TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been placed at the end of the book.

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Some minor changes to the text are noted at the [end of the book.]

COLLECTED WRITINGS
OF
DOUGAL GRAHAM.

Portrait of Dougal Graham

From Early Chap Book.

Frontispiece to Vol. II.

THE

COLLECTED WRITINGS

OF

Dougal Graham

‘Skellat’ Bellman of Glasgow

EDITED WITH NOTES

Together with a Biographical and Bibliographical Introduction, and a Sketch of the Chap Literature of Scotland

BY

GEORGE MAC GREGOR

Author of ‘The History of Glasgow’ and Member of the Glasgow Archæological Society

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II.

For Subscribers and Private Circulation

GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON

MDCCCLXXXIII

CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.

JOCKEY AND MAGGY’S COURTSHIP.

[This chap-book was one of the most popular of Graham’s productions. It is reprinted here from a unique copy formerly belonging the late Dr. David Laing, and now in the possession of George Gray, Esq. It is in five parts. The title-page bears that it had been ‘carefully corrected and revised by the Author.’ It was printed in 1779 by J. and J. Robertson, Glasgow, and is perhaps the earliest copy extant.]

JOCKEY AND MAGGY’S COURTSHIP AS THEY
WERE COMING FROM THE MARKET.

Part I.

Jockey. Hey Maggy, wilt thou stay and tak kent fouks hame wi’ ye the night?

Maggy. Wiltu come awa than Johny. I fain wad be hame or the ky come in, our meikle Riggy is sic a rumbling royte, she rins ay thro’ the byre, and sticks a’ the bits a couties; my mither is nae able to had her up to her ain stake.

Jockey. Hute, we’ll be hame in bra’ time woman: and how’s a’ your fouks at hame?

Maggy. Indeed I canna well tell you man, our guidame is a’ gane wi’ the gut; my mither is very frail, my father he’s ay wandering about, and widdling amang the beasts.

Jockey. But dear Maggy they tell me we’re gawn to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth the laird’s gardener.

Maggy. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the like o’ me, but auld Tammy Tailtrees was seeking me, my father wad a haen me to tak him, but my mither wadna let, there was an odd debate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi’ the grape, if my father hadna chanc’d to founder her wi’ the beetle.

Jockey. Hech woman, I think your father was a fool for fashing wi’ him, auld slavery dufe, he wants naething of a cow but the clutes, your guidame may tak him hersel, twa auld tottering stumps, the tane may sair the tither fu’ well.

Maggy. Ach man! I wad a tane thee or ony body to hane them greed again, my father bled my guidame’s nose, and my guidame brake my mithers thumb; the neighbours came a’ rinning in, but I had the luck to haud my father’s hands till yence my guidame plotted him wi’ the broe that was to mak our brose.

Jockey. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you an ye wadna be angry at it?

Maggy. O Johnny, there’s my hand I’se no be angry at it, be what it will.

[Shakes hands for fear of an outcast.][1]

Jockey. Indeed Maggy the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town, says, we are gawn to be married: What say’st thou?

Maggy. I wish we ne’er do war, O Johny, I dream’d o’ you lang syne, an I liket you ay after that.

Jockey. O Maggy! Maggy! dost thou mind since I came to your mither’s bill, wi’ my mither’s cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye helped me to haud her; ay after that they scorned me that I wad be married on a you.

Maggy. It’s very true man, it’ll be an odd thing an it be; but it’s no fa’ back at my door, I assure ye.

Jockey. Nor at mine, but my mither bad me kiss ye.

Maggy. Indeed sall ye Johny, thou’s no want twa kisses man, ane on every side o’ the mouth, man.

Jockey. Ha! ha! Maggy, I’ll hae a merry night o’ kissing you shortly.

Maggy. Ay but Johny, you maun stay till that night come: it’s best to keep the feast until the feast day.

Jockey. Dinna be angry Maggy, my wife to be, but I have heard my mither saying in her daffing that fouk sud ay try gin their house will haud their plenishin.

Maggy. Ay but Johny, a wife is ae thing, an a house anither, a man that’s a mind to marry a woman he’ll no mak her a whore.

Jockey. It’s a’ true Maggy, but fouks may do it yence or they be married and no hae nae ill in their minds.

Maggy. Aha Johny, mony a are has been beguil’d wi’ yence, and do it yence ye may do it ay, what an we get a bystart, and hae to suffer for the foul act of fornication.

Jockey. Ay but my mither says, if I dinna get thee wi’ bairn, I’ll no get thee; so it’s the surest way of wooing.

Maggy. Indeed Johny I like you better nor ony lad I see, and I sall marry you an yence my father’s muck were out, my mither downa wirk at the midden.

Jockey. A Maggy, Maggy, I’m fear’d ye beguile me, an then my mither will murder me for being so silly.

Maggy. My jo Jockey, tell your mither to provide a’ things for the bridal, and I sal marry you in three uks after this, but we maun gie in siller to the Precentor, a groat an a drink to the bellman, and then the Kirk wa’s maun hear o’t, three sunday’s or it come.[2]

Jockey. But Maggy am no to make a blin bargain wi’ you nor nae body, I maun ken o’ your things an ye sall ken o’ mine.

Maggy. I ken well what I was to get, an gin my mither like the bargain well, she’ll make it better; but an my father be angry at the match, I darna meet you to be married.

Jockey. I see na how he can be angry. I wat well I’m a gay sturdy fallow, when I laid on a bow and five pecks o’ bear on the laird’s Bawsey, an he’s as bilchy a beast as in a’ the barronry.

Maggy. Ay but my mither is aye angry at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it binna them she likes, indeed she bad me tak ony body if it were na auld tottering Tammie, for his beard is ay brown wi’ sucking tobacco, and slavers a’ the breast o’ his fecket.

Jockey. O! Maggy tak me an I’ll tell you what I hae; first my father left me when he died, fifty merks, twa sacks, twa pair of sunks, the hens, an the gawn gear was to be divided between me and my mither, and if she died first, a’ her gear was to come amang mine, and if I died before her, a’ my gear was to come back to her again, an her to marry anither man if she cou’d get him. But since it’s happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky an the black mare, the haf o’ the cogs, three spoons, four pair o’ blankets an a can’as, she’s to big a twa bey to her ain gavel to be a dwelling house to me an my wife, am to get the wee byre at the end o’ the raw to haud my cow and twa couties; the haf o’ the barn an a bed o’ the kailyard as lang as she lives, an when she dies am to pay the earding o’ her honestly, and a’ the o’ercome is to be my ain: an by that time I’ll be as rich as e’er my father was before me.

Maggy. Truly Johny, I’se no say meikle to the contrair, but an ye hae a mind to tak me wi’ what I hae, tell me either now or never, for I’se be married or lang gae.

Jockey. I wat weel I am courting in earnest, tell me what you hae, an we’ll say nae mair but marry ither.

Maggy. I’se tell you a’ I ken o’, whate’er my guidame gies ye’s get it.

Jockey. That’s right, I want nae mair, it’s an unko thing to marry a naket woman and get naething but twa bair legs.

Maggy. O Johny ye’re ay in the right o’t, for mony ane is beguil’d and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pund Scots, that night I am married, a lade of meal, a furlet of groats, auld Crummie is mine since she was a cauf, and now she has a stirk will tak the bill e’er beltan yet, I hae twa stane o’ good lint, and three pockfu’s o’ tow a good cauf bed, twa bowsters and three cods, with three pair o’ blankets, an’ a covering; forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me crish to them, an ye ken the butter is dear now.[3]

Jockey. Then farewel the night Maggy; the best o’ friends maun part, and so maun thy twa legs yet.

Maggy. I wish you well, Johny, but sae nae mair till we be married, and then lad.

Hame gaed Maggy and tell’d her Mither.

Mag. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye mauna tell my father.

Mither. Dear Maggy an what is that!

Mag. Deed Mither, am gawn to be married an’ the muck were out.

Mith. Dear Maggy an wha’s thou gawn to get, it’s no auld bubly Tammy.

Mag. Na, na, he’s a bra young man, and has mair gear nor ilka body kens o’, guess an I’ll tell you, it’s Johny Bell, and his mither sent him to the market just to court me.

Mith. Deed Maggy ye’ll no be ill youket wi’ him, he’s a gay we’ll gawn fallow, right spruch, amaist like an ill-far’d gentleman. Hey guidman, do ye hear that our Maggy is gawn to be married an the muck were out.

Father. Na, na, I’ll no allow that until the peats be cussen and hurl’d.

Mag. O father it’s dangerous to delay the like o’ that, I like him, an he likes me, it’s best to strike the iron whan it’s het.

Fath. An wha is she gawn to get guidwife?

Mith. An wha think ye guidman?

Fath. A what wat I herie, an she please hersel, am pleas’d already.

Mith. Indeed she’s gawn to get Johny Bell, as cliver a little fallow, as in a the barronry where he bides.

Fath. A well, a well herie, she’s yours as well as mine, gie her to wha ye please.

Mith. A well Maggy, I’se hae a’ things ready, an I’ll hae thee married or this month be done.

Mag. Thanks to ye Mither, mony a good turn ye done me, an this will be the best, I think.

Hame gaed Jockey to his mither, crying.

Jock. Mither! Mither! I made it out, her mouth is sweeter na milk, my heart plays a whiltie whaltie whan I kiss her.

Mith. Fair fa’ thee my son Johny, thou’s gotten the geat o’t at last, and whan is thou gawn to be married?

Jock. Whan I like mither, but get the masons the morn, to big me my house, for I’ll hae a’ my things in right good order.

Mith. Thou’s want for naething, my bairn, but pusht forward as fast as ye can.

The wooing being o’er and the day being set, Jockey’s mither killed the black boul horn’d yeal Ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule fitted cock, to prevent the ripples, five pecks o’ maut masket in the meikle kirn, a pint o’ trykle to mak it thicker an sweeter an maumier for the mouth; five pints o’ whisky wherein was garlic and spice, for raising o’ the wind, an the clearing o’ their water; the friends and good neighbours went a’ wi’ John to the kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him and was married by the minister; the twa companies joined togither and came hame in a croud, at every change house they chanced to pass by, providence stopt their proceeding, with full stoups, bottles and glasses drinking their healths, wishing them much joy, ten girls and a boy: Jockey seeing so many wishing well to his health, coupt up what he got, for to augment his health and gar him live long, which afterwards coupt up him and proved detrimental to the same.

So home they came to the dinner, where his mother presented to them a piping het haggies, made of the creish of the black boul horn’d Ewe, boil’d in the meikle bag, mixt with bear meal, onions, spice and mint: this haggis being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor set John’s belly a bizin like a working fat, and he playing het fit to the fidler, was suddenly seized with a bocking and rebounding, gave his dinner such a backward ca that he lost a’ but the grit bits scythed through his teeth; his mother cried to spence him, and bed him wi’ the bride, his breeks being fill’d, they washed both his hips, laid him in his bed, pale and ghostly was his face, and closed were baith his een, ah, cries his mither, a dismal day indeed, his brithal and his burial may baith be on ae day: some cuist water in his face, and jagg’d him wi’ a needle; till he began to rouze himself up, and rap out broken words, mither, mither, whar am I now? Whar are ye my bairn says his mither, ye’re beddet, and I’ll bring the bride to you. Beddet, and is my brithel done ells? Ay, said she, here’s the bride come to ly down wi’ you: na, na, said he, I’ll no ly wi that unco woman indeed, if it binna heeds and thraws, the way that I lay wi’ my mither; O fy dinna affront yoursel. The bride faus a crying. O mither, mither, was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man o’ manners and better mettle, poor thing Meg, thou’s caud thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market, says his mither, a shame fa you and her baith, he’s worthy o’ her tho’ she were better nor what she is, or e’er will be. His friends an her friends being a mixt multitude, some took his part some took her’s, there a battle began in the clap of a hand, being a very fierce tumult which ended in blood, they struck so hard with stones, sticks, beetles, and barrow trams, pigs, pots, stoups, trunchers, were flying like bombs and granades.

The crook, bouls and tongs were all employed as weapons of war: till down came the bed with a great mou of peats. So this disturbed the treading.[4]

THE WONDERFUL WORKS OF OUR JOHN.

Part II.

Now though all the ceremonies of Jockey and Maggy’s wedding were ended, when they were fairly bedded before a wheen rattling unruly witnesses, who dang down the bed aboon them; the battle still encreased, and John’s works turned out to be very wonderful; for he made Janet, that was his mither’s lass the last year, grow like an Elshin shaft, and got his Maggy wi’ bairn forby.

The hamsheughs were very great until auld uncle Rabby came into redd them, and a sturdy auld fallow he was, stood stively wi’ a stiff rumple, and by strength of his arms rave them sindry, flingin the tane east and the tither west, until they stood a round about like as many breathless forfoughen cocks, and no ane durst steer anither for him, Jockey’s mither was driven o’re a kist, and brogget a her hips on a round heckle, up she gat and rinning to fell Maggy’s mither wi’ the ladle, swearing she was the mither of a’ the mischief that happened, uncle Rabby ran in between them, he having a great lang nose like a trumpet, she recklessly came o’er his lobster neb a drive wi’ the ladle until the blood sprang out and ran down his auld grey beard and hang like snuffy bubbles at it; O! then he gaed wood, and looked as waefu like, as he had been a tod lowrie, com’d frae worrying lambs, wi’ his bloody mouth. Wi’ that he gets an auld flail, and rives away the supple, then drives them a to the back o’ the door, but yet nane wan out; than wi’ chirten and chappen, down comes the clay hallen and the hen bauk with Rab Reid the fidler, who had crept up aside the hens for the preservation of his fiddle.

Ben comes the bride when she got on her coat, clappet Rabby’s shoulder and bad him spare their lives: for their is blood enough shed in ae night, quoth she, and that my beard can witness, quoth he. So they a’ came in obedience to uncle Rabby, for his supple made their pows baith saft and sair that night; but daft Maggy Simson sat by the fire and picket banes a’ the time o’ the battle: indeed quoth she, I think ye’re a’ fools but mysel; for I came here to get a guid supper, and other fouk has gotten their skin we’ll pait.

By this time up got John the bridegroom, that was Jockey before he was married, but could na get his breeks; yet wi’ a horse nail he tacket his sark tail between his legs, that nane might see what every body should hide, and rambling he cries settle ye, or I’ll gar my uncle settle ye, and saften ye’re heads wi’ my auld supple.

Poor Rab Reid the fidler took a sudden blast; some said he was maw-turn’d wi’ the fa’; for he bocked up a the barley and then gar’d the ale go like a rain bow frae him as brown as wort brose.

The hurly burly being ended, and naething but fair words and shaking o’ hands, which was a sure sign o’ an agreement, they began to cow their cuttet lugs, and wash their sairs, a but Jockey’s mither, who cries out a black end on a you and your wedding baith: for I hae gotten a hunder holes dung in my arse wi’ the heckle teeth.

Jockey answers, A e’en had you wi’ them than mither, ye will een be better sair’d.

Up gets uncle Rabby, and auld Sandy the sutor o’ Seggyhole, and put every thing in order; they prappet up the bed wi’ a rake and rippling kame, the bearers being broken, they made a solid foundation of peats, laid on the cauf bed and bowsters, where Jockey and Maggy was beddet the second time.

Jockey no being used to lie wi’ a naked woman, except heads and thraws wi’ his mither, gets his twa hands about the brides neck and his houghs out o’er her hurdies, saying, I ne’er kist wife nor lass naked before, and for fainness I’ll bite you, I’ll bite you, &c. Naithing mair remarkable till about haf a year and four ukes thereafter, in comes Marion Mushet rinning barefoot and bare legget, wi’ bleart cheeks and a watery nose, cursing and banning, greeting and flyting.

Marion enters. Crying, and whar’s John.

His mither answers. Indeed he’s out in the yard powing Kail runts.

Marion. A black end on a him and his runts baith, for he’s ruin’d me and my bairn.

Mith. Ruin’d you! it canna be; he never did you ill, nor said you ill, be night or be day, what gars you say that?

Mar. O woman! our Jenny is a’ rowing like a pack o’ woo; indeed she’s wi’ quick bairn, and your John is the father o’t.

Mith. Our John the father o’t! had, there enough said, lying lown, I trow our John was ne’er guilty of sic a sinfu action: Daft woman, I true it ill be but wind that hoves up the lasses wame; she’ll hae drunken some sour drink like sour sowens, or rotten milk that mak’s her sae.

Mar. A wae be to him and his actions baith, he’s the father o’t furnicator dog that he’s, he’s ruin’d me and my bairn; I bore her and brought her up honestly, till she came, to you; her father died and left me wi’ four o’ them, there wasna ane o’ them cou’d pit on anither’s claes, or tak a louse aff ither.

Mith. I bid you had your tongue, and no even your bystarts to my bairn, for he’ll ne’er tak wi’t: he, poor silly lad, he wad ne’er look to a lass, be’s to lay her down. Fy Maggy cry in o’ John, and let’s ratify’t wi’ the auld ruddoch: ay, ye’ere no blate for saying sae.

Mar. Be angry, or be well pleased, I’ll say’t in a your faces, an I’ll ca you before your betters about it or lang gae.

John enters. An what want ye now, is our brose ready yet?

Mith. Ay brose, black brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi’ bairn.

Jock. Me mither? I ne’er lay in a bed wi’ her dochter a my days, it’ll be the young lairds, for a saw him kiss her at the Lammas fair, an let glam at her nonsense.

Mith. Ay, ay, my man Johny, that’s the way she has gotten her belly fu’ o’ bairns; it’s no you nor the like o’ you, poor innocent lad, that gets bystart weans: a wheen filthy lowns, every ane loups on anither, and gies you the wyte o’ a’.

Mar. You may say what you like about it, it’s easy to ca’ a court whar there’s nae body to say again, but I’ll tell you a I ken about it, and that is what she tell’t me, and you guidwife telt me some o’t yoursel; an gin you hadna brought in Maggy wi’ her muckle tocher atween the twa, your Jockey and my Jenny had a been man and wife the day.

Jock. I wat weel that’s true.

Mith. Ye filthy dog at ye are, are ye gaun to confess wi’ a bystart; and it no yours: dinna I ken as well as she do wha’s aught it?

Jock. Ay but mither, we may deny as we like about it, but I doubt it come to my door at last.

Mith. Ye silly sumff and senseless fallow, had ye been knuckle deep wi’ the dirty drab, ye might a said sae, but ye telt me lang syne that ye cou’d na lo’e her, she was so lazy and lown like; besides her crooket fit and bow’d legs.

Jock. Ay but mither, do ye mind since ye sent me out to gie her the parting kiss, at the black hole o’ the peet stack; she rave the button frae my breeks, and wad gar me do’t; and bad me do’t, and cou’d flesh and blood refuse to do’t; I’m sure mither, I cou’d ne’er get her wi’ bairn an my breeks on.

Mith. Na, na, poor simple silly lad, the wean’s no yours, ilk ane loups on of anither, and you’ll get the wyte o’ a bytarts round about.

Up gets Maggy wi’ a rore, and rives her hair, cries her back, belly, and baith her sides; the weed and gut gaes thro’ my flesh like lang needles, nails or elshin irons. Wae be ti’ the day that e’er I saw his face, I had better married a tinkler, or a followed the sogers, as mony an honest man’s dochter has done, and liv’d a better life than I do.

Up gets Jockey and rins o’er the rigs, for John Roger’s wife, auld Katty the howdy, but or he wan back she parted wi’ patrick thro’ perfect spite, and then lay twa fauld o’er a stool in a swoon.

Jock. A well, a well, sirs, since my first born is dead without seeing the light o’ the warld; ye’s a get bread an cheese to the blyth meat, the thing we shou’d a war’d on the banket will sair the burial, and that will ay be some advantage: an Maggy should die, I maun een tak Jenny, the tane is as far a length as the tither: I’se be furnisht wi’ a wife between the twa.

But Maggy turn’d better the next day, and was able to muck the byre; yet there gead sic a tittle tattling thro’ the town every auld wife tell’t anither o’t, and a’ the light hippet hussies that rins between towns at een, tugging at their tow rocks, spread it round the kintry; and every body’s mouth was filled wi’ Jockey and Jenny, and how Maggy had parted wi’ bairn.

At last Mess John Hill hears of the horrid action, and sends the elder of that quarter and Clinkem Bell[5] the grave maker, to summon Jockey and Jenny to the session, and to see how the stool of repentance wad set them,[6] no sooner had they entered the door but Maggy fa’s a greeting, and wringing her hands; Jockey’s mither fell a fliting, and he himself a rubbing his lugs, and riving his hair, saying, O gin I were but a half ell higher, I sud be a soger or it be lang, and gie me a good flail or a corn fork, I sud kill Frenchman enew, before I gaed to face yon flyting ministers, an be set up like a warlds wonder, on their cock-stool or black stool[7] an wha can bide the shame, whan every body looks to them, wi’ their sacken sarks or gowns on them,[8] like a piece of an auld canvass prickt about a body, for naething, but what every body does amaist, or they be married as well as me.

Mith. My man Johny, ye’re no the first that has done it, an ye’ll no be the last; een mony o’ the ministers has done it themselves, hout ay, your father and I did it mony a time.

Mag. Ay, ay, and that gars your son be so good o’t as he is: the thing that is bred in the flesh is ill to pit out o’ the bane.

Mith. Daft woman what way could the warld stand, if fouks wadna make use o’ ither, it’s the thing that’s natural, bairns getting, therefore it’s no to be scunnert at.

Mag. Ay, ay, but an they be for the like o’ that, they should marry.

Mith. But I think there’s little ill tho’ they try it yence or twice or they be married; it’s an unco thing till a body to be bound to a business, if they dinna ken whether they be able for it or no.

Mag. Ay, ay, that’s your way o’ doing and his, but its no the way o’ ither honest fouk; see what the minister will say to it.

Mith. The minister is but a mortal man, and there’s defections in his members as well as mine.

Mag. Ay, but fouk should ay strive to mortify their members.

Mith. An is that your Whigry? Will you or any body else, wi’ your mortifying o’ your members, prevent what’s to come to pass? I wish I saw the minister an his elders, but I’se gie him scripture for a he’s done yet: tell na me about the mortifying o’ members, gin he hae gotten a bystart let her and him feed it between them an they sud gie’t soup about: but she maun keep it the first quarter, an be that time muckle black lady ’ill be cauft, we sall sell the cauf an foster the wean on the cow’s milk: That’s better mense for a fault, than a’ your mortifying o’ your members, and a’ your repenting-stools; a wheen papist rites an rotten ceremonies, fashing fouks wi’ sack gowns and buttock-males,[9] an I dinna ken what, but bide you yet till I see the minister.[10]

THE WONDERFUL WORKS OF OUR JOHN MADE MANIFEST BEFORE THE MINISTER, &c.

Part III.

Now Jockey and his mither went into the little byre, and held a private meeting, nane present but auld bruckie, and the two brutes the bits a couties.

Mith. Ye silly dog, an he be drown’d to you, how cou’d ye confess sae muckle to maeslie shanket Marion, altho’ she be her mither.

Jock. O mither, mither, say nae mair about it, my ain wand has dung me dourly; sadly have I suffered for that, and ye ken a’ the misery’s com’d o’er our Maggy, my mouth’s the mither o’t, sae ha’d your tongue I tell you now.

Mith. An tell ye me to ha’d my tongue, an ye had a hauden your tongue and your tail, an a done as I bade you, ye hadna hane sae muckle ado the day daft silly dog it thou is.

Jock. Mither, mither, gies nane o’ your mocks nor malice, for tho’ I got the wean, ye hae as muckle the wyte o’t as I Gae seek me out my three new sarks, an Sunday’s shune, an I’se gae whar ne’er man saw my face before, neither wood, water nor wilderness, sall haud me again.

Mith. My braw man Johny, ye mauna do that, stay at hame wi’ me, and set a stout heart till a stay brae, I’se gae to the session wi’ you, gang whan ye like.

Jock. A well mither, I sall do your bidden for ance yet, but whan the minister flytes on me, answer ye him, for I canna speak well again.

Mith. Say nae mair, I hae a pokfu’ o’ perfect petitions to louse an put to him an his elders, and if thou maun gae to their black-stool, it’s no be thy lane sall sit upon’t.

Jock. But mither, whether will I deny the doing o’t or confess the game was at the getting o’t?

Mith. Ay, ay, confess ye did it, but say but ance, and that it was on the terms of marriage, the way that a’ our kintry bystarts is gotten.[11]

Now Jockey being three times summon’d to the session and did not appear, the session insisted for a warrant from the justice of the peace,[12] which was readily granted, more for diversion than justice’ sake, the warrant being given to John King the constable, who went away with Clinkem Bell on Saturday’s morning, and catch’d John just at his breakfast, hauls him awa, ane at ilka oxter like twa butcher dogs hinging at a bull’s beard, his mother followed, driving him up with good counsels, my bra’ man Johny, haud up your head, dinna think shame, for a’ your fauts is but perfect honey, you’re neither a thief, whore nor horse stealer.

Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby, an uncle Rabby sent to Sandy the Souter of Seggyhole, the Souter saddled his mare, and uncle Rabby got aff at the gallop on his gray powney west the hags, an o’er by Whitehill shough, the nearest, and was at Sir James the justices lang or John was brought into judgment.

John enters, before the justice, with a red, red face, Goode’en Mr. Justice, Sir James, an’t please your honour ye manna put me in prison, for am no malefactor, but a poor honest kintry-man, that was born in an ill planet, my mither says’t I had the ill luck of a misfortune to fa’ foul wi’ furnication, and got my mither’s lass wi’ bairn the last year, and they’re gawn to father’t on me the year again.

The justice smiling, answer’d, indeed John I think it is but very just and reasonable that ye be accountable this year for your last years labours.

Jock. Ay, ay, sir, I have laboured very sair since my father died, but our plough canna get gaun for frost this four days.

Just. Ay but John, that’s no what I mean, it’s the child ye got last year, ye must be answerable for this.

Jock. A deed stir, there was twa o’ them, but there is ane o’ them dead.

Just. A well then John you’ll have the more to give the one that’s alive.

Jock. Oh! but stir, it’s my ain wean that’s dead, the ane I got wi’ my wife; I dinna ken whither the tither be mine or no.

Just. Yours or no sir, when ye told me ye got it; if ye should get it wi’ a beggar wife at the back of a dike what is that to the purpose, when it is of your getting you must maintain it.

Jock. O! yes stir, am no refusing to gie meat and meal to maintain’t; but my mither winna let me to the black-stool.

Just. Why not go to the black-stool, when guilty of such an action as deserves it, if you have any reasons why you should not go, argument it in session and clear yourself if you can.

John’s mother enters, and addresses herself to the servant lass, thinking she was the justice’s lady.

Indeed mistress madam, if ye were a kintry good-wife, like mysel, I could tell you a’ about it, but you that’s gentiles, I canna use freedom wi you, cause I hae na Latin. But waes me we that’s poor fouk is born to mony fealins and backwart faus, this lad is my son, an am his mither, he has had the foul fortune to get a bystart bairn, nae doubt but we hae been a’ guilty o’ as muckle and ne’er a word about it, a what say ye madam?

Off goes the lass, saying, Foul fa’ the wife, for I was never guilty o’t.

Just. Well goodwife, what is the reason but ye let your son give satisfaction to the kirk?

Mith. Deed stir, he’s no denying the bairn, but he’ll no hae the black-stool.

Just. Ay, but I tell you, them that gets a bystart, gets the black-stool to the bargain, and as he is in my hands now, he must find caution that he will answer the session and be subject to the law.

Mith. Ony thing ye like, stir, but that shamfu’ stance, the black stool, here’s uncle Rabby, and auld Sandy the Sutor, will be caution that we’s face the session on Sunday, the lad’s wae enough he did it, but he canna help it now, the weans born and by hand; Sae goodnight wi’ your honour’s ladyship it’s the first time e’er I was before you.

On Sabbath after sermon the session met, John and his mother is call’d upon, he enters courageously, saying, Good-een to you Master Minister, bellman and elders a’, my mither and me is both here.

Mess John. Then let her in, come awa goodwife, What’s the reason you keep your son so long back from answering the session? you see it is the thing you are obliged to do at last.

Mith. Deed stir, I think there needs na be nae mair wark about it, I think when he’s gien the lazy hulke, the mither o’t, baith meal and groats[13] to maintan’t, ye need na fash him, he’s a dutifu’ father indeed, weel a wat, whan he feeds his bystart sae weel.

Mess John. Woman are you a hearer of the gospel? that ye reject the dictates of it, how come you to despise the discipline of the church? Is not offenders to be rebuked and chastised?

Mith. Yes stir, a’ that is very true, but I hae been three or four times through the Bible, and the New Testament, and I never saw a repenting stool in’t a’; then whar cou’d the first o’ them come frae, the Apostles had nane o’ them. But a daft history book tells me, that the first o’ them was used about Rome amang the Papists, and ay whan ony o’ them turn’d Whigs, they were put on a four neuked thing, like a yarn winnle blades, and rave a’ their gouls sindry till they turn’d Papists again: and then for anger they put them on a black stane or stool, in the mids o’ the kirk, and the seck goun about them, wi’ the picture o’ the de’il and Satan on’t, a sweet be wi’ us, we sudna speak o’ the ill thief in the kirk, but it is a mercy the minister’s here an’ he come, but that was the original of your repenting stools, and whan the whigs chas’d awa the Papist fouk out o’ this kintry, they left a wheen o’ their religious pictures, and the stool o’ repentance was amangst the spoil, but yese no get my bairn to set upon a thing as hich as a hen bawk, and ilka body to be glowring at him.[14]

Mess John. Woman I told you formerly that any who refuses submission to the government of the church, is liable to excommunication: and that we are to put the law in execution against adultery and fornication, or the sin thereof, lies partly on our head.

Mith. As for your sin of adultery, I have naething ado wi’t; I ken my son is a fornicator, and ye can neither mak him better nor war nor he is, there’s nae man can keep a standing in their ain hand, fortune I mean, if it be a sin let him confess’t, and forsake it, and wi’s pay the buttock-mail and mak nae mair about it.

Mess John. Goodwife you need not think your son will pass so, more than others that has been before him, he must actually come before the congregation three sabbaths before he be absolved from the scandal, and get the benefit of any church privileges like any other honest man.

Mith. Indeed Mess John, my son will never set his hips upon’t; if he maun come before you, I’se gar him stand a bit a back frae’t and hear what ye hae to say about fornication, twa harmless free bodies, passing their trials to see what they can do, ye that’s whigs may mak enough o’t, but I think na muckle about it.

Mess John. Woman you may go home and see what ye have to do; ye have a very bad tongue: it’s no you we are to take account of.

Mith. Ay, ay, ye that’s ministers and modest fouk may say sae, but if my son had tane as good tent o’ his tail, as I can do o’ my tongue, there had na been sae muckle about it, a wheen silly loons kens na what they were made for, or how to guide a thing whan they get it.

Mess John. Put her out, she’s going to speak baudy.

Mith. O ay, stir, I’se gang out, but I’ll hae my bairn out wi’ me.

Mess John. We must first ask some few questions at him, there is no harm can come on him here.

Mith. For as good company as you think yourselves, I wad rather hae him in anither place.

John’s kept in and his mother put out.

Mess John. Well John, you must tell us whether this child was gotten before ye was married, or since: for I suppose by the time of the birth it is much about the same time.

Jock. Hout ay, stir, it was gotten lang or I was married, I need na forget the getting, it was na sae easy to me.

Mess John. How long is it since ye was first acquaint?

Jock. Just when she came to be my mither’s lass, I never saw her but ance before, and gin I had never seen her, I had never kend her in sic a fashious fashion.

Mess John. How long was she serving with your mother.

Jock. Just twa hail-yerts: and I got her wi bairn about a year after she came, and its no a year yet since I was married.

Mess John. Dear John there is a contradiction indeed, a woman cannot go two years with child.

Jock. Deed stir, it was then the wean was first gotten.

Mess John. A John, John, I find you out to be a sinful liver, you and that woman has had carnal dealings for some time; it is ill keeping the cow out of the corn, if she once got a way of going to it, ye should actually a married the poor woman, when ye cohabited so long together.

Jock. No stir, we didna cow habit, tho’ she kist me, and I kist her, sometimes in the barn, and sometimes in the byre: nane ken’t o’t but my mither, an’ she wadna let me tak her, but sent me awa to court our Maggy.

His mother cries through the hole o’ the door: A ye senseless sumph, is that a’ the thanks I get for counselling you to do weel, war na me ye wad a been married on a lownlike leepet lazy lump, who had neither wit nor wyles, no say much judgment as wyfe the wind frae her tail but lute it gang afore fouks.

Up gets the elders crying, Fy, fy, Duncan the bell-man drive that wicked wife frae the door she disturbs us all.

Duncan runs to the door whispering, shame fa you for a wife had out o’ that: but I wad rather hear you, as hear them yet.

Mess John. Now John will you be so plain as tell me whether ye promist to marry the woman or no, when ye lay with her.

Jock. Na stir, I didna lie wi’ her, for the herd and me lay in the byre-bed, and she lay in the little lang sadle at the hallen end.

Mess John. It is all one whether ye lay with her or not, when ye have got her with child, that’s what ye confess.

Jock. I kenna whither I got her wi’ bairn or no: but I did wi’ her as I did wi’ our Maggy, when she fell wi’ bairn.

Mess John. But the question is, whether or no, did you promise to marry her when that child was gotten?

Jock. Hut, tut, stir, ye wad fash fouk spiering a’ thing, it was her that promist to marry me for the getting o’t.

Mess John. And did not you do the like to her?

Jock. A what needed I do the like when she and my mither did it a’ but the wean getting, she could na do that.

Mess John. Indeed John you seem to have been a parcel of loose livers altogether.

Jock. A loose stir, I wish I were loose yet, better be loose than bun to an ill stake.

Mess. John. I see it is needless for me to enquire any further into the matter, I find you out guilty, therefore, you must appear publicly on the stool of repentance on Sabbath next, and the two following thereafter, or ye be absolved from the scandal.

Jock. Indeed master minister, am very easy about repentance, and for your stool, its a seat am very indifferent about, for am but bashful, and as I was never guilty o’ getting bystarts, either before or sin syne, except in thoughts, words, deeds and actions, I think ye may een let me pass, I suffered enough wi’ the clash o’ the kintry, and loss o’ my ain wain, it was nae bystart, ye canna gar me stand for that.

Mess John. You appear to be such a stupid fellow, the like of you should neither have lawful child or bastard, and I admire that such an ideot as you, was allowed to be married to any woman; and you James, who is the elder of that proportion, should have given information of this man’s capacity, before he was joined to a wife.[15]

Elder. Indeed sir, ye ken very well, he answered the questions at the examine, better nor any other fouks, and I think he is best married, for he might a gotten mae bystarts and fasht us.

Jock. Indeed stir, it’s very true, for when ance I got the gate o’ women, I cou’d na bide aff them, but our Maggy was unco cunnen, she wad na let me do naething but kiss her and kittle her till ance we was married.

Mess John. I’ll ask no more questions at him: call on his mother, (in she comes,) Goodwife, we have ordered your son to appear three Sabbaths on the stool an’ there to be reproved before the congregation publicly an’ be absolved from the scandal.

Mother. Than the ill thief be in his a—se Mess John, gin e’er he set his hips upon’t, my bairn on your black stool? and wadna’t be a great blunder on the auld black face o’t, to my son to gang on’t before the young laird, who has had twa bystarts and ne’er set a hip on’t yet, and he’s continually riding on the hussies to this day, and them that wadna let him, he rives their duds, and kicks their doups. A dear Mess John, an ye gie gentle fouk a toleration to whore, to fornicate, kiss an’ kuddle a wee, wi’ ilka body they like, I’ll gie you ten marks and gie’t to me and my son too.

Mess John. And what shall we do with these odious persons?

Elders. Indeed, sir, we see not what we can make of them.

Mess. John. Make of them, we’ll exclude them from all church benefit, and lay them under the lesser excommunication.[16]

Mith. Indeed stir, tak your mind o’t as our cat did o’ the haggies, when she sippit it a’, and crap in o’ the bag.

If ye winna christen the wean, ye canna hinder us to cast a cogfu’ o’ water on the face o’t, and ca’t ony thing we like.

So out she goes shooting Jockey before her, so John went and pisht on the auld minister’s widow’s gavel, and there was nae mair about it that day.

HOW JOCKEY AND HIS MOTHER WENT AWAY TO SEE HIS BASTARD CHILD, &c.

Part IV.

Now Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow cracking like twa hand guns.

Moth. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field condingly, whan I hae conquer’d a’ the canker’d carles about the kirk.

Jock. Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister, and gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures you may preach as well as he.

Moth. I true Jock lad their black stool o’ sham repentance ne’er got sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.

Jock. Na, na, mither, a’ the whoremongers that ever set a hip on’t kens na sae muckle about the auld foundation o’t as ye do.

Moth. But Johny man, an’ thou wad start in the morning, the first o’ the daft days,[17] and that’s on Munday, ye an’ I wad go and see the daft jade, Jenny the mither o’t.

Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but wi maun giet something an’ it were an auld servet, or an auld sark to keep the hips o’t warm, young weans is ay wet about the a—se ye ken.

Moth. A well then Johny, I’se cry to thee whan the hens begin to keckle, and that’s about the break o’ day, an’ wees be ready to tak the road again Torryburn day light, whan weel ken a turd by a stane.

Up gets auld Maggy, Jocks mither in the morning, puts on the kettle, and maks her Yool sowens, the meikle pot hung on the fire a’ night wi’ the cheek of an auld cows head, skims aff the fat an’ mak’s a great cog o’ brose, then pours on a chappen o’ clean creish like oil, which made a brave sappy breakfast for Jockey and his mither, and Maggy got the cog to scart.

The brose being done and a’ thing ready, he halters the black mare, lays on the sunks and a covering, fine furniture for a country wife.[18]

Jockey mounts, and his mother behind him, trots awa, till coming down the brae abune John Davie’s well; the auld beast being unfiery o’ the feet, she fundred before, the girth and curple brake, Jockey tumbled o’er her lugs, and his mother out o’er him in the well wi’ a slung.

Jock. Ay, ay, mither, tho’ I fell ye needna faun abune me, an’ gin ye had lyne whar ye lighted first, ye wadna tumbl’d into the well; its an unco thing that a body canna get a fa’ but ye maun fa’ abune them: auld ruddoch it thou is, thou might a hauden better by the rumple, an’ ye wadna a bruised a my back wi’ your auld hard banes, nor a wat a’ yoursel say, and see how ye hae drummel’d a John Davie’s well.

Moth. Hech quo she, I wonder gin I be kill’d, thou always was wont to get the word of a good rider, baith upon hussies and horses, an’ this be thy management thou’s little worth; fel’d the auld beans it bore thee! sic a bath as I hae gotten to my Yool, thou coudna gien me a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld frosty morning: wae be to thee an’ that ill gotten gett o’ thine, O! let never better bounty be gotten wi’ bystarts getting, an’ this is so much for the fruits o’ fornication, a war stance nor the black-stool yet.

Jock. Let’s a be now wi’ your auld taunts about bystarts getting, or I’se gie you the wind o’ the mare’s tail, an’ gar you wammel hame an’ a’ your wate coats about you.

Moth. Na, na, my man Johny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, we came together, and wi’s gang together, wi sall see thy bystart and its mither or wi gae hame.

Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but yonder the house an’ the hens on’t, the lums reeking rairly, but little ken they wha’s coming.

At length they came to Jenny’s mother’s door.

In goes his mother and in goes his mare,

Himself follows after, cries how’s a’ here?

Moth. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?

Her mother answers,

Well a wat she’s in her bed, an’ cauld cauld, and comfourtless is her lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever weel paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she’s done, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he wad a seen her lang or now.

Moth. A dear Marrion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John wha has a wife o’ his ain, cou’d come an’ wait on her as she were a dame o’ honour, or yet an honest man’s wife, poor silly lown it she is, an’ he had thought on what he was com’d o’ he wad ne’er a offer’d benevolence to the like o’ her.

Mar. An’ ye had been as great an instrogater against his making her double ribbet, as ye’re now against doing her justice, for the filthy jimcrack he’s gien her, ye wadna need to ca’ her silly lown the day, an him an honest man; but the ne’er an honest man wad a hoddl’d sae lang on a ae poor hussie an’ then gane awa an a married anither for love of a pickle auld clouts, and twa three pock-fou’s o’ tow: an she is but a silly lown indeed that lute him or ony rattle-scul else, shake their tail so lang upon her, without his faith, an’ his troth, an’ his fist before the minister.

Moth. A cauld be your cast kimmer, do ye think it your dadeling daughter’s a match fit for my son John; I think less may sair, her father was but a poor cotter carle, an’ our John’s father was a farmer, an’ its but a trick o’ youth, an’ the course of youdeth maun be out; but she may thank good fortune an’ tell her friends ay, an’ count it a credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like o’ him; a good fu fat farmer’s son, but ae laigher nor a laird.

Mar. A wae be to sic a credit it’s no worth the cracking o’, an’ whar was a’ his noble equals whan he bute to lay a leg on a my poor lassie, poor clarty clukny it thou is? an’ if they warna baith ae man’s mak I wad think naething o’t; for they warna a needle o’ differ between their dadies an’ what war they baith but twa sticket taylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame an’ a counted bow-kail stocks, as to come here to count kindred wi’ me.

Jock. Hout awa daft witless wives, I kenna what you’re flyting about, I wad rather see the wean gin it be ony thing wally and like the warld.

Mar. Indeed sall ye John, you’ll see your ain picture for little siller, a muckle mouth’t haverel it is just like yoursel.

The child is presented.

Jock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth just like mine, an’ sees wi’ baith ot’s een, an bit five days auld yet.

Moth. Dear Johny thou’s no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be blin, the poor thing saw whan it was new born.

Jock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skill’d as the howdies, an’ them that’s ay hobbling weans: but I thought they had a been like the wee bit’s a whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.

Moth. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu’, comparing a beast till a woman’s ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, an’ a wean is a chrisen’d creature.

Jock. Na mither, its no a chrisen’d creature yet, for hit has neither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little do I ken how to ca’t yet.

Mar. I wat well it’s a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or yet t’ meet in a morning, a body wanting a name.[19]

Moth. Hout tout ay, ye it’s auld wives is ay fu o’ frits an’ religious fashions, them that looks to frits, frits follows them, but it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an’ I never kend a sabbath day by a nither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.

Mar. Dear guidwife what needs ye speak so loud? ye fright the wean wi’ crying sae, see as it starts.

Moth. Ay, ay, the bystarts is a’ that way, but ken ye the reason o’ that?

Mar. Ye that kens the reason of everything may soon find out that too.

Moth. A deed than woman I’ll tell you, the merry begotten weans, its bystarts I mean, is red wood, half wittet hillocket sort o’ creatures: for an it be nae ane among twenty o’ them, they’re a’ scar’d o’ the getting, for there’s few o’ them gotten in beds like honest fouk’s bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o’ dikes, and kil-loggies; whar there’s ay somebody wandering to scar poor needfu’ persons, at their job of journay-wark: for weel ken I the gaits o’t, experience gars me speak.

Jock. A deed mither that’s very true, for whan I was getting that wean at the black hole o’ the peat stack, John Gammel’s muckle Colly came in behind us wi’ a bow wow, of a great goul just abune my buttocks; an’ as I’m a sinner, he gart me loup laveruck height, an’ yet wi got a wean for a’ that.

Moth. A weel than Johnny that mak’s my words good yet.

Jenny answers out o’ the bed. A shame fa your fashions ye hae nae muckle to keep whan ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the getting o’t.

Jock. A shame fa yoursel Jenny, for I hae gotten my part o’ the shame else, an’ gin ye hadna tell’d first there wad nane kend, for nae body saw us but John Gammel’s auld colly an’ he’s no a sufficient witness.

Mar. Now guidwife amang a’ your tales ye hae tell’d me, how is this wean to be maintain’d?

Moth. Ill chance on your auld black mouth Marrion, did I not send you my guid sprittled hen, a pund of butter and a sixpence, forby a libby o’ groats an’ a furlat o’ meal; mak her a guid cogfu’ o’ brose, an’ put a knoist o’ butter in them, to fill up the hole whar the lown came out, an’ I’ll send mair or that be done.

Mar. An it be na better nor the last ye may een keep it to your sell; your groat meal, and gray meal, sand dust and seeds, course enough to feed cocks an’ hens, besides a woman in her condition.

Moth. A foul be your gabs, ye’re a sae gash o’ your gabbies; a whine fools that stives up your gutses wi’ guid meat, to gar the worms turn wanton and wallop in your wames; feed yourselves as I do, wi’ hacket kail brose, made o’ groat meal, an’ gray meal, sand, seeds, dust an’ weak shilling, ony thing is good enough to fill the guts an’ make a t—d of.

Jock. Na, na, mither an’ the wean wad suck our Maggy, I sud take it hame in my oxter.

Moth. O ye fool, Maggy’s milk is a mould salt and sapless lang syne; but I trow she wad keb at it, as the black ew did at the white ews lamb the last year, sae speak nae mair o’ Maggy’s milk, no to compare a cat to a creature, the yeal cats is never kind to kitlens, an’ the maiden’s bairns is a’ unco weel bred.

Jock. Na, na, ye’re a’ mistane mither, Maggy has milk yet for every pap she has is like a burn pig, I’se warrand ye they’ll haud pints the piece.