MISFORTUNE XII.
Now, as poor John was turned out o’ doors next morning, to go awa’ hirpling on a staff; one came and told him his mother had died last night. Oh hoch! said John, and is my mither clean dead! O an she wad but look down through the lift, and see how I’m guided this morning, I’m sure she wad send death for me too. I’m out o’ a mither and out o’ a wife, out o’ my health and strength, and a’ my warklooms. His mother-in-law came and pleaded for him: Haud your tongue, mither, said Girzy, if ye kent what ail’d him ye wadna speak about him, he’s useless, no worth the keeping in a house, but to ca’ him to die like an auld beast at a dyke-side. Hout tout, co’ the auld wife, we’ll mak o’ him and he’ll mend again. So John got peace made up after a’, and he was easier mended than the burnt web; got all his treadles and warklooms set in order, the wife’s tongue excepted, which was made of wormwood, and the rest of her body of sea water, which is always in a continual tempest.
So John appeals to a Jedburgh Jury if it be not easier to deal wi’ fools than headstrong fashious fouks; owns he has but an empty skull, but his wicked wife wants wit to pour judgment into it, never tells him o’ danger till it comes upon him, for his mother said he was a biddable bairn, if ony body had been to learn him wit.
FINIS.
THE
MERRY TALES
OF THE
WISE MEN
OF
GOTHAM.
Of merry Books this is the chief,
’Twill make you laugh your fill.
GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE
BOOKSELLERS.