deep\nwater; I would not for the whole world venture myself with him and\na sword. The captain seeing his servant afraid to venture, or if\nhe did, he would never see him again alive; therefore, he desired\nan agreement with the drover, who at first seemed unwilling; but\nthe captain put it in his will, the drover quit him for an hundred\nguineas. This he came to through George\u2019s advice.\n\n\nPART III.\n\nAfter this, George being in Cornwall about some business where he\nchanced to run short of money, and not knowing what to do, being\nacquainted with none in that country, and knowing his landlord to\nbe loyal to the government, and a great favourite to the king his\nmaster; takes a piece of brick, and brays it to a small powder\nmixed with a little chalk, so that it might seem, in colour, like\narsenick which is strong poison; then tying it up in papers,\nwriting on this direction, the strongest poison for the king, and\non another paper, the slower poison for the queen. Out he goes on\npurpose, and leaves the papers lying on a table, where he knew they\nwould be looking at them; the landlord perceived the direction;\nso in comes George in a great haste, and calls out, O landlord,\ndid you see two small bundles I have lost, and I know not what I\nshall do, for it was my main business to take them to London.--O!\nyou murdering rogue! cries the landlord, I\u2019ll have you hanged for\nwhat you intend. George at this made off, and was going to fly for\nit, but the landlord called for assistance; so he was apprehended,\nand made prisoner of state, and carried him to London by a troop\nof horse; when the people there began to know him, and tell what\nhe was, his guard slipt away shamefully, and left him; so George\nthanked them for their good company and save convoy.\n\nThere was a law made against wearing swords at balls and\nassemblies, in the reign of King James VI. because they were\ninconvenient on these occasion; but George, to be witty on the\nact, provided himself with a very long scabbard, and got himself\nintroduced to a ball, where the king and his court were present;\nGeorge made several turns through the company, making his scabbard\nhit against their shins, and sometimes slipt it below a lady\u2019s\nfardingale; and, in short, molested the company so much, that he\nwas taken notice of, and seized as a person who had incurred the\npenalties of the act aforesaid. But George excused himself, telling\nthem, that the law was only against swords, and as he only wore\na scabbard, was no ways liable. At seeing this, the king and his\ncourt were convinced that the law was imperfect, and that George\nhad more wit than themselves.\n\nGeorge, one day easing himself at the corner of a hedge, was espied\nby an English \u2019squire, who began to mock him, asking him, Why did\nhe not keckle like the hens? But George whose wit was always ready,\ntold him, He was afraid to keckle lest he would come and snatch up\nthe egg. Which rebuff made the \u2019squire walk off as mute as a fish.\n\nGeorge was professor of the College of St. Andrews, and slipt out\none day in his gown and slippers, and went to his travels through\nItaly, and several other foreign countries; and after seven years,\nreturned with the same dress he went off in; entered the college,\nand took a possession of his seat there; but the professor in his\nroom quarrelled him for so doing. Ay, says George, it is a very\nodd thing that a man cannot take a walk out in his slippers, but\nanother will take up his seat; and so set the other professor about\nhis business.\n\nGeorge was met one day by three bishops, who paid him the following\ncompliments. Says the first, Good day, father Abraham; says the\nsecond, Good day, father Isaac; says the third, Good day, father\nJacob. To which he replied, I\u2019m neither father Abraham, father\nIsaac, nor father Jacob; but I am Saul, the son of Kish, sent out\nto seek my father\u2019s asses, and lo! I have found three of them.\nWhich answer convinced the bishops that they had mistaken their\nman.[202]\n\nA poor Scotsman dined one day at a public house in London upon\neggs, and not having money to pay, got credit till he should\nreturn. The man being lucky in trade, acquired vast riches, and\nafter some years returned, and calling at the house where he\nwas owing his dinner of eggs, asked the landlord what he had to\npay for his dinner of eggs he had got from him such a time? The\nlandlord seeing him now rich, gave him a bill of some hundred\npounds; telling him, as his reason for so extravagant a charge,\nthat these eggs, had they been hatched, would have been chickens;\nand these laying more eggs, would have been more chickens; and\nso on, multiplying the eggs and their product till such time as\ntheir value amounted to the sum he charged. The man refusing to\ncomply with his demand, was charged before a judge; but mean\ntime, made the matter known to George Buchanan his countryman,\nwho promised to appear in the hour of cause, which he accordingly\ndid, all in a sweat, with a great basket of boil\u2019d pease: which\nappearance surprised the judge, who asked him, what he meant by\nthese boil\u2019d peas? Says George, I am going to sow them. When will\nthese grow? says the judge: They will grow when sodden eggs grow\nchickens. Which answer convinced the judge of the extravagance of\nthe Englishman\u2019s demand, and the Scotsman was assoilized on paying\ntwopence halfpenny.\n\nThere was a bell at Dalkieth, which the Popish clergy made use of\nto extort confessions from the ignorant people, in the following\nmanner: They told the persons whom they suspected guilty, that the\nbell would rive at the touch of a guilty person, but if not guilty,\nit would not; by this means they generally frightened the ignorant\ninto confessions; for if the bell would rive, the person was then\nto be condemned to death; but they magnified the matter so, that\nthe bell was never put to the trial, till George did as follows: he\nwas taken up for saying, that the pope was fallible himself, and\ncould not pardon the sins of others. George owned he said so, but\nwould refer to the bell whether he was guilty or not. The priests,\nthough unwilling, were obliged to comply. George touched the bell,\nrepeating as before, The Pope is fallible, and cannot pardon sin,\nmoreover added, The Pope and Popish clergy are impostors; and\nthereupon touched the bell, referring to it for the truth; but the\nbell not renting, the priests were disgraced as impostors, and he\nwas honourably acquited, and the bell was laid aside.\n\nGeorge desired a member of the College of St. Andrews to lend him\na book: the other told him, he could not possibly spare it out of\nhis chamber, but if he pleased he might come there and read all the\nday long. Some time after the gentleman sends to George to borrow\nhis bellows; but he sent him word, he could not possibly spare them\nout of his chamber, but he might come there and blow all the day if\nhe would.[203]\n\nA scholar at the grammar school of St. Andrews, coming into a room\nwhere the master had laid down a basket of cherries for his own\neating, the waggish boy takes it up, and cries aloud, I publish the\nbanns between these cherries and my mouth, if any know any just\ncause or impediment, why these two should not be joined together,\nlet them declare it. The master being in the next room, overheard\nall that was said; and, coming into the school, he ordered the\nboy who had eaten his cherries to be taken up, or, as he called\nit, horsed on another boy\u2019s back: but before he proceeded to the\nusual discipline, he cries out aloud, as the delinquent had done, I\npublish the banns between this boy\u2019s breeches and my taws: if any\none knows any just cause or impediment why these two should not be\njoined together, let them declare it. George passing by in the mean\ntime, overheard this proclamation; I forbid the banns, cried he.\nWhy so, says the schoolmaster? Because the parties are not agreed,\nreplied he. Which answer so pleased the master, that the boy was\nset down without any punishment.\n\nA young gentleman that wanted to be witty on the scriptures, eating\nsome cheese full of mites, one night at a tavern; now, said he, I\nhave done as much as Sampson, for I have slain my thousands and ten\nthousands. Yes, replied George, who happened to be in his company,\nand with the same weapon too, the jaw-bone of an ass; which answer\nset the whole company a laughing to see the young gentleman beat\nwith his own weapon.\n\nGeorge being in company where three bishops were present at dinner,\nthey knowing George to be a great scholar, and comical withal, they\nput upon him to say the grace, which he did as follows:\n\n      Here are three brethren of the coat,\n      Who for thy blessings thank thee not,\n      Curse them, Lord, and bless them not. Amen.\n\nFall on gentlemen, the cause is good. This grace made the bishops\nlook like fools to one another, while George laughed heartily at\nthe confusion they were in.\n\nA candle maker having had some candles stole, was telling it in a\ncompany where George was present, who bade him be of good cheer,\nfor in a short time says he, I am assured they will come to light.\n\nGeorge being sent to Paris about some business, went from thence to\nVersailles, to see the French king\u2019s court: and being known there\nto several of the courtiers, who had been at the English court, one\nof them took occasion to tell the French King, that George was one\nof the wittiest men in England; upon which the French King desired\nto see him, which he did; but George, it seems, was out of humour,\nor at least seemingly so, he spoke but very little to the purpose;\nso that the French King told the nobleman that had commended him\nfor such a wit, that he looked upon him as a very dull fellow; but\nthe nobleman assured the King that whatever he thought of him,\nGeorge was a very witty and ingenious man: whereupon the King\nwas resolved to make further trial of him, and took him into a\ngreat gallery, where there were abundance of fine pictures; and,\namong the rest, shewed him a picture of Christ on the cross, and\nasked him, If he knew who that was? but George made himself very\nignorant, and answered, no; Why, says the King, I\u2019ll tell you, if\nyou don\u2019t know; this is the picture of our Saviour on the cross,\nand that on the right is the Pope\u2019s, and that on the left is my\nown. Whereupon George replied, I humbly thank your majesty for\nthe information, for though I have often heard that our Saviour\nwas crucified between two thieves, yet I never knew who they were\nbefore.\n\nA sharper who had acquired vast riches by cheating, told George,\nthat if such a thing as a good name was to be purchased, he would\nfreely give ten thousand pounds for one. Sir, said George, it would\ncertainly be the worst money you ever laid out in your life. Why\nso? said the sharper; because answered he, you will lose it again\nin less than a week.\n\nOne asked George, why men always made suit to the women, and the\nwomen never to the men? Why, says he, because the women are always\nready for the men, but the men are not always ready for the women.\n\nGeorge went into the mint one day, when they were melting gold,\none of them asked George, if he would have his hat full of gold?\nGeorge readily accepted, but it burnt the bottom out of his hat,\nas they knew it would, and for that bout they fooled George.\nHowever George, to be up with them, bought a fine large hat, and\ncaused a plate of copper to be put betwixt the hat and the lining,\nand returned next day, they jestingly asked him if he would have\nanother hatful of gold? he said he would; they gave it red hot, and\nnow George laughed at them in his turn, telling them, that this\nnew hat was a good one, and stood fire better than the old one;\nand so carried it off honestly; and being afterwards prosecute for\nto return it, he excused himself, telling the judge, that he took\nnothing but what was given him; and therefore he was honourably\nacquitted, and the others heartily laughed at.\n\nIn the reign of king James the Sixth, George dining one day with\nthe Lord Mayor, after two or three healths the ministry was tossed;\nbut when it came to George\u2019s turn to drink he diverted it some\ntime by telling a story to the person who sat next him; the chief\nmagistrate not seeing his toast go round, called out, What sticks\nthe ministry at? At nothing, cries George, and so drank off his\nglass.\n\nGeorge being one day along with the king and his nobles a-hunting,\nand being but very sorrily mounted; when he was spurring up his\nhorse, he observed the horse have a trick of falling down on his\nknees. George immediately thought how he should make use of that\nvery thing to divert his Majesty; therefore pretended that his\nhorse could set hares, and knowing some hare-seats, rode that way,\nto show the truth of what he affirmed; and when he had found the\nhare, by giving his horse a spur, he immediately clapped down;\nthis he repeated several times, till he put the whole company in\nbelief that what he said was true; and one of the noblemen being\ncharmed with the performance of George\u2019s horse, would have George\nto change with him; George seemed, at first, unwilling to part with\nhis horse; but at last was prevailed upon to part with him for the\nnobleman\u2019s horse, and a hundred guineas to boot. But afterwards\nriding thro\u2019 a pretty deep river, the nobleman spurring his new\nhorse, he clapped down on his belly; which George seeing, called\nout to the company to return with the dogs, for the nobleman\u2019s\nhorse had certainly set a hare: which set the whole company\na-laughing. The poor nobleman was obliged to leave his horse set in\nthe water, and waded through on foot, all wet to the shoulders.[204]\n\nA Scotsman being reduced to poverty, made his court to George to\nput him in a way; George told him he would, provided he would\ndo as he directed him. There was an old miser, an usurer and\nmoney-changer hard by; George ordered the poor fellow to pretend an\nerrand to the miser, and when he came to the table where the heaps\nof money lay, to thrust his hand among the gold, but to lift none,\nand run off. This the poor fellow did, and was chased by the miser\nand his servants, who ran after him into the street, calling stop\nthe thief; the poor fellow was stopt, (as George had desired him\nto let them catch him). George appeared in the mob, and went along\nwith the poor fellow, who was carried before a judge, where he was\nsearched; and nothing being found upon him, he was acquitted, and\nthe miser fined in a large sum for accusing him. Afterwards George\ndesired him to go to the same place, and thrust in both his hands,\nand lift up as much as he could and run off. This he did, but the\nmiser told him, he was not such a fool as to follow him, for he\nknew he only desired to play the fool to have him fined again.\nBy this means the poor fellow was enriched, and afterwards lived\nhonestly.\n\nGeorge being at dinner one day, where the broth was very hot, burnt\nhis mouth, and at the same time letting go a loud fart; It is very\ngood for you, says George, that you made your escape, for I should\nhave burnt you alive had you staid.\n\n\nPART IV.\n\nA young curate, with more pertness than wit or learning, being\nasked in company, how he came to take it into his head to enter\ninto the ministry of the church? Because, said he, the Lord hath\nneed of me. That may be, replied George, who was present, for I\nhave often heard that the Lord had once need of an ass.\n\nAfter this, George being sent with the British ambassador into\nItaly, by the way of Paris; and as they were viewing the beautiful\nstatues, and large buildings of that spacious city: the King, and\nmany of his nobles in company, as they were walking through the\nKing\u2019s garden, among the images of the saints, they came to the\nimage of the virgin Mary, who stood in a melancholy posture with\nthe babe in her arms, one of the noblemen says to the British\nambassador, don\u2019t you think but she looks as she were angry? O yes,\nsays George, she\u2019s angry when she sees Englishmen and Frenchmen in\nfriendship and unity one with another. No, no, said the French king\nshe loves nothing better than the reconciliation of enemies; peace\nand unity is her delight. Then George gets in below the statue, and\nlooks up; O, says George, I know what is the matter now, some body\nhas driven a great nail in her arse, I see the head of it sticking\nout, it would vex any living be\u2019s a piece of wood. At this the king\nwas greatly enraged against George for saying so, for calling her\na piece of wood; and nothing would satisfy the King, unless that\nGeorge would fall down and worship the Virgin Mary, and crave mercy\nof her for the blasphemous reproaches wherewith he hath reproached\nher. Then George cries out, O may it please your majesty to omit\nit at this time, I dare not look her in the face, she frowns on\nme with such an angry countenance, this dutiful command of your\u2019s\nmust be delayed until I return from Italy, and then I shall fulfill\nyour demand, in paying all dutiful respects and worship unto her,\naccording to what she is. So here the ambassador stood bound for\nGeorge, that he should perform this piece of worship at his return,\naccording to the king\u2019s pleasure.\n\nNow, during their stay in Italy, they chanced to be in a nobleman\u2019s\nhouse where they kept but few servants, because of a spirit that\ndid haunt the house for the space of 200 years before that time, so\nthat no servant could work any kind of labour in or about the house\nfor it, except cooks, for what they vulgarly called a Brownie, it\ndid all itself, and would suffer no fellow labourer to work along\nwith it. On the next morning, George got up pretty early, called\nfor water to wash himself; then directly comes the Brownie with a\nbason of water in the one hand, and a clean cloth in the other.\nGeorge perceiving him having such a pale ghostly countenance, not\nto be an earthly creature said, of what nation art thou? To which\nit answered in Galic or Earse, a countryman of yours, Sir. The\nambassador smiled, and joked George, telling him, it was a devil,\nand how could it be a countryman of his? O, says George, I\u2019ll\nshow you the contrary of that, for the devil dare not stay in our\ncountry, George having washed himself, it came again to take away\nthe bason and water; then says George, and how long is it since\nyou left your own country? About 250 years ago, says it. Then\ncertainly, says he, thou art a devil, and not an earthly creature.\nTo which he answered,\n\n      I am what I am, and a Christian too.\n      Then I am what I am to conjure you. (says George.)\n\nHe taking a handful of water, and throwing it on the old withered\nface of it, repeating the form of the words of baptism of Earse;\nsaying, if thou be a Christian, thou art old enough now to be\nbaptized. No sooner had he done this, but it went off weeping and\ncrying, O! let never a rogue put trust in his countryman after\nme. Now, says George, I told you the devil dare not stay in my\ncountry, nor yet look a Scotsman in the face in his own. Why, says\nthe Italian lord, do you imagine, that this is the devil\u2019s own\ncountry? It appears so says George, for he is the oldest residenter\nin it I know; but my lord, said he, and if it please your grace, I\nthink the clergymen are very scant in this country, when you have\nkept the devil so long for a chaplain. The nobleman unto this gave\nno answer, but expressed his sorrow to be very great for the loss\nof his Brownie.\n\nNow the ambassador having done his business in Italy they returned\nhomeward, and on their way, the ambassador began to question George\nhow he thought to escape Paris without committing idolatry. No, no,\nsays George, I never did worship any image, nor never shall; but\nI shall make them worship the worst that is in my guts. No sooner\nwere they arrived in Paris, but George leaves the ambassador,\nand goes directly to the Virgin Mary, jumps in over the rail to\nthe holy ground (as they termed it) whereon she stood, where few\ndurst go but priests and friars; and there he loosed his breeches,\nand made such a groaning, easing himself, that he was heard at a\ndistance by the priests and friars who were walking near by, and\nthey perceiving this heinous abomination, ran upon him like a\npack of hounds, and carried him before the cardinals and Father\nconfessors, where he was allowed to speak for himself, which he did\nas follows--May it please your most excellent Worships to hear my\nreasons, before you pronounce my sentence to be put in execution\nagainst me. It was my fortune to be passing through this city a few\nmonths ago, with the British ambassador, on our way to Italy; and\none day being walking in the kings garden in presence of the king,\nand many of his nobles, who can bear witness to the truth of the\nsame; I being ignorant of your traditions and rites of religion,\nfoolishly offended, reproaching the Virgin Mary to her face; and\never since she has plagued me with a boundness in my belly, that I\nhave voided nothing but clean hach; so now on my return I went and\nimplored her to open my fundament, and she has done so; I being\noverjoyed at the miraculous healing, in getting passage in her\npresence, I left it as a memorial of the miracle in that place.\nWhen hearing this, they all with one consent, lifted up their hands\nand blessed the Virgin Mary for the wonderful miracle she had done;\nand ordered George to go about his business, and declare unto all\nwhat was done, to him by the holy Virgin, for the confirmation of\ntheir religion. So all the devout Romans came to view his dung, and\nworship over it; the king himself kneeled down, and worshipped,\nbowing his body over it, in presence of many people; and also\ncaused a holy day to be observed thro\u2019 all his dominions, for the\nmiraculous cure.\n\nNow George being a long time absent from Britain, he thought to\ngo and visit the king and his court in disguise. He meeting with\nan old man driving two old horses, loaded with coals to sell.\nGeorge here makes a bargain with the old man, for the loan of his\nclothes, his horses and coals, whip, and every thing to complete\nhim as a real coal-driver; so away he goes in this dress, until\nhe came before the king\u2019s palace, where he began to cry with an\naudible voice, Buy coals, buy coals; better buy than borrow.\nNow the king being in company with his young chaplain, who was\na foundling, none knew his original, and had been suffered and\neducated out of charity by the king\u2019s father, yet he was become\nas proud as lucifer, and as proud in his own conceit as the king\nhimself. Now, the king knowing George\u2019s voice, tho\u2019 he was in a\ncoalman\u2019s dress, desired the chaplain to ask the coalman why he\ncalled so loud, making such a terrible noise. The chaplain opened\nthe window, and with great airs called unto him, You, Sir, why do\nyou cry so for? Why, says George, I cry for people to come and buy\nmy coals, and give me money for them; but what do you cry for?\nWhat, sir, says the young priest, I cry for you to hold your peace.\nThen, says George, come here then, and cry for me, and go sell my\ncoals, and I will hold my peace. Sell my coals, says the priest,\ndo you know unto whom you speak? Yes, I do know, says George, but\nyou do not. What are you? says the priest; I am a mortal, and so\nare you, says George. What is your father\u2019s name, since you will\nnot tell your own? says the priest: You may go ask that at my\nmother, says George, for I was not sufficient when she got me to\nknow him. What, says the priest, do you not know your own father?\nI know my mother, and my mother did know my father, says George,\nand that is sufficient, and more than you can say, perhaps. The\npriest thinking he was coming too near him, thought to put him\noff with a scriptural question, by asking him, If he knew who\nwas Melchizedec\u2019s father? Indeed, master priest, says George,\nMelchizedec\u2019s descent was not counted, neither is yours, then who\ncan declare your generation? The priest, at this answer, would\nstand the argument no longer, but closed the window in great haste,\nwhile the king, and all who knew the priest to be a foundling, were\nlike to split their sides laughing; so George went off with his\ncoals, and the priest became more humble than he was, formerly, for\nhe thought that every body knew who he was, when the coalman knew\nso well.\n\nOne night after this, an English \u2019squire, who profess\u2019d to be\nbetter versed in poetry than George, laid a wager with another\ngentleman, five guineas against one, that George could not metre\nthe first words he would say to him in the morning, when newly\nawaked out of his sleep: so the gentleman went the night before,\nand told George the story, and bade him be on his guard, for in\nthe morning they would certainly come, and that right early. At\nmidnight and you will, says George, I\u2019ll order my servant to let\nyou in. So the English \u2019squire sat up all night conferring with his\nfriends, whether to put a high verse to him, or mean and simple\nwords, thinking George would be sitting up all night meditating on\nan answer; so they all agreed, that mean and simple words he would\nnot be thinking on, and have no answer provided for such. Then\naway they came in the morning very early, with several gentlemen\nin company to hear the diversion. George\u2019s servant opened the door\naccording to his master\u2019s orders. The \u2019squire entered the room\nfirst, and wakened George out of his sleep, then said,\n\n      Rise up you madman, and put on your cloathes.\n\nTo which George answered,\n\n      O thou hast lost thy wad man, for I\u2019m none of those.\n\nThe English \u2019squire confessed he was fairly beat, and would match\nhim with no more. Then another gentleman would hold five guineas,\nthat he would give him a word or line, that he could not metre at\nthe first answer; and to answer it directly as soon as he had done\nspeaking; but George ordered him first to table the money, and then\nto proceed, which he did in all haste; and said as follows:\n\n      My belly rumbl\u2019d, and then I farted.\n\nGeorge gripping to the money, answered,\n\n      A fool and his money is soon parted.\n\nThen they all cried out, he was fairly beat, and what George had\nsaid, was realy true; but he never would lay any more wagers\nconcerning poetry.\n\nAfter this George got a letter from a bishop, telling him, that he\nwas coming to visit him, and take dinner with him in his lodging;\nGeorge sent an answer, that he would wait upon his lordship at the\nday appointed; but well did George know, it was not for any love\nhe had unto him, he was coming to visit him, but to spy fairlies;\ntherefore he thought he should give him something to talk about.\nSo George sent his servant to a bookseller\u2019s shop to buy a dozen\nof small pamphlets, about a halfpenny a piece; such as a groat\u2019s\nworth of wit for a penny, the history of the king and the cobler,\nand such pieces as these; taking all his own books away, and\nputting the pamphlets in their place, which he presented to the\nbishop, when he asked for a sight of his library. What, says the\nbishop, have you no more books but these? No more, says George, but\nmy bible; just no more. O! says the bishop, I wonder how you can\neither speak plain, or write a perfect sentence, when you have no\nother books than these. O! says George, do you think that I am a\nclergyman, to borrow other men\u2019s sermons to beautify my works: no,\nno, not I: all that I write I dite, I meditate out of my own brain.\nThis check concerning borrowing put the bishop in a cold sweat,\nyet he concealed his passion. Then George called to his servant,\nif dinner was ready yet? to which he answered, Come, master, come,\nthe pot is on the boil, get out the meal pock: then George came\ninto the room where his servant was, and set the bishop at the one\nside of the fire, and sat down on the other himself, while his\nservant made a great bowl full of milk brose, and set them between\nthe bishop and George; then George desired his lordship to ask a\nblessing to what they were to receive, the bishop did not know\nwhat he meaned by a blessing, it not being usual for the English\nto do so, asked at George what it was? But George took up a great\nram horn spoon, and put it in the bishop\u2019s hand, saying, There it\nis, my lord. What, says the bishop, call you that a blessing? we\ncall that a spoon. O my lord, says George, it is the best blessing\nyou can ask, if you do not come empty. Well, says the bishop, and\nhow do you call that scalded meal? says George, we call it Scots\nbrose. O! said the bishop, I cannot eat it. O! says he, the thing\nwe cannot eat we sup, my lord, since you are in a Scotsman\u2019s house,\nyou must partake of a Scotsman\u2019s victuals. Then says the bishop,\nI always thought the Scots lived well till now; I would not be\na Scotsman for the world. O said George, if a Scotsman live but\ntwenty years, and get but nineteen years meat, he cannot be badly\noff. What, not badly off, and want a year\u2019s victuals? said the\nbishop; upon my word of honour, if I wanted one days victuals, I\u2019d\nbe sure to die the next. O, says George, we drink water when we\ncannot do better, and that puts us in remembrance of wealth; for\na dish of contentment is good cheer. Then, said the bishop, I\u2019ll\ndrink water too if it be good for the memory. Ay do; said George,\nand you\u2019ll remember me when you do so. Now, after dinner, the\nbishop took his leave of George, and desired him next day to come\nand dine with him.\n\n\nPART V.\n\nNext day, George, according to his promise, went to the bishop\u2019s\nlodging; but no sooner did the bishop see George, than he saluted\nhim with these words:\n\n      Your servant, master wise man,\n        And yet you have no books:\n      How can one have knowledge,\n        That no man instructs?\n\nGeorge answered,\n\n      Your servant, master bishop,\n        Your salutation\u2019s good:\n      Your knowledge is in your library,\n        While other\u2019s is in their hood.\n\nNow, after a sumptuous dinner, the bishop took George into his\nlibrary, showing him a great quantity of books; which George\npraised very much, and among the rest, was an old Hebrew Bible,\nwhich George taking up, asked the bishop what book it was? the\nbishop looking at it very sincerely, said he could not tell. Why\nthen do you keep a book, you don\u2019t know the name of? It may be the\nbook of black art. No, I don\u2019t think that, said the bishop, but can\nyou tell what it is? Yes, says George, it is the Bible, the best\nbook for a bishop I know, if he had eyes to see the inside of it.\nSo he desired George to read a piece of it: but when he did, he\ncould not understand it; therefore, he desired him to explain it:\nwhich sentence he did as follows, Isaiah ix. 19, \u201cFor the leaders\nof this people cause them to err: and they that are led of them,\nare destroyed.\u201d To which George added, This is the blind leading\nthe blind. So, taking his leave of the bishop, he parted with him,\nsaying these words:\n\n      Good night, hail master bishop,\n        Of books you have great store;\n      Yet cannot read the half of them;\n        Then what use are they for?\n\nMany of the clergymen in England desired greatly to be in company\nof George, because of his comical and witty expressions; so George\nhappened one night to be called into a company, where there were\ntwo bishops, as also a priest who wanted to be licensed by them.\nOne of the bishops asked George, why the people in Scotland did\nnot love bishops? Because, says George, they are like old beggars,\nadvanced to be rulers over barrow-men, still instructing them in\nthings they know not themselves, ordering them to carry stones\nto the builders, which they will not receive, and which they\nthemselves had never power to move; the Scots having knowledge of\nthis, hate to see bishops have great lordships for their ignorance,\nand the poor labourer have little or nothing for their toil. One of\nthe bishops looking at George, with an angry countenance, answered,\nsaying, You Scot must be made a bishop yourself, and we bishops\nmade priests, and that will serve well for your turn. No, no, said\nGeorge, that will not do; for if I be made a bishop, I\u2019ll have no\nbroken bishops to serve as priests under me, for they are such\nbad masters they\u2019ll become the worst of all servants. At this the\ntwo bishops left the room in a great passion, leaving George and\nthe young priest only by themselves. Now, now, says George, this\nproves the bishops to be but hirelings, and not true shepherds,\npointing to the young priest, you see they are fled for their own\nsafety and they have left you a lamb, before the mouth of me a fox,\nand who knows but I may worry you! Run, run, too, master sheep,\nsays George, and if you have eyes guide them two blind shepherds\ndown stairs, and over ditches, but I am afraid you\u2019ll tumble\nall in a ditch together. This raised such an indignation in the\nbishops\u2019 breasts, that they desired no more of George\u2019s company or\nconversation.\n\nOne time after this, George being in the country about twenty miles\nfrom London, and on his way homeward, came up after him a fine\ngilded coach, which George being informed belonged to the bishop\nof Canterbury, and was going to London for his lordship; George\naddresses himself to the coachman, for to have a passage with him\nin the coach to London; so he bargained with the coachman for two\ndollars to carry him to the Bell inn on London bridge; the one he\ngave him in hand, as he entered the coach door, and the other he\nwas to give him as soon as ever he would see him come out at the\ncoach door; so away the coachman drives for London in all haste; in\nwhich time George wrote the following MOTTO:\n\n      Here sits the bishop of Canterbury,\n      Who at the schools disdain\u2019d to tarry,\n      Far better skill\u2019d at games than preaching.\n      Although he lives by others teaching\n      Blind leaders of the blind indeed;\n      \u2019Tis blind and lame who chariots need,\n      Six brutes with eyes, this brute doth carry,\n      I mean the bishop of Canterbury.\n      My feet being lame, I gave a dollar,\n      To be drove in state like you a scholar;\n      For which, myself I do abhor;\n      Shame caus\u2019d me make another door.\n\nThese lines George battered upon the inside of the coach, and when\nhe came within a mile of London, took a knife, and cut a great hole\nin the backside of the coach, where he came out; and to make his\npromise good to the coachman, that he was to give him the other\ndollar as soon as ever he saw him come out at the coach-door. The\npoor coachman drove on till he came to the foresaid inn, where he\nalighted and opened the door to let out his passenger; but seeing\nthe coach empty, and a great hole in the backside of it, he cried\nout, he believed he had had the devil in the coach, and that he had\ntaken away the backside of it with him. The people of the inn came\nall flocking about to see what was done, and then perceiving the\nlines on the inside of the coach, which the bishop came and read\nhimself, they all concluded it to be done by George, but could make\nnothing of it; for, the bishop said, to pursue him might make it\nworse, but no better.\n\nGeorge was invited one day by a great lawyer to come and see a new\nbuilding which he had lately built of fine freestone and marble.\nHe desired George to guess what it was built with; George answers,\nDo you think that I do not know what it is built with: No, you do\nnot, says the lawyer: Yes, I do, says George; it cannot stand long,\nfor malice and hatred is the mortar of it, and the stones are the\nheads of foolish people, polished over with the tongue of an ass.\nWhat, says the lawyer, do you compare me to an ass? O! sir, don\u2019t\nyou remember that an ass was made an advocate, and spoke against\nBalaam. The lawyer to this would give no answer, but took good\nnight of George.\n\nThree merchants, pedlars (as they professed to be) came with a pack\nof goods, to put a trick upon a widow Woman who kept an inn on\nthe highway side; after they had drunk very hearty, they desired\nthe Woman to lay up the pack securely, and charged her strictly,\nbefore witnesses, to deliver it to none of them, unless they came\naltogether for it again, and in about three weeks thereafter, two\nof them returned and desired the woman to give them the pack:\ntelling her, that the other man was gone to such a fair with\nanother pack, where they were all to meet; and that they were\nfellow-travellers, conjunct in trade, and how they all had a right\nto the pack alike; whereupon the poor simple Woman, not dreading\nany further harm, gave them the pack. So in a few days thereafter,\nthe other man comes and demands the pack; the honest Woman told\nhim plainly, that the other two men had been there before, and got\nit away: then he began to demonstrate to the Woman, what great\ndanger she was in, and forthwith raised a process against her\nby law, which cost the poor Woman a vast of money to defend, as\nthe plea continued more than two full years: and a great court\nbeing one day to sit upon the process to decide it, which would\nundoubtedly have been done in favour of the pursuer, the proof\nbeing so clear, and the woman herself not denying what the bargain\nwas when she got the pack to keep. The poor Woman being in great\nstraits, her purse being turned empty, and her attorney told her\nplainly, as her money was done, he could no longer defend her;\nthe Woman once more plucked up her heart, and went to London to\nemploy a new attorney to speak for her; but for want of gold, she\ncould get none to undertake it. George being in a house where\nhe heard the poor Woman making a mournful complaint to one of\nher attornies, who gave her no comfort or satisfaction; for when\nshe told him, she had no money to spend, or give in defence of\nit, the attorney went away and would hear no more of the Woman\u2019s\ngrievous complaint, which made George to laugh very heartily,\nwhile the poor Widow sat weeping like one distracted. Poor woman,\nsays George, you need not think that man will speak a word for\nyou, or any else, unless you had brought him a purse of gold to\nloose his tongue; but as I have got a scheme in the matter, you\nmay go home, and have patience until the time come; and then, my\nlife for yours, poor Woman, that I shall send you an attorney, who\nwill do your business for nothing. He gave the poor Woman more\ncourage than any she had spoken with in London; for every one\ntold her, that all the attornies in the World could not free her.\nSo accordingly at the day appointed, George dressed himself like\nan attorney with his gown, and every thing as he had been really\nso. The court being fenced, and the process read over, expences\nand the value of the pack, having amounted to above seven hundred\npounds, was ordered to be put in decreet against the poor Widow,\nwhich every one was bemoaning, but could give her no relief. Now\nGeorge kept himself silent, hearing them all with great patience,\nuntil the very nick of time, he thought proper to address himself\nto the judges as followeth. My lords, judges and gentlemen of this\nhonourable Court and company, I have come from London, gratis, out\nof pure pity, to speak a word or two in favour of this poor Woman,\nwho hath exhausted all her means in defence of a false accusation\ncharged against her; and now when her money is gone, her speakers\nare dumb, and I see none to plead the cause of this poor Widow.\nNow, when sentence is upon the tapis of being pronounced against\nher, I earnestly desire this court to modify and drop the expences\naltogether. It is enough when the poor Woman has the pack to pay:\nfor you all know the woman was no way enriched by it, when the\nother two men got it away. Then the pursuers attorney made answer\nas follows. Sir, I would have thought that you, who have come from\nLondon, and professes to be a doctor of law, should know better\nthings; know ye not, that he who gains the plea, gains his expences\nas well as the sum, or be what it will. Yes, it must, and shall be\nso, said the judges. Then, said George, This is all I want; which\nset the whole court a-laughing, thinking he was a fool and become\nan adversary to the poor Woman. Give over your sport, gentlemen,\nsays George, I have not done yet.--My lords, judges, you\u2019ll bear me\nin this, if the poor Woman made a bargain with this merchant, and\nthe other two who was with him, for to keep that pack safely, and\nto deliver it to none of them, until they were all three present;\nnow, let that man, who is here at the time, go and seek the other\ntwo, and they shall have their pack, for she has the pack safe\nenough; but she will keep by her first bargain. So I refer to you,\njudges and gentlemen, if this poor Woman be not in the right. This\nmade the judges look one to another, and the whole Court with one\nvoice, declared the Woman to be in the right, and ordered the\npursuer to go and seek his two companions. No, no, says George, the\npoor Woman must first have her expences, or security for it. Then\nthe judges caused the pursuer to be arrested at the bar, until the\nWoman got satisfaction for all her trouble and expences. So George\nreturned to London unknown, but for an advocate, whose fame was\nspread over all England; which caused many who had law-suits to\nsearch through London for him, but could never find the advocate\nwho had gained the Widow\u2019s law-plea.\n\nGeorge being one day in the country, and coming thro\u2019 a village,\nthere came a great big mastiff dog and gripped him by the leg,\nuntil the blood followed his long teeth; George, with one stroke of\nhis cane came over his eyes, until he fell down and died upon the\nspot; \u2019tis well for thee, says George, that I killed thee before\nthou wast brought to justice, for thou hadst certainly been hanged\nfor what thou hast done, and thy master severely fined for keeping\nthee. The owner of the dog hearing George say so, went off without\nspeaking a word to George, for fear it had been so.\n\nA country gentleman came one time, and enquired at George what he\nthought was the reason he lost every law-suit or plea he set his\nface to; though never so just a claim, the law went still against\nhim. George asked him, whom he employed, and he told him, that he\nwas one of the best and ablest attorneys in England. Yes, says\nGeorge, I believe he may be so; but when you go to law again, if\nyou have a mind to win it, when you give your own attorney a guinea\ngive your adversary two; for these attornies are much after the\nnature of an ass, they won\u2019t speak right, if you do not throw a\nmultitude of angels before them (meaning pieces of English money,\ncalled angels by name). The gentleman returned in a few weeks\nthereafter, and heartily thanked George for his good advice, for\nhe was not afraid now, but he could gain any plea he took in hand,\njust or unjust.[205]\n\nTwo drunken fellows one day fell a-beating one another on the\nstreets of London, which caused a great croud of people to throng\ntogether to see what it was; a taylor being at work up in a high\ngarret, about three or four stories high, and he hearing the noise\nin the street, looked over the window, but could not well see them;\nhe began to stretch himself, making a long neck until he fell down\nout of the window, and alighted on an old man, who was walking on\nthe street: the poor taylor was more afraid than hurt, but the\nman he fell on died directly. His son caused the taylor to be\napprehended, and tried for the murder of his father; the jury could\nnot bring it in as wilful murder, neither could they altogether\nfree the taylor; the jury gave it over to the judges, and the\njudges to the king: the king asked George\u2019s advice in this hard\nmatter. Why, says George, I will give you my opinion in a minute;\nyou must cause the taylor to stand in the street, in the same place\nwhere the old gentleman was when he was killed by the taylor, and\nthen let the old gentleman\u2019s son, the taylor\u2019s adversary, go up to\nthe window from whence the taylor fell, and jump down, and so kill\nthe taylor, as he did his father; for I can make no more of it. You\nsee it was a great mercy for the taylor he had the old gentleman\nbelow him, else he had been killed on the spot; and that it was\nthe old gentleman\u2019s lot or misfortune to die there. The taylor\u2019s\nadversary hearing this sentence past, he would not venture to jump\nover the window, and so the taylor got clear off.\n\n\nPART VI.\n\nGeorge being one night in company with some English noblemen in\npresence of the king, they began to demonstrate such a fine place\nas England was, both for beautiful buildings and fruitful fields:\none gentleman said, he knew a place in England, though they should\ncrop the grass even with the ground at night, and lay down a crown\non it before a hundred witnesses, against to-morrow you would not\nknow where to find it. That may seem very strange to some, says\nGeorge, but it is no mystery to me, knowing, there would be enough\nof them who saw the crown-piece laid down, ready for to come and\ntake it up before tomorrow. But, says George, I know a place in\nthe west of Scotland, where, if you\u2019ll tether a horse at night,\nagainst the next morning you will not see him. What a pox will\ntake him away? says the Englishman. Only such people, says George,\nas will take away your crown-piece. O! says the English nobleman,\nyou know what I mean. Then, says George, you talk much of towns\nyou have in England, I know three towns in poor Scotland, for\nproperties you have none such. Pray, says the gentleman, what are\nthese properties? Why, says George, I know one town where there\nis a hundred bone bridges in it; another town where there are\nfifty draw-bridges in it; another town where, tho\u2019 a man commits\nmurder, treason, or owes never so much money, he runs to that town,\nand gets in below a stair, no laws nor justice can harm him. The\nnobleman offered immediately to stake a hundred pounds, that there\nwas no such towns in Europe, besides in Scotland. They desired\nGeorge to tell but the names of those towns, for they would find\nhim out, and know whether lie was a liar or not. So he told their\nnames, and two men were sent to Scotland to see them: the first\nwas Duddingstone, near Edinburgh, where they came and asked for\nthe bone bridges there; and the people shewed them steps almost\nbetween every door, of the sculls of sheeps-heads, which they used\nas stepping-stones. The second was a little country village between\nStirling and Perth, called Auchterardoch,[206] where there is a\nlarge strand which runs through the middle of the town, and almost\nat every door there is a long stock or stone laid over the strand,\nwhereupon they pass to their opposite neighbours, and when a flood\ncame, they would lift their wooden bridges, in case they should be\ntaken away, and these they called their draw-bridges. The third was\na village called Cambusbarron, which they pass through from one end\nto the other, but there was not a stair in it all; so they returned\nto England, and told what manner of bone and draw-bridges they\nwere: and how there was not a stair in all that place, therefore no\nman could run in below it.\n\nAs George was on the road travelling to London, the weather being\nvery rainy and cold, he alighted at an inn to refresh and warm\nhimself; but the fire-side was so surrounded with people, he could\nscarce see the fire: George finding this to be the case calls to\nthe hostler, and orders to give his horse at the door half a peck\nof oysters: You mean oats, Sir: No, no, says George, it is oysters;\nand base is that horse, that will not eat oysters. The people at\nthe fire hearing this, all started up and ran to the door to see\nthe horse eating oysters: the moment they left their seats, George\ntook an opportunity to plant himself before the fire, with a table\nand a cloth beside him. In a little they came back again, one by\none, saying, This horse will eat no oysters: Well, well, says\nGeorge, he is either too full, or too saucy; so you may bring them\nin, and I will eat them myself.[207]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow George being old, and highly advanced in years; finding his\nnatural strength and state of health daily decaying, he petitioned\nking James to let him return to Scotland, for to visit his\nfriends, and land of his nativity; which he most willingly granted,\n(not knowing his design was never to return) for George had a great\ndesire to resign his soul and breath in that place of the world,\nwhere he received them; and that his body and bones might be laid\namong his ancestors, which was counted a great honour in former\nages.\n\nSo accordingly George came to the parish of Buchanan, in the west\nof Scotland, where he visited all his friends and relations before\nhis death, during which time the king sent several messages to him\nto return in all the haste he could; but he absolutely refused,\ntelling him, that he would never see him again: which grieved the\nking very much to hear him express himself in that manner. After\nthis, the king sent him a letter, threatening him very sharply, if\nhe did not appear in London in the space of twenty days, he would\nsend his lyon heralds with a party, who would bring him to London,\nwhether he would or not. Unto which, as an answer, George sent him\na famous letter of admonition, both anent the government of his\nkingdoms, and the well being of his soul, which caused the king to\nweep very bitterly, when he read it over, with the following verse:\n\n      My honour\u2019d liege, and sovereign king,\n      Of your boasting great, I dread nothing:\n      On your feud or favour I\u2019ll fairly venture:\n      E\u2019er that day I\u2019ll be where few kings will enter.\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY.\n\n\n  A\n\n  _Ae_, _ane_, _ain_, one.\n\n  _A-bizin_, making a hissing noise, such as hot iron does in water.\n\n  _Ables_, perhaps, mayhap.\n\n  _Amry_, a cupboard or press.\n\n  _Assoilzied_, acquitted.\n\n  _A-thort_, along, across, about.\n\n  _Auld Nick_, a familiar name for the Devil.\n\n  _Aught_, possession.\n\n\n  B\n\n  _Babee_, a copper coin of the value of a halfpenny sterling, also\n      applied to the English coin. The word is derived from the\n      French _bas-piece_, base money; though many believed it had\n      its original in the fact that during the minority of James VI.\n      coins with the effigy of the \u2018baby\u2019 king were issued.\n\n  _Badrons_, a cat.\n\n  _Baggity_, greedy.\n\n  _Baist_, great.\n\n  _Balk_, _bauk_, crossbeam in roof of a house; _hen-bauk_, the beam\n      where the fowls roosted, generally above the doorway.\n\n  _Bane-kame_, a dust-comb.\n\n  _Banning_, swearing.\n\n  _Bannock_, a thick oatmeal cake; sometimes a scone.\n\n  _Bannock-stane_, a stone used for supporting the girdle on the fire.\n\n  _Bap_, a kind of scone, baked with yeast, generally lozenge-shaped.\n\n  _Barronry_, barony.\n\n  _Bear_, barley.\n\n  _Beek\u2019d_, warmed, heated by the sun.\n\n  _Be-go_, not an uncommon exclamation; probably a chewed oath.\n\n  _Begunk_, a cheat, a deception, properly a verb, but used as a noun\n      at p. 61, vol ii.\n\n  _Belling_, bubbling up like soapy water.\n\n  _Beltane_, the 1st of May, when, in the olden times, fires were\n      lighted in honour of the god Bel, or Baal. Many superstitious\n      observances lingered in this country until a century ago; and\n      in some districts they are still celebrated in a covert way.\n      (_Vide_ Shaw\u2019s _Hist. Prov. Moray_.)\n\n  _Belyve_, by and bye, in a short time.\n\n  _Besom_, a brush or broom.\n\n  _Bicker_, a cup.\n\n  _Bide_, to stay, to endure.\n\n  _Bilchy_, strong, lusty.\n\n  _Bill_, a bull.\n\n  _Bittock_, a little bit, a short distance.\n\n  _Birr_, to make a whirring noise.\n\n  _Bizing_, v. _a-bizing_.\n\n  _Bladdering_, blethering, talking.\n\n  _Blate_, bashful.\n\n  _Blawirt_, the blue bottle plant, also known as witch-bells.\n\n  _Bleds_, blaids.\n\n  _Bletchers_, bleachers.\n\n  _Blewflum_, a sham.\n\n  _Bobet_, danced.\n\n  _Bock_, to vomit.\n\n  _Boggle_, a spectre or ghost.\n\n  _Bone-comb_, a dust-comb, so called from being made of bone instead\n      of horn.\n\n  _Boss_, empty; also, a vacancy.\n\n  _Bottle_, a sheaf.\n\n  _Bouk_, bulk.\n\n  _Bookie_, bulky.\n\n  _Boul-horn\u2019d_, obstinate.\n\n  _Bow_, a boll.\n\n  _Bowed_, bent.\n\n  _Bow-kail_, kail or broth made with cabbage; also, a cabbage.\n\n  _Bowster_, a bolster.\n\n  _Brattle_, to make a clattering noise.\n\n  _Bray_, to grind.\n\n  _Brewket_, or _Brucket_, black and white streaked or spotted.\n\n  _Brizel\u2019d_, bruised.\n\n  _Brochan_, thin oatmeal porridge.\n\n  _Brocket_, v. _Brewket_.\n\n  _Brogged_, pierced.\n\n  _Broe_, soup.\n\n  _Brogue_, a trick.\n\n  _Bublie-cock_, a turkey.\n\n  _Buckie_, a spiral shell.\n\n  _Bucking_, pushing, butting, fighting.\n\n  _Buckle_, to marry.\n\n  _Buckled_, married.\n\n  _Bun_, bound.\n\n  _Bute_, behoved.\n\n  _But and ben_, the outer and inner apartments of a house.\n\n  _Bystart_, bastard.\n\n\n  C\n\n  _Caddled_, upturned, disordered.\n\n  _Caff-cog_, chaff-dish.\n\n  _Callan_, _Callen_, a boy, a young man.\n\n  _Caller_, fresh.\n\n  _Can\u2019as_, canvas.\n\n  _Cannilie_, easily, gently.\n\n  _Cankerd_, cross, ill-natured.\n\n  _Cantrips_, charms, spells.\n\n  _Cap_, a wooden bowl.\n\n  _Capstride_, to cheat; originally, to drink out of one\u2019s place in\n      company when the loving-cup was going round.\n\n  _Carle_, an old man.\n\n  _Carlin_, _carline_, an old woman.\n\n  _Cat and Dog_, a boy\u2019s game. It is also known as _cat and bat_.\n      Jamieson suggests it was an early form of cricket. It is still\n      common, and in the summer season boys may be seen playing at it\n      in any village in Scotland.\n\n  _Chafts_, cheeks, jaws.\n\n  _Chaft-blades_, cheek or jaw bones.\n\n  _Channering_, fretting.\n\n  _Chappen_, a quart measure.\n\n  _Cheek_, side.\n\n  _Cheek for chow_, side by side.\n\n  _Chiel_, _chield_, a servant, a young man.\n\n  _Chirten and chappen_, pressing and knocking.\n\n  _Chuckies_, hens.\n\n  _Claes_, clothes.\n\n  _Clarty_, dirty.\n\n  _Clash_, idle talk, gossip.\n\n  _Clatter_, talk.\n\n  _Clawing_, scratching, rubbing.\n\n  _Cleavings_, the lower part of the human body.\n\n  _Clipock_, a name given to a sharp-tongued woman, descriptive of her\n      failing.\n\n  _Clout_, a cloth; also, a knock.\n\n  _Clukny_, a hen.\n\n  _Clungest_, emptiest.\n\n  _Clutes_, hoofs, feet.\n\n  _Cobletehow_, probably hot-pressed in a fanciful way.\n\n  _Cod_, a pillow.\n\n  _Cogbonie_, _cogboin_, a little wooden trough for feeding sheep or\n      swine.\n\n  _Colly-shangy_, uproar, disturbance.\n\n  _Corse_, a cross, market place.\n\n  _Corse-claiths_, burial clothes.\n\n  _Couper_, a seller of horses or cattle. (v. _Introduction_, vol. 1.,\n      p. 70.)\n\n  _Coupt_, tumbled.\n\n  _Couties_, colts.\n\n  _Cow_, to poll the head.\n\n  _Cracks_, talk, conversation.\n\n  _Creim_, a booth or shop.\n\n  _Crish_, grease.\n\n  _Crocket_, croaked.\n\n  _Cronoch_, a dirge, or death lamentation.\n\n  _Crouse_, courageous, brisk, lively.\n\n  _Crowdie_, gruel made of meal stirred in cold water.\n\n  _Curpen_, the crupper, the rump.\n\n  _Curple_, the crupper.\n\n  _Culli\u2019d_, coaxed, cajoled.\n\n  _Cumstrarie_, perverse.\n\n  _Cupple-balk_, a rafter, v. _balk_.\n\n  _Curch_, to bend or move.\n\n  _Curr\u2019d_, crouched.\n\n  _Curroch_, a small basket carriage.\n\n  _Cusser_, a stallion.\n\n  _Cussen_, cast.\n\n  _Cutties_, spoons.\n\n\n  D\n\n  _Daddy_, father.\n\n  _Dadeling_, slovenly.\n\n  _Dadet_, struck, knocked.\n\n  _Daffing_, sporting, fun.\n\n  _Daft_, silly, stupid, giddy.\n\n  _Dale_, a long piece or deal of wood.\n\n  _Daly_, silly, dressed up like a doll.\n\n  _Dearth_, high price.\n\n  _Dighting_, cleaning, wiping, dressing.\n\n  _Ding_, to knock.\n\n  _Dinging_, knocking.\n\n  _Docus_, stupid, easily led.\n\n  _Dods_, ill-humour, sulks.\n\n  _Doil\u2019d_, crazy, silly, in dotage.\n\n  _Doit_, an old Scotch coin, equal to a penny Scots, or the twelfth\n      part of an English penny; the word is used to signify\n      worthlessness or extreme poverty.\n\n  _Dorder-meat_, a bannock given to farm servants after stopping their\n      work, to stay their appetite until supper time; also a meal of\n      any kind.\n\n  _Douce_, sedate, modest, quiet.\n\n  _Douked_, ducked, as in water.\n\n  _Doup_, the bottom of anything.\n\n  _Dows_, pigeons, doves.\n\n  _Dradgey_, a funeral, also the feasting accompanying it.\n\n  _Dramack_, _Drummock_, oatmeal and cold water mixed.\n\n  _Drouket_, drenched, wet to the skin.\n\n  _Druggit_, a kind of coarse cloth.\n\n  _Drummel\u2019d_, made muddy, troubled.\n\n  _Dubs_, pools, gutters.\n\n  _Duds_, rags.\n\n  _Duddy_, ragged.\n\n  _Dufe_, a simpleton.\n\n  _Duket_, a dovecot.\n\n  _Dunting and Dangling_, knocking and swinging.\n\n  _Dwallion_, a dwelling.\n\n\n  E\n\n  _Earding_, burying.\n\n  _Eerock_, a chicken.\n\n  _Elf-shot_, shot by fairies, or the disease produced by the injury,\n      bewitched.\n\n  _Ell_, a measure equal to three feet nine inches.\n\n  _Elshin_, a shoemaker\u2019s awl.\n\n  _Elwand_, a wooden cloth measure, the length of an ell.\n\n  _Even_, to equal, or compare.\n\n\n  F\n\n  _Fair strae death_, a death in the common course of nature.\n\n  _Fairing_, a present given at a fair, a present generally.\n\n  _Fake_, a sight, vision.\n\n  _Farl_, an oatmeal cake.\n\n  _Fash_, trouble, bother.\n\n  _Fashious_, troublesome.\n\n  _Fashing_, troubling.\n\n  _Fastern\u2019s-e\u2019en_, the evening before the first day of Lent;\n      Shrove-Tuesday. Its annual return was made the occasion of many\n      superstitious observances.\n\n  _Fealins_, failings.\n\n  _Fecket_, an undershirt or waistcoat made of flannel or worsted.\n\n  _Feckless_, weak, poor-spirited.\n\n  _Feif-titty_, thief-sister.\n\n  _Feike_, screw, force.\n\n  _Fey_, try.\n\n  _Fied_, feed, engaged.\n\n  _Figs_, a petty oath.\n\n  _Fint_, _feint_, an interjection probably derived from the word\n      \u2018fiend.\u2019\n\n  _Flighter_, an unsteady, high-flown person.\n\n  _Fitting_, scolding.\n\n  _Fluke_, a flounder, or flat fish of any kind.\n\n  _Flyte_, to scold.\n\n  _Forfoughen_, exhausted, fatigued.\n\n  _Forjesket_, jaded; also, disreputable.\n\n  _Fornent_, opposite, or concerning.\n\n  _Freit_, _frit_, a superstition; also, a charm against evil.\n\n  _Fule haet_, very little.\n\n  _Fundred_, foundered.\n\n  _Furich_, bustle, haste, hurry.\n\n  _Furlat_, _furlet_, four pecks, a quarter of a boll.\n\n  _Futer_, a silly, useless person.\n\n  _Fyking_, troublesome, restless.\n\n\n  G\n\n  _Gabbie_, dimin. of _Gab_, the mouth.\n\n  _Gaits_, goats.\n\n  _Gamon_, nonsense.\n\n  _Gate_, way, road.\n\n  _Gaun-gear_, live stock.\n\n  _Gaunting_, yawning.\n\n  _Gartan_, a garter.\n\n  _Gavel_, gable.\n\n  _Gear_, stock, possessions.\n\n  _Geid_, gave.\n\n  _Gemlet_, gimlet.\n\n  _Gigglet_, wanton.\n\n  _Gilly-gawkie_, _gilliegaukie_, a foolish woman.\n\n  _Gimmer_, a young woman.\n\n  _Girning_, fretful, petted.\n\n  _Girth_, saddle strap.\n\n  _Glaied_, _gly\u2019d_, squint-eyed.\n\n  _Glam_, to snatch.\n\n  _Glaket_, foolish, light-headed.\n\n  _Goodman_, the master of a house.\n\n  _Goodum_, _guddame_, grandmother.\n\n  _Goodwife_, the mistress of a house.\n\n  _Gouls_, souls.\n\n  _Gourd_, gorged, swelled.\n\n  _Gowke_, the cuckoo; to _hunt the gowke_ is to go on a foolish and\n      fruitless errand.\n\n  _Groats_, oats with the husks taken off.\n\n  _Grunkie_, a name applied to a pig.\n\n  _Gruzling_, grunting and boring for food as a sow does with its\n      snout.\n\n  _Guidame_, v. _Goodum_.\n\n  _Gule-fitted_, yellow-footed.\n\n  _Gut_, the gout.\n\n  _Gutcher_, a grandfather; generally, forefathers.\n\n  _Gullie_, a large knife.\n\n\n  H\n\n  _Haf-gate_, half-way.\n\n  _Hag_, an old woman.\n\n  _Hagwife_, a midwife.\n\n  _Hail yerts_, whole years.\n\n  _Haining_, saving, sparing.\n\n  _Hallen_, the square space in the doorway of a country house.\n\n  _Hally-band_, the kirk session.\n\n  _Hamsheughs_, a disturbance; also, a misfortune.\n\n  _Hantle_, a considerable number.\n\n  _Harle_, a quantity; also, to draw or pull violently.\n\n  _Harn_, coarse pack-sheet.\n\n  _Harnes_, brains.\n\n  _Hate_, _haet_, a small quantity.\n\n  _Hatter_, a rash.\n\n  _Haverel_, a foolish talker.\n\n  _Heads and thraws_, lying alternately, heads and feet, like herring\n      in a barrel.\n\n  _Heckle_, a hook, a weaver\u2019s comb.\n\n  _Herie_, a word used by married people towards each other,\n      equivalent to \u2018my dear.\u2019\n\n  _Herns_, v. _harns_.\n\n  _Heugh_, the shaft-head of a coal-pit.\n\n  _Hillocat_, _hillocket_, giddy, hair-brained.\n\n  _Hinderlets_, hind parts.\n\n  _Hirpling_, halting, walking slowly and painfully.\n\n  _Hizzy_, a girl, a huzzy.\n\n  _Hobble_, to dandle on the knee, an awkward style of walking, a\n      state of perplexity.\n\n  _Hodden-grey_, undyed woollen cloth.\n\n  _Hoddled_, waddled.\n\n  _Hoiting_, following, running.\n\n  _Hotchen_, swarming.\n\n  _Houdie_, _howdy_, a midwife.\n\n  _Houghed_, hamstrung.\n\n  _Hows_, hollows.\n\n  _Huggers_, stocking legs.\n\n  _Humeld_, without horns.\n\n  _Hurdies_, buttocks.\n\n  _Hurl_, noise, force.\n\n\n  I\n\n  _Ill-far\u2019d_, ill-looking, ugly.\n\n  _Imock-powder_, powder made of the shells of ants\u2019 eggs.\n\n\n  J\n\n  _Jamf_, _jamph_, to make sport of, to torment.\n\n  _Jimcrack_, a knock.\n\n\n  K\n\n  _Kail_, vegetable broth.\n\n  _Kankert_, ill-natured.\n\n  _Keb_, jump at, be glad of.\n\n  _Kebbock_, a large cheese.\n\n  _Keckle_, to cackle.\n\n  _Keek_, to look slyly, or pryingly.\n\n  _Kill-kebber_, a support for a kiln.\n\n  _Kil-logie_, an open space before a kiln fire.\n\n  _Kimmer_, a gossip, or neighbour.\n\n  _Kite_, the stomach.\n\n  _Kittle_, to tickle; also, difficult.\n\n  _Knocking-stane_, a stone mortar, on which the hulls were broken off\n      the barley with a mallet.\n\n  _Knoist_, a lump.\n\n  _Kuddle_, to fondle, caress.\n\n  _Kye_, cows.\n\n\n  L\n\n  _Laddock_, diminutive of lad.\n\n  _Lade_, a load.\n\n  _Lammas_, the 1st of August.\n\n  _Lang-gae_, the phrase, \u2018before lang gae,\u2019 signifies simply, before\n      long.\n\n  _Lang-lonen_, all alone.\n\n  _Laveruck_, a lark.\n\n  _Leepet_, thin, meagre.\n\n  _Lenno_, thread-gauze.\n\n  _Leuch_, laughed.\n\n  _Libby_, properly _lippie_, a quarter of a peck.\n\n  _Libbet_, castrated.\n\n  _Lift_, the sky.\n\n  _Lingle_, a shoemaker\u2019s thread; also, a bandage.\n\n  _Lingle-tailed_, applied to a woman wearing misfitting clothes.\n\n  _Lint_, flax.\n\n  _Litster_, a dyer.\n\n  _Litted_, dyed.\n\n  _Logie_, v. _kil-logie_.\n\n  _Loup_, to jump.\n\n  _Louting_, bending.\n\n  _Lufe_, the palm of the hand.\n\n  _Lugs_, the ears.\n\n  _Lum_, a chimney.\n\n\n  M\n\n  _Maeslie-shanket_, probably a reference to bowed legs.\n\n  _Maggs_, a halfpenny; also a gratuity.\n\n  _Masket_, infused.\n\n  _Mauk_, a maggot.\n\n  _Mauky_, maggoty.\n\n  _Mauken_, a hare.\n\n  _Maumier_, mellower, sweeter, pleasanter.\n\n  _Mavis_, the thrush.\n\n  _Mawing_, mewing.\n\n  _Maw-turned_, sick, squeamish.\n\n  _Mense_, discretion, good manners.\n\n  _Mensefu\u2019_, discreet, well-bred.\n\n  _Merk_, an old Scottish silver coin, equal to thirteenpence and\n      one-third of a penny, sterling.\n\n  _Mevis_, v. _Mavis_.\n\n  _Mill_, a snuff-box.\n\n  _Mim_, prim, demure, prudish.\n\n  _Minny_, mother.\n\n  _Mirk_, dark.\n\n  _Mow_, a heap.\n\n  _Mules_, the \u2018mools,\u2019 the grave.\n\n\n  N\n\n  _Neb_, a beak; in a ludicrous sense, the nose.\n\n  _Neist_, next, nearest.\n\n  _Neuk_, _nuik_, a corner.\n\n  _Nidity nod_, shaking, bobbing up and down.\n\n  _Nossack_, a good drop.\n\n\n  O\n\n  _O\u2019ercome_, overplus.\n\n  _Ouk_, _oulk_, _uk_, a week.\n\n  _Oxter_, the armpit.\n\n\n  P\n\n  _Packshon_, bargain, agreement.\n\n  _Padock_, _puddock_, a frog.\n\n  _Paid_, _pait_, drubbed.\n\n  _Partan_, a crab.\n\n  _Peck_, a dry measure containing two gallons.\n\n  _Pickle_, a small quantity.\n\n  _Pig_, _pigg_, an earthenware vessel.\n\n  _Pillonian_, a kind of coarse blue cloth.\n\n  _Pinging_, whining, complaining.\n\n  _Piping het_, boiling hot.\n\n  _Pirn_, a reel for winding thread or yarn.\n\n  _Pisweip_, a lapwing.\n\n  _Plack_, a small copper coin, worth one-third of a penny, sterling.\n\n  _Plash_, to wet; \u2018wet to plash,\u2019 thoroughly drenched.\n\n  _Plotted_, scalded.\n\n  _Podle_, a tadpole.\n\n  _Port_, a gate, as of a town.\n\n  _Pow_, the head.\n\n  _Pownie_, a name given to a turkey-hen. See _note_ to p. 52,\n      vol. ii.\n\n  _Prat_, a trick.\n\n  _Prik\u2019t_, fastened, pinned.\n\n  _Prin_, a pin.\n\n  _Prute-no_, an expression of contempt.\n\n  _Puddock_, v. _padock_.\n\n  _Pund_, a pound Scots, equivalent to one shilling and eightpence,\n      sterling.\n\n  _Purpey_, purple.\n\n  _Pyet_, piebald.\n\n  _Pyking_, poking.\n\n\n  Q\n\n  _Quean_, a young woman; sometimes used in a bad sense.\n\n\n  R\n\n  _Raird_, a noise, a roar.\n\n  _Raisins_, necessities.\n\n  _Rake_ (of water, or coals), as much as can be carried at one time.\n\n  _Rash-rape_, a rope made of rushes.\n\n  _Rattle-scul_, one who talks without thinking.\n\n  _Ratton_, a rat.\n\n  _Red_, _redd_, to put in order.\n\n  _Red-wood_, mad, in a violent rage.\n\n  _Reeking_, well ordered.\n\n  _Reinge_, to clear out, to rinse.\n\n  _Retour_, return, as the return journey of a coach.\n\n  _Rift_, an eructation.\n\n  _Rifting_, belching.\n\n  _Rigget_, striped.\n\n  _Rigging_, the roof of a house, the human head in a ludicrous sense.\n\n  _Ripples_, a weakness in the back and reins.\n\n  _Rippling-kame_, a flax-comb.\n\n  _Rive_, to tear.\n\n  _Rolloching_, outspoken.\n\n  _Rout_, to bellow; also, a blow.\n\n  _Rowt_, assembled.\n\n  _Royte_, a noisy animal.\n\n  _Ruddoch_, a contemptuous name for an old woman.\n\n  _Rugh_, rough.\n\n  _Runkly_, wrinkly.\n\n  _Runt_, the stalk of a vegetable, such as a cabbage.\n\n\n  S\n\n  _Saep_, soap.\n\n  _Sandle_, the sand-ell or sand-lance.\n\n  _Sannock Garner_, probably a familiar name for the devil.\n\n  _Saugh_, the willow.\n\n  _Scart_, to scratch or scrape.\n\n  _Scorn_, to torment, to rally.\n\n  _Scour_, to clean out.\n\n  _Scour\u2019d_, ran quickly.\n\n  _Scride_, to scrape, as the bow on the strings of the violin.\n\n  _Sculdudery_, immorality.\n\n  _Sculls_, wicker baskets, such as are used by fishers.\n\n  _Scunnert_, disgusted.\n\n  _Scythed_, shot quickly.\n\n  _Sea-cat_, the sea-wolf or wolf-fish.\n\n  _Sea-dog_, the seal.\n\n  _Servet_, a table-napkin.\n\n  _Shap_, a cod, as a pea-cod.\n\n  _Sheavling_, distorting.\n\n  _Shern_, cattle ordure.\n\n  _Shevelin_, walking unsteadily.\n\n  _Shough_, _slough_, moss.\n\n  _Shule_, shovel.\n\n  _Shure_, sure.\n\n  _Sickerly_, firmly, surely.\n\n  _Sikes_, the phrase, \u2018flay the sikes,\u2019 means to give a good beating.\n\n  _Sinsyne_, since.\n\n  _Skail\u2019d_, dispersed.\n\n  _Skaith_, harm.\n\n  _Skein_, a length of worsted or thread.\n\n  _Skellat_, a small bell used by town criers.\n\n  _Skelped_, struck.\n\n  _Skirl\u2019d_, cried, screamed.\n\n  _Slag_, a small quantity.\n\n  _Slung_, a sling, a throw.\n\n  _Snishing_, snuff.\n\n  _Snoaking_, prying, smelling about like a dog.\n\n  _Soncy_, plump, well-conditioned.\n\n  _Soughing_, a rushing sound.\n\n  _Souse_, _sosse_, the fall of a soft body, to throw one\u2019s self into\n      a seat.\n\n  _Soup_, a mouthful, a spoonful.\n\n  _Sowens_, flummery, made of the dust oatmeal remaining among the\n      seeds, steeped and soured.\n\n  _Spanged_, leaped, jumped.\n\n  _Spaul_, limb.\n\n  _Speir\u2019d_, asked.\n\n  _Spence_, a larder, the parlour of a country house.\n\n  _Spence, to_, used to denote \u2018the bedding.\u2019\n\n  _Spout_, drink.\n\n  _Spout-fish_, the razor-fish.\n\n  _Sprittled_, speckled.\n\n  _Spruch_, spruce, smart.\n\n  _Spue_, to vomit.\n\n  _Spunkie_, Will-o\u2019-the-Wisp.\n\n  _Squattle_, to drink greedily.\n\n  _Stark_, strong.\n\n  _Stay_, _stey_, steep, difficult.\n\n  _Steighling_, crowding, cramming.\n\n  _Sticket_, stopped; as, \u2018a sticket minister,\u2019 a man who has failed\n      or been stopped in his studies for the ministry.\n\n  _Stirk_, a young bull.\n\n  _Stirra_, a stout, romping boy.\n\n  _Stively_, stoutly, firmly.\n\n  _Stock_, a stalk.\n\n  _Stot_, to stagger.\n\n  _Stoup_, a deep and narrow wooden vessel for holding water.\n\n  _Sugh_, to breathe heavily.\n\n  _Sumf_, _sumph_, a stupid, silly fellow; a blockhead.\n\n  _Sunks_, a saddle.\n\n  _Supple_, the part of a flail that strikes the grain.\n\n  _Sutter_, _sutor_, a shoemaker.\n\n  _Swabing_, a beating.\n\n  _Swats_, small beer.\n\n  _Sweith_, an interjection signifying \u2018be quick, make haste.\u2019\n\n  _Syne_, after that, then.\n\n\n  T\n\n  _Tadder_, a tether, a hawser.\n\n  _Taupie_, _tawpie_, a foolish woman.\n\n  _Tent_, care.\n\n  _Theckit_, thatched.\n\n  _Thole_, to bear.\n\n  _Thraple_, throat.\n\n  _Tirlie-whirlie_, any ornament, a whirligig.\n\n  _Tirr\u2019d_, unroofed.\n\n  _Tocher_, a dowry.\n\n  _Tod-lowrie_, a name given to the fox.\n\n  _Toom_, empty.\n\n  _Tost_, an application.\n\n  _Totum_, a very small person.\n\n  _Touting_, blowing, sounding.\n\n  _Toy_, a linen or woollen head-dress, which hangs down over the\n      shoulders.\n\n  _Trykle_, treacle.\n\n  _Tug_, a hawser.\n\n  _Tullie_, a quarrel.\n\n  _Tut_, an expression of contempt, equivalent to \u2018pshaw\u2019.\n\n  _Tyke_, a dog.\n\n\n  U\n\n  _Uk_, _uke_, v. _ouk_.\n\n  _Unco_, strange, unusual, very.\n\n  _Unfiery_, unsteady, infirm.\n\n\n  V\n\n  _Veals_, calves.\n\n\n  W\n\n  _Wale_, to choose.\n\n  _Wallop_, to leap; also, to beat.\n\n  _Wally_, large, fine, ample.\n\n  _Wame_, the belly, the stomach.\n\n  _Wammel_, to move awkwardly.\n\n  _Water-wag-tail_, the bird called the wag-tail, or motacilla.\n\n  _Waught_, a drink.\n\n  _Wauker_, a fuller.\n\n  _Webster_, _wabster_, a weaver.\n\n  _Whaken_, large, overflowing.\n\n  _Whalpie_, a puppy.\n\n  _Whalp_, to whelp.\n\n  _Wheen_, _whin_, a number.\n\n  _Whiltie-whaltie_, a state of palpitation; to play pit-a-pat.\n\n  _Whinge_, to whine, lament.\n\n  _Whit_, a jag or prick.\n\n  _Widdling_, waddling.\n\n  _Widdyfu\u2019_, one who deserves to fill a _widdy_ or halter, a romp.\n\n  _Wierd_, fate.\n\n  _Winnle_, an instrument used by women for winding yarn.\n\n  _Win_, dwell, reside.\n\n  _Wirry_, to strangle, to worry.\n\n  _Wood_, _wud_, furious with rage, mad.\n\n  _Wyfe_, to whiff.\n\n  _Wyles_, caution.\n\n  _Wylie_, a kind of flannel used for vests and petticoats.\n\n  _Wyte_, blame.\n\n\n  Y\n\n  _Yeal_, old, barren.\n\n  _Yearning-bag_, a bag containing the stomach of a calf, used for\n      making milk curdle.\n\n  _Yeltow_, a chewed oath.\n\n  _Yence_, once.\n\n  _Yerdet_, buried.\n\n  _Yird_, the earth, the grave.\n\n  _Youdeth_, youth.\n\n  _Youket_, coupled, married.\n\n  _Yule_, latterly Christmas, but formerly the name given to an annual\n      feast in honour of Odin.\n\n  _Yule_, _youl_, to howl like a dog.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n_Printed by H. Nisbet & Co., 38 Stockwell Street, Glasgow._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] A custom not uncommon in Scotland at the present day among the\nworking classes. Boys, when making a bargain, wet their thumbs and\nplace them on each other as a token of good faith. Something of\nthis kind may be found in the old song:--\n\n      \u2018Though kith and kin and a\u2019 should revile thee,\n      There\u2019s my thumb I\u2019ll ne\u2019er beguile thee.\u2019\n\n[2] In Scotland, in the olden time, forty days were allowed to\nelapse after the proclamation of the banns, during which time\nobjectors to the marriage might come forward. The session clerk\nhad placed in his hands a sum of money as security for the\nsolemnisation of the marriage; and one had to be found to stand as\nsurety that the parties would not cohabit before they obtained the\nsanction of the church.\n\n[3] The \u2018providing\u2019 has always been regarded as an important item\nof the marriage arrangements. Perhaps the earliest account of the\npossessions of contracting parties is to be found in the song, \u2018The\nWowing of Jok and Jynny,\u2019 supposed to have been written before the\nReformation.\n\n[4] In modern editions of this chap-book the first part ends with\nthe sentence:--\u2018So this disturbed a\u2019 the diversion at Jockey\u2019s\nbedding, and the sky was beginning to break in the east before the\nhurly-burley was over.\u2019\n\n[5] The usual name for the village bellman throughout Scotland.\n\n[6] Jockey had been guilty of an offence which, had he lived a\ncentury earlier, might have brought about imprisonment by the civil\npower, in addition to his seat on the \u2018cock-stool.\u2019 Even about the\nmiddle of last century the penalties were severe, and the disgrace\nwas considered great. Feeling in the matter, however, seemed to be\nmore prompted by a fear of consequences than by true morality. Dr.\nRogers, in _Scotland Social and Domestic_, p. 311, thus explains\nthe legal position of presbyteries and kirk-sessions in regard\nto such matters--\u2018At the Reformation, Presbyterian judicatories\nproceeded to occupy the position of Consistory Courts. They took\ncognisance of offences precisely similar, with the exception\nof such as \u201cspeaking evil of saints\u201d and \u201cthe non-payment of\nofferings,\u201d or those which bore direct reference to the Catholic\nfaith. Under the Presbyterian system, the kirk-session exercised\nthe functions of the Archdeacon\u2019s Commissary, and Presbyterian\nSynods and the General Assembly formed an appellate jurisdiction\nsimilar to that which was exercised by the Archdeacons and Bishops\nand the Archbishops of St. Andrews.\u2019\n\n[7] The stool was placed in front of the pulpit, in full view of\nthe congregation. In some parishes the culprits were allowed to\nsit, but in most cases they had to stand.\n\n[8] The \u2018sacken sark\u2019 had a variety of names, such as \u2018the harden\ngown,\u2019 \u2018the sack gown,\u2019 \u2018the harn gown,\u2019 and \u2018the linen.\u2019 Each\nparish was supposed to have one of these habits: and in 1655 the\nsum of \u00a34 4 6 Scots was expended by the kirk-session of Lesmahagow\nin the purchase of one. A specimen of the \u2018sacken sark\u2019 may be seen\nin the Museum of the Society of Antiquaries in Edinburgh.\n\n[9] A fine paid to the Kirk-Session, who distributed it, with the\nother moneys in their possession, among the poor of the parish. See\nthe second part of _The History of Buckhaven_, where the culprit is\nmade to pay \u2018four pound and a groat,\u2019 probably Scots money, equal\nto about seven shillings sterling.\n\n[10] The following paragraph concludes the second part in modern\neditions:--\u2018Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre\nand held a private meeting, nane present but auld Bruckie and the\ntwa Brutes, the bits of couties, that she might give him counsel\nhow to behave when he appeared before Mess John, to answer for his\nbastard; which concludes the third and last part.\u2019 The \u2018third and\nlast part\u2019 in these editions, however, fails to carry the story to\nits proper issue, and only gives a very summary account of Jockey\non the cutty-stool.\n\n[11] Ante-nuptial fornication--\u2018on the terms of marriage\u2019--was\nlamentably common, but in such cases the law of the church, while\nduly put in force, was considerably relaxed in its severity, if\nmarriage followed.\n\n[12] The civil authorities were frequently called upon to give\neffect to church censures. In the seventeenth century sentence of\nexcommunication practically carried with it all the pains of civil\noutlawry; but in 1690 an Act of the Estates abrogated the civil\nconsequences of the sentence.\n\n[13] Milled oats, or oats with the husks taken off.\n\n[14] This is rather an original account of the rise and progress of\nthe black-stool: but it would be difficult to say how far history\nsupports it. In a chap-book printed in 1776 under the title of\n\u2018An Account of the General Assembly\u2019s Invention for the final\nExtirpation of the Black-stool of Repentance and the Sackcloth Gown\nout of the Kirk of Scotland: proposing a new and easy method of\npunishing sporting ladies,\u2019 a similar account is given of the stool.\n\n[15] The Church rule on the point here brought out by Mess John\nmay be illustrated by an enactment passed by the Kirk Session of\nGlasgow in 1591, which bore that those desirous of entering the\nconjugal state had to repeat the ten commandments, the articles\nof faith, and the Lord\u2019s prayer. If the candidates could not\npass the examination they were declared unworthy of being joined\nin marriage, and were liable to censure. A few days after this\ndecree had been issued, the Session prohibited a marriage until\nthe bridegroom had learned his task. The Presbytery of Glasgow, in\n1594, prohibited a marriage because the bridegroom was \u2018in greit\ndebt.\u2019\n\n[16] Suspension from church privileges for a time, until they\nshowed signs of repentance.\n\n[17] The beginning of the New Year, or Yule, festivities.\n\n[18] The ordinary mode of travelling long distances. Country women\nwere then good horse-women.\n\n[19] A superstition long prevalent, and scarcely yet eradicated in\nsome parts of Scotland. The mother was not safe from the power of\nfairies until she had been \u2018kirk\u2019t,\u2019 and the child, until baptised,\nwas in danger of being carried away by them, a changeling being\nsubstituted in its stead. Jockey\u2019s mother seems to have had a\ntouch of the same superstition when she spoke of the difference\nbetween a child and a dog--\u2018A dog is a brute beast, an\u2019 a wean is a\nchristen\u2019d creature.\u2019\n\n[20] The custom in Scotland was to have a number of the neighbours\nalong with the members of the family.\n\n[21] Young women, besides providing their bridal clothes before\ntheir marriage, frequently spun their winding sheet immediately\nafter that event. Flora Macdonald carried about with her,\nthroughout all her wanderings after her liberation in 1747, the\nsheet in which Prince Charles had lain at Kingsburgh\u2019s house in\nSkye, with the intention that it should be her shroud. And so it\nwas.\n\n[22] These were not the days of hearses. The common people never\nthought of a carriage, and, indeed, it was only at the funerals of\nthe nobility that hearses were to be seen. Usually the coffin was\ntaken to the grave on wooden bars, called \u2018spaiks,\u2019 borne by the\nmourners, who, if the journey were long, relieved each other.\n\n[23] The eating and drinking long prevalent at funerals was\nsomething marvellous, and on more than one occasion it is recorded\nthat mourners separated in confusion and ill-feeling. At the\nfuneral of Sir Hugh Campbell of Calder, in March, 1716, nearly\n\u00a370 sterling were spent in meat and drink alone, and when the\ndifference in the value of money is taken into consideration the\nsum must appear large. In 1704, Lord Whitelaw, a Senator of the\nCollege of Justice, was buried at the expense of \u00a35189 Scots, or\n\u00a3432 8s. 4d. sterling, which meant more than two years\u2019 salary as a\njudge.\n\n[24] At births it was customary--and still is under a modified\nform--to hand round \u2018blythe-meat\u2019 to all visitors.\n\n[25] Another name for the stool of repentance.\n\n[26] A colloquialism. The meaning is--\u2018You must not kiss any woman\n_other than_ your own wife.\u2019\n\n[27] A witticism for whitings or haddocks. Dunbar has from an early\nperiod been one of the leading ports on the east coast fishing\ngrounds.\n\n[28] It would be difficult to say how the herring caught in Loch\nFyne came to be called \u2018Glasgow Magistrates.\u2019 The name is still\napplied to them.\n\n[29] One way of putting an old Scottish proverb. Henderson\u2019s\nreading of it is:--\u2018There ne\u2019er was a silly Jockey but what there\nwas a silly Jenny.\u2019\n\n[30] In some modern editions the word \u2018jaw\u2019 is inserted instead of\n\u2018jamf,\u2019 or, as it is sometimes spelled \u2018jamph.\u2019\n\n[31] Probably Prestonpans, famous for fishers and potters, and for\nits battle-field.\n\n[32] In Morren\u2019s edition of this chap-book, published in Edinburgh\nin the early years of the present century, the word here used\nis \u2018keckling,\u2019 meaning to laugh, or, more properly, to \u2018smirk.\u2019\n\u2018Keckling\u2019 seems the more likely word.\n\n[33] Another reading of the old saying--\u2018The deil catch the\nhindmost.\u2019\n\n[34] This can hardly be taken literally. Possibly what is meant is\n\u2018powsee,\u2019 a small fresh haddock.\n\n[35] In some later editions the description of Sawny is made more\ncomplete by the insertion, in this place, of the following:--\u2018and\nan auld creeshy hat, mair like a fryingpan than any thing else.\u2019\n\n[36] Taverns and eating-houses were frequently, in east-coast\ntowns, on the \u2018sunk-flat,\u2019 access to them being gained by a flight\nof steps down from the foot-pavement. Several such shops may still\nbe seen in the old town of Edinburgh, in the vicinity of the High\nStreet and Canongate.\n\n[37] The women about fishing communities differed, and do still,\nfrom their sisters further inland, regarding house-work, or\n\u2018husband-work.\u2019 Matty\u2019s opinion is a fair reflection of the ideas\nof her class. A further expression is given to this feeling in _The\nHistory of Buckhaven_, where Graham, describing the people about\nwhom he was writing, says:--\u2018They kept but little communication\nwith the country people, for a farmer, in those days, thought\nhis daughter cast awa if she married one of the fishers in\nBucky-harbour, and Witty Eppie the ale-wife wad a sworn, be go\u2019\nladdie, I wad rather see my boat and a\u2019 my three sons upset against\nthe Bass, or I saw are o\u2019 them married on a muck-a-byre\u2019s daughter,\na wheen useles taupies that can do naething but rive at a tow rock\n[spin], and cut corn; they can neither bait a hook nor red a line,\nhook sandles nor gather periwinkles.\u2019\n\n[38] An old stocking leg, in which it was the custom of old women\nto sew up whatever savings they might have been able to make, and\ngenerally hidden away in some odd corner. Some of these \u2018hoggers\u2019\nhave been known to be very substantial. Even yet, now that banks\nare everywhere, the simile is kept up, though the stocking leg has\nfallen into disuse for banking purposes. Some persons speak about\n\u2018laying by for a sair fit.\u2019\n\n[39] The beginning of the paragraph reads this way in Morren\u2019s\nedition:--\u2018On this Sawny paid their spout and parted.\u2019 That seems\nthe more likely way of it, for later on Sawny speaks of courting\nbeing \u2018a curst wark and _costly_.\u2019\n\n[40] Sawny\u2019s mother, besides showing herself well acquainted with\nthe wise saws of her native country, further exhibits her belief\nin witchcraft. In this she was not singular. After a long crusade\nagainst witches, the minds of the better educated classes became\nsomewhat enlightened on the subject, and Parliament, in 1735,\nrevoked the penal statutes against sorcery. Many of the ministers\nregarded this act as a national sin, and said it was contrary to\nthe express law of God. John Wesley, it may be remembered, said\nthat to give up belief in witchcraft was, in effect, giving up the\nBible.\n\n[41] Morren\u2019s edition reads \u2018milk cows\u2019 here; while a later issue\nhas \u2018cow\u2019s milks.\u2019 The only satisfactory one is Morren\u2019s.\n\n[42] One of a set of Scottish proverbs showing the disregard of\nScots in bygone days for all sanitary considerations. Two proverbs\nhaving a similar bearing are--\u2018The clartier the cosier,\u2019 and \u2018The\nmair dirt the less hurt.\u2019\n\n[43] In some editions the word \u2018crust\u2019 is substituted for \u2018cufe.\u2019\nCertainly it is more likely.\n\n[44] Penny weddings have been immortalised by Semple of Beltrees\nin his song _The Blythsome Bridal_. Originally, pennies were\ncontributed by those present, and any overplus, after providing for\nthe wedding feast, went towards assisting the young couple in their\nfurnishing. Latterly, the neighbours sent in eatables of various\nkinds, the bride\u2019s friends only preparing one dish, the \u2018bride\u2019s\npie,\u2019 the equivalent to the \u2018bride\u2019s-cake\u2019 of modern days. As with\nthe cake, so with the pie, every one present received a piece.\nThe marriage ceremony was generally celebrated at the manse, and\nthe wedding festivities took place in the bride\u2019s house. These\nfestivities some times lasted several days--see, for example,\nRamsay\u2019s addition to _Christ\u2019s Kirk on the Green_, by James I.--and\nwere productive of serious irregularities. Ultimately the Church\nmade an effort to regulate them, but with little effect.\n\n[45] That is, by failing to pay the Kirk dues. There was the money\nfor the \u2018cries,\u2019 or banns, which was in itself a respectable sum,\nand a variety of other payments, which made marriage an expensive\naffair. The minister was given a small acknowledgment for his\nservices; but now-a-days it is usual, instead, to make a present of\na satin hat, a pair of gloves, a comforter, or such like.\n\n[46] A \u2018magg\u2019 is a synonym for the cant term \u2018maik,\u2019 a halfpenny;\nbut in the text it is used in the sense of \u2018a gratuity,\u2019 such as\nhas been referred to in the previous note.\n\n[47] Portion of an old song, long popular among the Scottish\npeasantry. It bore the name of \u2018For the Sake of Somebody,\u2019 and is\nbelieved to have suggested Burns\u2019 song with the same title. The old\nsong is to be found in _The Tea-Table Miscellany_; and there the\nlast four lines of the first double stanza are:--\n\n      \u2018I am gawn to seek a wife,\n        I am gawn to buy a plaidy;\n      I have three stane of woo;\n        Carling, is thy daughter ready?\u2019\n\n[48] An indication of the derivation of the word \u2018spinster.\u2019 Kate,\nlike most Scotch women, had the idea that her marriage could hardly\ntake place until she had her \u2018providing.\u2019 There was something more\nthan mere sentiment about this, for owing to the hard struggle\nmarried couples had to exist in a poor and undeveloped country,\nsuch as Scotland then was, it was probable that the bride would\nhave little chance of getting such a complete set out after, as\nbefore, marriage.\n\n[49] Sawny seems to have been guided in his wooing by the old\nScotch proverb:--\u2018Happy is the wooing that\u2019s no lang o\u2019 doing.\u2019\n\n[50] In Edinburgh, during last century, there was occasionally to\nbe found some worthy in the ministerial profession available for\nsuch purposes, and whose character would be fairly indicated by the\ncoarse but forcible language of Matty. They were, however, outwith\nthe pale of respectability, and were not recognised by their\nclerical brethren. Such individuals were not altogether peculiar to\nScotland, but might also be found in London about the same period.\n\n[51] In Morren\u2019s, M\u2018Kenzie & Hutchison\u2019s, and other editions, there\nis here this parenthesis:--\u2018Ta\u2019en ane anithers word, a kiss, and a\nhoddle, at the hillock side.\u2019\n\n[52] The Scotsman\u2019s grace has passed into a proverb, on account\nof its inordinate length and its theological tinge. The story is\noften told of the servant girl who, after leaving a family in which\nshe had once served, returned to stay a night with them. At supper\nthe grace was the same as she was wont to hear before she went\naway, and she complimented her late master and host upon his \u2018guid\nmemory.\u2019\n\n[53] A little wooden trough such as is used for the feeding of\nsheep or swine. In an edition of this chap-book printed in Stirling\nby C. Randall, in 1801, the reading is:--\u2018Into a little tub or\ntrough.\u2019 It is the same in several later issues, but in Morren\u2019s\nedition it reads:--\u2018Into a little tub or cogboin.\u2019\n\n[54] The Scotch \u2018girnel,\u2019 to be found yet in most country houses,\nespecially among \u2018bein\u2019 or well-to-do people, who purchase their\nmeal in larger quantities than is usual in towns.\n\n[55] The story of the chase after the \u2018poor dominie\u2019 is omitted\nin Morren\u2019s edition, but the following new matter is inserted in\nits stead:--\u2018Tom came running home all besmear\u2019d with blood, at\nthe sight whereof his father cry\u2019d, what\u2019s the matter Tom? To\nwhich he made no answer: searching him, the trick was discovered\nand poor Tom received a severe chastisment. Tom, to be revenged\non his father, rose in the night time and broke the fauld and let\nout the cattle amongst his father\u2019s corn, and goes to bed again,\nthis he did unperceived. Next morning, the neighbours observing the\ncattle lying amongst the corn, came running, and told his father\nhow they had destroyed all his victual, for they had eat till they\nhad like to burst. All the time Tom lay in his bed, and his father\nmuch vexed at his laziness, and told him that he would never have\nthe benefit of more schooling as his master had so many grievious\ncomplaints against him; at which Tom rejoiced within himself as he\ndid not value learning, nor put it in balance with his designed\ntricks; Tom then scampered away, and meeting with an egg cadger\ncoming to Edinburgh, desired him to alight from his horse, and he\nwould give him a dram at the Fallow kirk, at which, the poor man\nwas glad, and went in with him. Tom called for two drams and bade\nthe cadger drink hearty, in the mean time Tom slips out and mounts\nthe cadger\u2019s horse, and puts a foot in each creel, and made the\neggs all caddle, and then he dismounted and ran; so that the poor\ncadger lost his eggs, and had the drams to pay for.\u2019\n\n[56] In Morren\u2019s edition this story is told in a very different\nway. As has already been explained, the first and second parts\nin that edition are run into one, and the following paragraph\nimmediately succeeds the story told in the preceding note:--\u2018Tom\nwas always playing tricks to his grandmother, as he knew she was\nrich, and would part with nothing to him; he lays in wait one\nnight, and conceals himself in a corner until all was at rest,\nTom rises and takes the keys of a drawer, and slips out about\nforty shillings, and slips off to Dalkeith on a Thursday where his\ngrandmother\u2019s servant girl came that day. Tom was spending largely,\nand the girl who knew that Tom had no money, came home and told\nhis grandmother that Tom had taken away her money, this so enraged\nhim, that he lashed her buttocks with his wheep in so unmerciful\na manner, that what with the smart and shame together she had not\nthe least inclination to sleep the remaining part of the day.\u2019 The\nnarrative then proceeds:--\u2018Tom being grown up to the years and age\nof a man,\u2019 etc.\n\n[57] It was customary among country folks, and is so still in some\ndistricts of Scotland, to kill a fat animal at Martinmas of each\nyear, and salt it for the winter\u2019s provision. Even people in urban\ndistricts, though they had not a cow nor an ox, had a pig which\nthey had been fattening for a year, and which was then considered\nready for the sacrifice. Hence the term \u2018winter mairt.\u2019 The word\n\u2018mairt,\u2019 or \u2018mart,\u2019 ultimately came to denote a person who lived in\nease and prosperity.\n\n[58] In all other editions we have seen the reading is \u2018three\npounds.\u2019\n\n[59] This ends Number I. of the edition of _Lothian Tom_ from which\nthe text is here taken. It finishes at the foot of the page. The\nnext number has a title page similar to what is on the first, and\nthe narrative continues on the back of the title as if there had\nbeen no break. The folios run right through the three numbers, the\nwhole chap-book occupying twenty-four pages.\n\n[60] The old jail in the Canongate of Edinburgh is still an\nobject of interest. Jailers in the past occupied a very different\nposition from what they do now. They acted more in the capacity of\ntaverners than their brethren of the present day. In English plays\nand novels of last century their position is fully shown; and in\nthe same period a similar state of matters existed in Scotland.\nIn Glasgow, after the erection of the Tolbooth at the Cross, in\n1627, the jailer was given a yearly salary of 40 merks (\u00a32 4s. 5\u00bd\nsterling), and he was to receive from every burgess or inhabitant\nof the city who should be committed to his care 2s. Scots (2d.\nsterling) for entry and booking fee, and the same sum for every\ntwenty-four hours during which the person should be incarcerated.\nOutsiders, however, had double fees to pay their host. On account\nof \u2018having only thiefes and lounes as prisoners,\u2019 and getting no\nprofit from them, the jailer of 1661 received from the Town Council\nof Glasgow a grant of \u00a320 Scots (\u00a31 13s. 4d. sterling). The Privy\nCouncil Records show that in 1696 the keeper of Canongate Tolbooth\nwas allowed 2s. Scots per night, with one penny sterling for the\nservants--in all 3d. sterling--for every recruit he kept.\n\n[61] This clause is added in some modern undated editions:--\u2018and so\nTom gained his end.\u2019\n\n[62] In the Stirling (1801), and other editions the reading\nis:--\u2018So the butcher got but fun for his trouble.\u2019\n\n[63] \u2018Madam,\u2019 in some later editions.\n\n[64] A fair indication of the opinion Englishmen had of their\nScottish neighbours. Could any good come out of Scotland? It is\nonly fair to admit, however, that the contempt was not all on the\none side.\n\n[65] The old woman, by her remark about witchcraft and her belief\nin Tom\u2019s proposal, discovers the presence of superstitions in her\nmind. The belief in witchcraft was then in a transition stage. Many\npeople firmly believed in it; others were doubtful; while not a\nfew, like Tom, played the rogue on the strength of the superstition\nin others. It is more than probable that the tricks of such as\nLothian Tom did more to enlighten the people than anything else.\nAs for the clergy, they were a hindrance, and rather fostered the\nbelief in witchcraft.\n\n[66] This concludes the second number. The third number, like the\nothers, had a title-page, and the narrative was continued on the\nback of it.\n\n[67] The modern undated Glasgow editions end here with the\nwords:--\u2018for it is fashious to lead and heavy to carry.\u2019 All that\ngoes before of this part is added to part five, so that in them\nthere are only five parts. In the Stirling (1801) edition, however,\nthe story is carried on to the end of the scene with the lawyer.\n\n[68] It was quite a common conclusion of a law-suit for the lawyer\nand his client to \u2018drink a bottle\u2019 or even get \u2018fou\u2019 together,\nespecially if they were on the winning side. Consultations were\ngenerally held in some tavern in the vicinity of the court, and\nthe whole aspect of a case was discussed under the stimulating\ninfluence of a \u2018tappit hen.\u2019 Sir Walter Scott in the text and\nnotes to _Guy Mannering_ gives a most interesting account of the\nconvivial habits of the Scottish bar during last century.\n\n[69] Nearly four pages are here inserted in the edition from which\nthis text is taken, but they do not belong to _Lothian Tom_, but to\n_Pady from Cork_. They consist of \u2018Pady\u2019s New Catechism,\u2019 \u2018Pady\u2019s\nHumble Petition,\u2019 and \u2018Pady\u2019s Creed for Irish Believers,\u2019 and they\nwill be found in their proper place in a subsequent part of this\nvolume.\n\n[70] _Vide_ Introduction, vol. i. p. 45.\n\n[71] Dogs and chapmen were proverbial enemies. The tradition\nregarding the feud will be found in the answer to the\nquestion--\u2018What is the reason that dogs are worse on chapmen, than\non other strange people?\u2019--in _The Scots Piper\u2019s Queries_.\n\n[72] Chapmen were looked upon by the common people as characters\nwhose disinclination to work led them into a lazy life. Their\nservices to the community were acknowledged, but only under a\nprotest that had they not been \u2018haters of hard work\u2019 they could not\nhave gone into the business. This feeling, however, arose chiefly\nfrom the popular idea, which still finds expression, that nothing\ncan be called work except manual labour.\n\n[73] A most effectual weapon of defence against the physical as\nwell as the spiritual assaults of Satan. Sinclair, in his work\nentitled _Satan\u2019s Invisible World Discovered_, tells a most\nextraordinary story of the means taken to \u2018lay\u2019 the \u2018devil of\nGlenluce.\u2019\n\n[74] The words, \u2018very sick,\u2019 are here added in Morren\u2019s edition.\n\n[75] The common people had strange notions about foreigners, as\nthis passage shows. A somewhat similar idea is given expression to\nin _The History of the Haverel Wives_, where Janet speaks of Italy\nas the country \u2018where the auld Pape their [the priests\u2019] father,\nthe de\u2019il, the witches, brownies and fairies dwal.\u2019\n\n[76] There are some unimportant verbal differences between the text\nhere and what is to be found in Morren\u2019s edition. At the asterisk\nthere is inserted:--\u2018thrawing my face terrible at her.\u2019\n\n[77] Morren has here:--\u2018And thou, O monsieur Lucifer, Satan\nDiable,\u2019 etc.\n\n[78] A very fair indication of the unnecessary ceremonies gone\nthrough by wizards and witches. Lothian Tom used some \u2018enchantment\u2019\nunder equally interesting circumstances. See vol. ii. p. 81.\n\n[79] Before the introduction of the present complex Poor Law\nsystem, each parish in Scotland, through its kirk session, gave\nrelief to its own poor. The strictness of the authorities passed\ninto a proverb. Many parishes had barrows on which the infirm poor\nnot belonging to them were wheeled outside the boundaries and left\nto do for themselves as best they could. We have read of a case\nin which relief was refused to a sickly stranger, and the village\njoiner was employed to make a barrow for the person\u2019s removal.\nBefore the work was done the poor unfortunate had died.\n\n[80] In Morren\u2019s edition there is here added:--\u2018and give us a\nproper drubbing.\u2019\n\n[81] Possibly this practice--for the frequency with which it is\nmentioned in this and other chap-books indicates that it was\nso--may have given rise to the proverbial expression still common\nin Scotland:--\u2018I\u2019ll tak a sup out your cog for that,\u2019 used when a\nperson wishes to convey a vague threat.\n\n[82] The suggestion from this passage seems to be that the lads\ndid not sleep in the house, but in a \u2018bothy\u2019 in the vicinity. The\narrangement in many farm houses in some parts of Scotland is--and\nit was much more common a century ago--that the maid servants slept\nin the house, while the men were accommodated in an out-house.\nDuring harvesting operations, shearers from a distance lived in\na wooden \u2018bothy\u2019 erected on the farm. The system was not quite\nsatisfactory, and often gave rise to serious irregularities.\n\n[83] Now-a-days it may seem strange that John Cheap, after his\nfirst night\u2019s experience in the stye, should have cared to have\nhad it a second time. Travelling on Sunday, however, was a thing\nnot to be thought of a century ago. It was doubtful, even, if a\nhen did not break the commandment by laying an egg on the Sabbath.\nDean Ramsay tells the story of a Highlander who gave the following\ninstance in support of the \u2018God-fearin\u2019\u2019 character of the people of\nthe village in which he resided:--\u2018Last Sabbath, just as the kirk\nwas skailin\u2019, there was a drover chield frae Dumfries comin\u2019 along\nthe road whustlin\u2019, an\u2019 lookin\u2019 as happy as if it was ta muddle o\u2019\nthe week; well, sir, our laads is a God-fearin\u2019 set o\u2019 laads, an\u2019\nthey were just comin\u2019 out o\u2019 the kirk--\u2019od they yokit upon him, an\u2019\na\u2019most killed him.\u2019 A similar fate might have befallen John Cheap\nhad he travelled for a change of lodgings. Certainly he would have\nbeen taken before the Session and rebuked.\n\n[84] The Covenanters had their great stronghold in the West of\nScotland, especially down Ayrshire way, and the \u2018Westland Whig\u2019 was\nregarded as a man of extra strictness in religious ordinances.\n\n[85] Our Lord\u2019s miracle of the casting out the legion of the devils\nfrom the man amongst the tombs, and their subsequent entrance\ninto a herd of swine, seems to have made a strong impression on\nthe Scottish mind. John Cheap\u2019s remarks on the subject are fairly\nrepresentative of the ideas of many country people in Scotland even\nof the present day.\n\n[86] A proverbial expression. Allan Ramsay\u2019s version of it\nis:--\u2018Better belly burst than good meat spill.\u2019\n\n[87] This and other references in the course of the present\nnarrative point to an extensive trade in human hair; and show that\nthe country lasses were not averse to gaining a little money by\nparting with their flowing tresses.\n\n[88] Disrespect for all sanitary considerations was for centuries\nan unfortunate feature in Scotland, and was the main cause of\nthe frequent plagues--or \u2018visitations\u2019 as they were piously\ntermed--which depopulated the country and crippled its resources.\nRefuse of all sorts was thrown into the \u2018midden-dub\u2019 in front of\nthe door of each house. In the Trongate of Glasgow, in 1655, the\ngutters had become so blocked up that the inhabitants had to place\nstepping stones in them before they could obtain access to their\nhouses. In Edinburgh, a century later, ashes, foul water, etc.,\nwere thrown over the windows at night, the only warning the belated\npedestrian received being the melodious _Gardez l\u2019eau_; and happy\nwas he if he escaped.\n\n[89] An official who went about to see that the orders of the\n\u2018birley-court\u2019 were obeyed. This court consisted of certain parties\nin the barony who looked after local affairs, and were, in fact, a\nsort of local authority or town council.\n\n[90] The \u2018evil eye\u2019 was a most terrible thing, according to\nScottish superstition; and a variety of \u2018freits\u2019 or charms were had\nrecourse to as shields against it. In the _Justiciary Records_, of\n1661, it is stated that Beatrix Leslie entered the house of one\nAgnes Young \u2018in ane great fury and anger, and pluckt away a pock\nbelonging to her, which the said Agnes had in keiping, without\nspeaking ane word to her, bot gieving her ane _terrible look_;\nand that same verry night, the said William Young [her husband]\nawakened out of his sleep, in a great affrightment and sweat,\ncrying out, that she with a number of catts wer devouring him.\u2019\nMany similar instances are on record. Of course they were simply\ndue to perverted imagination.\n\n[91] John Cheap seems here to have been credited with possession\nof the \u2018evil eye,\u2019 while he was really only guilty of a very\nquestionable practical joke.\n\n[92] That is, his mother gave him a good _thrashing_ for it.\n\n[93] In the edition here followed, the heading is \u2018Fun upon Fun,\u2019\nbut the one given above is more distinctive, while its use is\nsanctioned by the precedent of 1820 edition. The edition of 1816\nhas--\u2018The Comical and Merry Tricks of Leper the Taylor.\u2019\n\n[94] The custom of the common people, when the \u2018goodman\u2019 required a\nsuit, was to have a tailor working in the house for a day or two,\nduring which time he had his board and lodging, with a small money\npayment. Sometimes a week\u2019s work might be given the tailor in this\nway, when the \u2018callans,\u2019 as well as their father, were in need of\nnew clothes. When the goodwife and her daughters were similarly\nsituated, the dressmaker was brought in on the same principle. This\ncustom is not yet dead; though it is fast disappearing.\n\n[95] In a modern Glasgow edition the reading here is:--\u2018In her own\nbedroom.\u2019 That, however, seems to be a suggestion of a later time.\nThe probability is that the reference is to a press-bed enclosed in\nfront with wood, with a door which was closed during the day-time.\nRound these beds were shelves.\n\n[96] Under the old system of apprenticeship the master had a\nfatherly care over his apprentice in addition to the obligation to\nlearn him his trade.\n\n[97] In some of the later editions of this chap-book the reading\nhere is:--\u2018Wonderful fire! Wonderful fire!\u2019 This is probably a\nmisprint, the old fashioned \u2018s\u2019 beginning the word \u2018sirs\u2019 in the\nolder editions having caused confusion.\n\n[98] An apt illustration of the relations of the clergy of that\nperiod towards the common superstitions.\n\n[99] In this case the feeling of the relatives was satisfied by the\ndeath--or supposed death--having been \u2018fair o\u2019erseen\u2019 \u2018before good\nneighbours;\u2019 the want of which caused Jockey, the hero of _Jockey\nand Maggy_, considerable anxiety. See note on that chap-book.\n\n[100] Old women, whose privilege it was, in respect of their age,\nto perform such duties.\n\n[101] A peculiar Scotticism meaning that the face of the corpse\nbore a pleasant expression. On such a melancholy occasion as\na funeral in Scotland, an Englishman would hear many remarks\nwhich would surprise him, possibly, shock him, by their seeming\nirreverence. No such feeling, however, has any place in the mind of\nthe native. The expression, \u2018the corpse\u2019s sister,\u2019 to be found in\nthe text in this page, may be taken as an instance.\n\n[102] A funeral pall. The kirk session frequently provided one for\nthe use of the parish.\n\n[103] Ray, in his _Itinerary through Scotland_, gives the following\nform of announcement as having been commonly made by the \u2018deid\nbellman\u2019 in Scotland in the sixteenth century:--\u2018Beloued broothrin\nand susters, I lat you to wot that thir is an fauthful broothir\nlautlie departed awt of this present warld, awt thi plesuir of\nalmoughti Good; his naum is Volli Voodcok, third son to Jimmoy\nVoodcok a cordinger; he ligs at thi sesct door vithin the nord\ngawt, close on the nawthuer rawnd, and I wod ya gang to hus burying\non Thursdau before twa a clock.\u2019\n\n[104] The second part, in the edition followed here, has a separate\ntitle-page, containing the same matter as the first, altering, of\ncourse, the number of the part.\n\n[105] Another illustration of the expression used as a safeguard\nagainst the power of witches, warlocks, and all that race, when\nspeaking of them. See notes to _John Cheap_ and _The History of\nHaverel Wives_, in the present volume.\n\n[106] This seems to be the only story in any edition of _Leper the\nTaylor_ that has come under our notice to which the following lines\nfrom an elegy on Peter Duthie, a chapman worthy who lived between\n1721 and 1812, could possibly bear any reference:--\n\n      \u2018Nae mair will Pate e\u2019er travel round\n        *       *       *       *       *\n      Nor tell how _Leper_ threw the cat\n      Into auld Janet\u2019s boiling pat.\u2019\n\n[107] The presence of cattle in the houses of the common people,\nor small farmers, was too often seen, but this is just a further\ninstance of the disrespect for sanitary matters evinced by the\nScots before the present century. A great change has taken place\nwithin the last eighty or a hundred years.\n\n[108] Sunday observance has long been, and still is, a remarkable\nfeature of the Scottish national life. In former times the utmost\ncare was taken that there should be no Sabbath breaking. The old\nJewish idea of a \u2018Sabbath-day\u2019s\u2019 journey was kept to the letter,\nand no one was allowed to walk on the streets except going to or\ncoming from the church. Any person found taking a walk ran the risk\nof being taken to the guard-house by the \u2018civileers,\u2019 who were\ninquisitors appointed conjointly by the Town Council and the kirk\nsession. The average Scotsman would rather let his crops go to ruin\nthan take them in on a fine Sabbath.\n\n[109] In the 1816 edition, here followed throughout, the chap-book\nbegins--\u2018This taylor;\u2019 but in the 1820 edition the opening sentence\nruns thus:--\u2018Leper in his life-time,\u2019 etc. That reading has been\ntaken here as it makes a better beginning than the other.\n\n[110] The English edition has a very different reading, as\nfollows:--\u2018A farthing Roll, half a pint of Ale, and a pipe of\nTobacco.\u2019\n\n[111] The word \u2018nearest\u2019 is given instead of \u2018former\u2019 in the other\neditions.\n\n[112] \u2018Half,\u2019 in the English edition.\n\n[113] \u2018Sixty-two,\u2019 in the English edition.\n\n[114] \u2018Three-half-pennys\u2019 in the English edition.\n\n[115] A reference to a similar event is made in R. Braithwaite\u2019s\n_Penitent Pilgrim_, 1641, reprinted by Pickering, of London, in\n1853. At p. 109 of the reprint the following passage will be\nfound:--\u2018Nay, hast thou not seen the very corpse of thy departed\nbrother arrested, and uncharitably stayed; who, though he had paid\nhis debt to nature, yet must receive no burial till his corpse\nhas discharged his debt to his creditor? and hast thou sought to\nsatisfy his hard-hearted creditor that those due funeral rites\nmight be performed to thy brother?\u2019\n\n[116] Romans ix. 27.\n\n[117] In the English edition the reading here is:--\u2018and had the\nabove mentioned Legacy, so went weeping home for the loss of so\ngood a Master.\u2019\n\n[118] \u2018Simon Suckegg,\u2019 and \u2018Mrs. Lucy Longstitch\u2019 in the English\nedition.\n\n[119] \u2018Like a first rate beau in the fashion,\u2019 in the edition of\n1820.\n\n[120] Whether the chap-book was written by Dougal Graham or not,\ncertainly no one can claim for him the authorship of these lines.\nThey were written by Allan Ramsay on Lady Somerville\u2019s Book of\nScots Sangs. The complete inscription is thus given in Fullarton\u2019s\nedition of the works of the poet, vol. iii. p. 13:--\n\n      \u2018Gae canty book, and win a name;\n        Nae lyrics e\u2019er shall ding thee:\n      Hope large esteem, and lasting fame,\n        If Somervilla sing thee.\n      If she thy sinless faults forgive,\n        Which her sweet voice can cover,\n      Thou shalt, in spite of critics live,\n        Still grateful to each lover.\u2019\n\n[121] Monday, the 29th March, 1652, when an eclipse of the sun took\nplace, there being complete darkness for about eight minutes. Law,\nin his _Memorials_, says:--\u2018The like, as thought by astrologers,\nwas not since the darkness at our Lord\u2019s Passion. The country\npeople, tilling, loosed their ploughs, and thought it had been the\nlatter day.... The birds clapped to the ground.\u2019 According to the\nBurgh Records of Peebles, the people began to pray to God. This was\nhow the day came to be named \u2018the mirk Munonday.\u2019\n\n[122] Historically a true description of the manner in which the\nSabbath day was observed immediately before the Reformation. Janet,\nhowever, must surely have been speaking more from tradition than\npersonal knowledge.\n\n[123] The popular, but mistaken, notion of the _mercheta mulierum_.\nCosmo Innes, in his _Lectures on Scottish Legal Antiquities_, pp.\n52-53, gives what seems to be the true meaning:--\u2018Mercheta is the\nolder form of the _maritagium_ or marriage-tax, in the charters of\nRobert I., and not only the servile class, but the free tenants\nalso paid a _maritagium_ on the marriage of their daughters....\nSome learning has been brought to show that, on the Continent,\nthis tax--_mercheta mulierum_--represented an ancient seignorial\nright--the _jus primae noctis_. I have not looked carefully into\nthe French authorities; but I think there is no evidence of a\ncustom so odious existing in England; and in Scotland, I venture\nto say that there is nothing to ground a suspicion of such a\nright. The merchet of women with us was simply the tax paid by the\ndifferent classes of bondmen and tenants and vassals, when they\ngave their daughters in marriage, and thus deprived the lord of\ntheir services, to which he was entitled _jure sanguinis_.\u2019 The\nreader may also find the matter very learnedly discussed in the\nappendix to Lord Hailes\u2019 _Annals of Scotland_. It need only be\nremarked that prelates, being spiritual peers, and holding lands\nfrom the Crown on the same footing as their brethren of the civil\nestate, were entitled like them to levy the _maritagium_.\n\n[124] See text and first note on p. 94 of the present volume.\n\n[125] A reference to Episcopacy.\n\n[126] This paragraph in itself contains an almost complete\ncommentary on the superstition of which it treats. According to the\nlegend of Thomas the Rhymer the devil levied tribute from the king\nof Fairy-land.\n\n[127] A scriptural veneration for old age was long a characteristic\nof the common people of Scotland; but this remark betrays one of\nthe tenets of the belief in witchcraft hardly consistent with the\noutward profession of the people. In a curious and interesting\nwork, entitled the _History of the Devil_, the author says:--\u2018I\nthink it was a mean, low-priced business for Satan to take up with;\nbelow the very Devil: below his dignity as an angelic, though\ncondemned creature; below him even as a Devil, to go to talk to a\nparcel of ugly, deformed, spightful, malicious old women; to give\nthem power to do mischief, who never had a will, after they entered\ninto the state of old womanhood, to do anything else.\u2019\n\n[128] Another illustration of the ignorance of the common people of\nthe time about foreigners, or the manners of life among the upper\nclasses. This is not exaggerated, and could find parallels from\nmore recent times. Janet\u2019s answer is more enlightened, but she is\nshown all through the narrative as a well-informed woman.\n\n[129] Any one who wishes to see compressed within one volume\nan account of the opinions of the human race all through time\nregarding Satan, will find it in _The History of the Devil, Ancient\nand Modern_, already mentioned. The second part of the work deals\nmore particularly to the line of thought suggested by Janet. An\nedition of the work, published in London in 1793, lies before us;\nand the following verse on the title-page, referring in a slight\ndegree to the remark in the text, may be quoted:--\n\n      \u2018Bad as he is, the Devil may be abus\u2019d,\n      Be falsely charged, and causelessly accused:\n      When Men, unwilling to be blamed alone,\n      Shift off those crimes on him which are their own.\u2019\n\n[130] It would be difficult to find so much folk-lore compressed\ninto so few lines. The passage is a valuable representation of the\npopular belief.\n\n[131] Illustrations of the use of the advice here given may be\nfound in a note to _John Cheap the Chapman_, at p. 104 of this\nvolume.\n\n[132] See first note on p. 95 of the present volume.\n\n[133] In the Edinburgh reprint of 1820, all after the word\n\u2018Paepery\u2019 in this paragraph is left out here. After Janet\u2019s reply,\nbeginning--\u2018But Maggy, an ye be a mind to marry,\u2019 etc, it is\ninserted as a separate speech by Margaret, all between \u2018Paepery\u2019\nand \u2018O woman, but a man,\u2019 etc., being omitted altogether, the\nparagraph opening with the last quoted words.\n\n[134] The \u2018duket,\u2019 or dove-cot, would be one of those large stone\nstructures only occasionally to be found in Scotland now.\n\n[135] In the edition of this chap-book, published in 1807, by J.\n& M. Robertson, Saltmarket, Glasgow, there is here a break in the\nnarrative, and the following paragraph, with its accompanying\nheading, is inserted:--\n\n    \u2018_Janet\u2019s Advice to Maggy concerning Marriage._\n\n  \u2018While these two old Haverels were thus discussing together at\n  their rocks, amongst other things Maggy told Janet, that although\n  she was now above a hundred years of age, she had a great desire\n  for a husband, but that she would be obliged to use some methods\n  and enticements to make the young men fall in love wi\u2019 her. Upon\n  which, Janet gave her the following witty advice.\u2019\n\nThe dialogue then proceeds as given in the edition re-produced in\nthese pages. The interpolation here quoted seems to be by a hand\nother than that of the author, for it in some respects goes back\nupon Maggy\u2019s previous statements, and makes an unnatural break in\nthe dialogue.\n\n[136] In an undated edition of the _Haverel Wives_, published by J.\nMorren, of the Cowgate, Edinburgh, the story is here brought to a\nclose with the following lines:--\n\n      \u2018When Maggy and Janet had fairly done,\n      With their clashes from their tongue\n      They went and birl\u2019d their baubees,\n      They clash\u2019d and told all downright lies.\n      Now Janet and Maggy did agree,\n      Never to drink one drop of tea\n      But stout brown ale and wiskky bare,\n      And they shook hands and came away.\u2019\n\nThis ending, however, is hardly so consistent as the one given in\nthe text.\n\n[137] All that follows in this paragraph is left out in the\nEdinburgh reprint.\n\n[138] A nick-name to the wife\u2019s daughter that no man will marry,\nbecause stuff\u2019d full of laziness, self-conceit and stinking pride;\nor if she be married, she\u2019ll ly like stinking butter on his stomach\nwhile she lives.--_Original Note._\n\n[139] This paragraph is thus abridged in an edition published in\n1824--\u20184thly, concluding with an advice to young men and women.\u2019\n\n[140] A common name for a cow.\n\n[141] A literal description of whale-bone stays.\n\n[142] \u2018Witless wanton waster,\u2019 in 1820 reprint.\n\n[143] The fabulous story of Fortunatus was known to every hind in\nthe country through chap-books editions of his adventures.\n\n[144] In the 1824 edition all that comes between the words \u2018cannot\nhelp\u2019 and \u2018until they disdain now to ride upon pads,\u2019 as in the\ntext above, is omitted. The reading in that edition is:--\u2018The last\nprevailing evil that I see, all men may hear, but none strive to\nhelp; women now disdain to ride on pads, as of old,\u2019 etc.\n\n[145] Probably Carlisle.\n\n[146] Scotch people have always had the idea that the use of\ncarriages was a sign of effeminacy. Innovations tending towards\nease and luxury in any direction were discountenanced; and the\nstory is told of an old Highland chieftain who was highly mortified\nwhen he found that his son, on an expedition with the clan, used a\nstone for a pillow when sleeping on the hills. The use of a pillow\nof any kind seemed to him a symptom of declension.\n\n[147] The Scots generally consider their native dialect as\ndifferent from the English. They acknowledge a common origin, but\nargue for a different development. A look over the glossary at the\nend will give the reader some idea of the material divergences that\nhave arisen in the growth of the Anglo-Saxon tongue in England and\nScotland.\n\n[148] In the 1824 edition, all between this and the paragraph\nbeginning, \u2018Another grievance of the female offenders,\u2019 is left out.\n\n[149] The rest of this paragraph in the 1824 edition reads:--\u2018I\nmean the flyers, who have got more silver than sense, more\nhaughtiness than gold, and value themselves as treasure\nincomprehensible, their whole body as if set about with precious\nstones, and the solemnity, or their marriage, is like a peace after\na bloody war.\u2019\n\n[150] There has always been in Scotland a tendency to make the\ncelebration of a marriage the occasion of great festivity. The\nChurch for a time tried to keep this within proper bounds, and\ngenerally allowed an expense of six shillings Scots (six pence\nsterling) for each guest. This was, however, often exceeded, and\nthe parties had to answer to the Kirk Session for doing so. Even\nelders of the Kirk, when their daughters were being married,\nsometimes overstepped the limit, and had to make their repentance\nfor it.\n\n[151] This paragraph ends as follows in the 1824 edition:--\u2018as the\nskimings of a pot of green kail, and the poor husband has to return\nat ten o\u2019clock to his fore-noon\u2019s wark, without his breakfast,\nhanging his head like a brewer\u2019s horse at the ale-house door.\u2019\n\n[152] The 1824 edition ends here, with the sentence:--\u2018That such a\nwife may be the lot of every young lad, is the earnest prayer of\nGrannie M\u2018Nab.\u2019\n\n[153] In Morren\u2019s edition the order of the first three stories is\ndifferent. In it the second story as above is first, the third\nsecond, and the first third.\n\n[154] This \u2018joke\u2019 is left out in Morren\u2019s edition; and the story\nabout the drover, to be found at p. 161, is inserted before the one\nof the three merry companions.\n\n[155] Perhaps other three miles. The Scottish \u2018bittock\u2019 is rather\nan elastic expression.\n\n[156] Although the Scots have always been more or less of a\nmilitary nation, the common people have generally had a sort of\npitying contempt for mercenary soldiery, as opposed to the old\nfeudal system of raising an army. It would be difficult to account\nfor this feeling, but it is still the fact that even now service\nin the army is regarded as the last resource of a respectable\ntradesman or countryman.\n\n[157] \u2018Brucket\u2019 in Morren\u2019s edition.\n\n[158] \u2018Danger,\u2019 according to Morren.\n\n[159] This biographical preface was, according to Motherwell, given\nin an edition published in Glasgow in 1779, probably after Graham\u2019s\ndeath.\n\n[160] In Morren\u2019s edition the following lines precede the title:--\n\n      \u2018This Catechism deserves no Creed,\n      It\u2019s only for boys who will not read\n      On wiser books them to instruct!\n      Let droll John their fancy cook.\u2019\n\n[161] Properly Milngavie, in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. The\ncommon pronunciation of the word is phonetically given as \u2018Milguy\u2019\nin Morren\u2019s edition. In the modern Glasgow copies the spelling is\n\u2018Mullgay.\u2019\n\n[162] \u2018Or the Hottentot gibberish,\u2019 is added in the modern Glasgow\neditions.\n\n[163] Randall\u2019s and Morren\u2019s editions end here, the former with the\nlines quoted in p. 168 as preceding the title of Morren\u2019s edition.\nWhat follows in the text appears in undated editions published in\nGlasgow within the last fifty years.\n\n[164] Suggested, apparently, by Proverbs, vi. 26.\n\n[165] Red-headed.\n\n[166] \u2018In his teeth,\u2019 according to a modern undated edition.\n\n[167] _I.e._, off the Mull of Galloway.\n\n[168] A custom which has not yet fallen into disuetude in Irish\ncommunities. The popular idea of the use of these articles is\nsimply that the brogues are for the accommodation of the dead man\non his journey heaven-wards; the candle to light him on the way;\nthe \u2018good hard-headed old hammer\u2019 to raise St. Peter, the venerable\nporter at the celestial gate; and the money is to pay for tolls. To\nmany persons this explanation may smack somewhat of irreverence,\nbut we are not aware of any more satisfactory explanation of the\ncustom. Divested of its \u2018bulls,\u2019 the narrative of Teague is a fair\noutline of the proceedings at an Irish funeral.\n\n[169] _i.e._ or a devil in its stead.\n\n[170] The text up till this point has been published separately\nunder the title of \u2018The Miseries of Poor Simple Innocent Silly\nTam.\u2019 The \u2018Misfortunes\u2019 are not given in that chap-book. In all the\nother editions of _Simple John_ which have come under the notice of\nthe editor, each of the \u2018misfortunes\u2019 is given a separate numerical\ntitle, as \u2018Misfortune I.,\u2019 etc.\n\n[171] The inhabitants of Buck-haven have always been acknowledged\nto be a peculiar people. An account of their origin is to the\neffect that they are the descendants of the crew of a ship from the\nNetherlands, which stranded on the coast of Fifeshire in reign of\nJames IV. The village of Buckie, mentioned in the text, is on the\nMoray Firth, in the parish of Ruthven, county of Banff.\n\n[172] This paragraph is omitted in the modern and Randall\u2019s\neditions. The narrative in them begins with the next paragraph.\n\n[173] In Randall\u2019s and the modern edition this paragraph\nbegins:--\u2018Again, these people are said to have descended from one\nTom, and his two sons,\u2019 etc.\n\n[174] \u2018Other hand,\u2019 instead of \u2018fishers of Bucky-harbour,\u2019 in\nabridged editions.\n\n[175] The sentence reads thus in abridged editions:--\u2018The Lord o\u2019\nthe manor decided all disputable points, and wise Willie,\u2019 etc.\n\n[176] The word \u2018mancoes\u2019 is substituted for \u2018mutches\u2019 in the two\nabridged editions. They seem to have the same significance.\n\n[177] The people of Buckhaven seem to have been free from the old\nsuperstition regarding the horse-shoe charm. A horse-shoe nailed to\na stable door kept the four-footed inmates free from the power of\n\u2018uncanny\u2019 beings. The custom still lingers in the country, but it\nis due more to use and wont than any active belief in its virtues.\n\n[178] A similar circumstance is related in the _History of John\nCheap the Chapman_. See text and note at p. 93, vol. ii.\n\n[179] Christening was looked upon by the people of Scotland as\nalmost necessary to salvation. That doctrine held by a large\nsection of the Christian church, was here largely mingled with\nsuperstition, and the powers of evil were thought to have a malign\ninfluence on the body and soul of an unchristened person. The\npopular ideas on the subject may be found fairly well brought out\nat p. 34 of the present volume.\n\n[180] \u2018Herd laddies,\u2019 in the two abridged editions: but \u2018ill-bred\nladdies\u2019 in Morren\u2019s edition.\n\n[181] All this part, with the exception of the paragraph given in a\nsubsequent note, is omitted in the two abridged editions.\n\n[182] See note at p. 102 of the present volume. \u2018My Lord,\u2019 as\nfeudal superior would have the appointment in his gift, in the same\nway as, prior to the year 1636, the prelates of Glasgow, had the\npower of presentation to the Provostship of the city.\n\n[183] Probably a stupid synonym for crutches.\n\n[184] In the olden times the lord and lady moved out and in among\ntheir people, and took an active interest in their every day\nconcerns. This intercourse was generally productive of good, and\nthe relationship between a superior and his vassals or tenants was\nof the most pleasant kind.\n\n[185] This and other names in the chap-book give examples of the\nneed there was in a community, consisting really of one large\nfamily, with the same surname common to almost all, for nicknames\nto distinguish between several persons who also bore the same\nChristian name. A more interesting account of such a circumstance\nis given by Cosmo Innes, in his work on _Some Scottish Surnames_.\n\n[186] The coarse language here used is in no way an exaggerated\naccount of what may have actually occurred at the period with\nwhich the author is dealing. Great laxity of morals and of speech\nprevailed; but vice, it must also be stated, came more to the\nsurface than now. The people were uncultivated, and did not seek to\ncast a veil of prudery over their failings, however much these were\nto be reprobated. Swearing was then considered fashionable among\nthe ladies of England: what could be expected from the peasantry of\nScotland?\n\n[187] Belief in dreams and omens was almost universal, and was\nfostered by the chap dream-books, whose modern successors may be\nfound in _Napoleon\u2019s Book of fate_, etc.\n\n[188] The foregoing paragraph was thus given in the abridged\neditions:--\u2018There was a custom in Bucky harbour, when they got a\nhearty drink, that they went down to dance among the boats, two\nor three of the oldest went into a boat to see the rest dance,\nand when they admitted a burgher, there was always a dance. One\nday they admitted gly\u2019d Rob, who was a warlock, and made them all\nstop their dancing, for which he was carried before wise Willie to\nanswer for that, for which he was banished to the isle of May, to\ncarry coals to the Light House.\u2019\n\n[189] Willy Thomson must have been guilty of some serious offence,\nwhen he was condemned to slavery. In comparatively recent times\nactual property in the persons who worked in coal-mines in Scotland\nwas to be found, and the old records bear ample testimony to the\nexistence of serfdom, and to the punishment of subjection to\nslavery being considered a part of the judicial system of the\ncountry.\n\n[190] The third of May, when many superstitious observances were\nmade. The first of May was Beltane, and has been traced to the\nfire-worship of the ancient Caledonians. Rood-day superstitions,\nhowever, were of more recent origin. Great precautions were taken\nagainst the power of witches and fairies, and if these should be\nneglected ill-luck would follow. Jamieson, in his _Dictionary of\nthe Scottish Language_, under the word \u2018Rude-day,\u2019 gives a most\ninteresting account of the ceremonies gone through on the yearly\nreturn of the festival.\n\n[191] The \u2018mauken,\u2019 or hare seems to have occupied a most\nimportant position in the folk-lore of all countries, but notably\nof Scotland. Sir Walter Scott, in his work on _Demonology and\nWitchcraft_, tells how Isobel Gowdie, one of the witches of\nAuldern, disguised herself as a hare and after being hunted by\nhounds for some time, took refuge in a house where she found\nopportunity to say the disenchanting rhyme:--\n\n      \u2018Hare, Hare, God send thee care!\n      I am in a hare\u2019s likeness now;\n      But I shall be woman even now--\n      Hare, hare, God send thee care:\u2019\n\nThat is her own story. A most valuable and interesting article,\non \u2018The Hare in Folk-Lore\u2019 was contributed to a recent number of\nthe _Folk-Lore Journal_ by Mr. William George Black, F.S.A. Scot.,\nand should be consulted by those who wish to know more about this\nsubject.\n\n[192] The statement contained in the text gives an excellent\naccount of what was believed to be the attributes of the\nwater-kelpie. In many old ballads references, such as the\nfollowing, may be found:--\n\n      \u2018The bonnie gray mare did sweat for fear,\n      For she heard the water-kelpie roaring.\u2019\n\n[193] Frequent reference has been made to the supposed power\nof fairies over unchristened children and their mothers.\n\u2018Changelings\u2019 were greatly feared. If a child developed a strong\nand uncontrollable temper there arose a suspicion that it was a\n\u2018changeling,\u2019 the meaning being that the fairies had slipped away\nthe mother\u2019s own child and substituted a little fiend in human\nform in its stead. It was believed that the best way to set the\nsuspicion at rest was to submit the little unfortunate to the test\nof the fire. We have not, however, noticed any case where the test\nwas actually carried out.\n\n[194] The \u2018mauken\u2019s fit\u2019 was particularly feared by the fishers on\nthe east-coast of Scotland. Very recently, and it may be so still,\nit was sufficient to raise the ire of a fisher woman to wish she\nhad a hare\u2019s foot in her creel. The wish was regarded as equivalent\nto a malediction.\n\n[195] That is, a maker of shallow baskets such as are used by\nfishers for carrying their fish.\n\n[196] \u2018Maids of honour,\u2019 instead of \u2018Maries,\u2019 in the more\nrecent editions. Jamieson, under the word \u2018Maries,\u2019 says:--\u2018The\ndesignation given to the maids of honour in Scotland.... This Queen\n[Mary Stuart] had four maids of honour, all of the name of _Mary_.\nThere were Mary Livingston, Mary Fleming--Seaton, and--Beaton.\nHence it has been supposed, that the name passed into a general\ndenomination for female attendants.... From analogy, I am much\ninclined to think that the term is far more ancient than the\nperiod referred to. For we learn from Lye [_Dictionarium Saxonico\net Gothico-Latinum_], that the O. E. [Old English] called the\nqueen\u2019s maids, the _Queen\u2019s Meys_. Hence it is highly probable that\nour term _Marie_ is an official designation, and allied to Isl.\n[Icelandic] _maer_, a maid, a virgin.... Thus the _Queen\u2019s Maries_,\na phrase still common among the vulgar, may be exactly synonymous\nwith the _Queen\u2019s Maids_.\u2019\n\n[197] This story is not given in Randall\u2019s edition; but it has been\ninserted here from the Falkirk 1799 edition. A similar story is\ntold of \u2018Tom Tram,\u2019 an English chap-book hero, and of Sancho Panza,\nin _Don Quixote_.\n\n[198] In the later editions the dispute is said to have arisen\nabout \u2018education,\u2019 not \u2018religion,\u2019 and it is stated of George that\n\u2018he blanked the bishop remarkably.\u2019 While this story undoubtedly\npresents an exaggerated picture of the educational virtues of\nScotland, it must be remembered that owing to the system of\nparochial schools instituted by Knox the lower classes in Scotland\nhad facilities for instruction, especially in the classics, which\nthe otherwise more favoured English people did not possess.\n\n[199] A similar story will be found in Bacon\u2019s _Apothegms_. See\n_Essays and Historical Works_, Bohn\u2019s edition, p. 189.\n\n[200] Properly \u2018Kinbot.\u2019 The law or custom is much older than the\nreign of James VI., as the story here indicates. Jamieson derives\nthe word from Anglo-Saxon _cin_, kindred, and _bot_, compensation.\nThe present editor, in his _History of Glasgow_, p. 114, gives an\naccount of an interesting case which occurred in Glasgow in the\nsixteenth century.\n\n[201] \u2018One hundred crowns,\u2019 in the later editions.\n\n[202] This story, and the one immediately following it, are not in\nRandall\u2019s edition, but have been inserted from the 1799 Falkirk\nedition.\n\n[203] Also to be found among Bacon\u2019s _Apothegms_, Bohn\u2019s edition,\np. 168.\n\n[204] This and the preceding story are from the Falkirk edition.\n\n[205] This story has been inserted from the Falkirk edition. It is\nnot in the one by Randall.\n\n[206] Auchterarder.\n\n[207] From the Falkirk edition.\n\n\n\n\n  TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTE\n\n  Footnote [118] is referenced twice from page 130.\n\n  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been\n  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within\n  the text and consultation of external sources.\n\n  Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,\n  and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. The spelling\n  of all Scottish dialect words has been left unchanged.\n\n  Pg 16: \u2018but but yet nane\u2019 replaced by \u2018but yet nane\u2019.\n  Pg 43: \u2018their\u2019s nae fear\u2019 replaced by \u2018there\u2019s nae fear\u2019.\n  Pg 55: \u2018Sawney but ye\u2019 replaced by \u2018Sawny but ye\u2019.\n  Pg 60: \u2018the\u2019re well paid\u2019 replaced by \u2018they\u2019re well paid\u2019.\n  Pg 68: \u2018his mastre had\u2019 replaced by \u2018his master had\u2019.\n  Pg 82: \u2018lad to Louthan\u2019 replaced by \u2018lad to Louthian\u2019.\n  Pg 117: \u2018heal and fiar\u2019 replaced by \u2018heal and fair\u2019.\n  Pg 157: \u2018but kep-jogging\u2019 replaced by \u2018but kept jogging\u2019.\n  Pg 159: \u2018now and than\u2019 replaced by \u2018now and then\u2019.\n  Pg 161: \u2018ther is nothing\u2019 replaced by \u2018there is nothing\u2019.\n  Pg 186: \u2018your potates home\u2019 replaced by \u2018your potatoes home\u2019.\n  Pg 187: \u2018to Port Partrick\u2019 replaced by \u2018to Port Patrick\u2019.\n  Pg 204: Footnote [169] was an embedded sidenote in the original text.\n  Pg 242: \u2018was falsefied\u2019 replaced by \u2018was falsified\u2019.\n  Pg 247: \u2018swore a rap\u2019 replaced by \u2018swore a rape\u2019.\n  Pg 255: \u2018to do, do, knowing\u2019 replaced by \u2018to do, knowing\u2019.","title":"The Collected Writings of Dougal Graham, \"Skellat\" Bellman of Glasgow, Vol. 2 of 2","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":98880}