PART I.
Jockey. Hey, Maggy, wiltu stay and tak kent folks hame wi’ ye the night.
Maggy. Wiltu come awa’ then Johnnie, I fain wad be hame or the kie come in; our mickle Riggy is sic a rummeling royte she rins aye thro’ the byre, and sticks a’ the bits of couties; my mither isna able to haud her up to her ain stake.
Jock. Hute, we’ll be hame in braw time woman. And how’s a’ your folks at hame?
Mag. Indeed I canna weel tell you man; our gude-man is a’ gane wi’ the gout; my mither is very frail, my father he’s aye wandering about, and widdling amang the beasts.
Jock. But dear, Maggy, they tell me we’re gaun to get a wedding of thee and Andrew Merrymouth, the Laird’s young gardener.
Mag. Na, na, he maun hae a brawer lass to be his wife than the like of me; but auld Tammy Tailtree was seeking me; my father wad a hane me to tak him, but my mither wadna let me, there was a debate about it, my guidame wad a sticket my mither wi’ the grape, if my father hadna chanced to founder her wi’ the beetle.
Jock. 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 taen may sair the tither fu’ weel.
Mag. Hech, man! I wad a tane thee or ony body to hane them greed again; my father bled my guidame’s nose, and my guidame brak my mither’s thumb, the neighbours came 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.
Jock. Dear Maggy, I hae something to tell you, and ye wadna be angry at it.
Mag. O Johnny, there’s my hand I’se no be angry at it, be what it will.
Jock. Indeed, Maggy, the fouk of your town and the fouk of our town says we are gaun to be married. What sayest thou?
Mag. I wish we ne’er do waur, man. O Johnny, I dream’d of you langsyne, and I liket you aye after that.
Jock. O Maggy, Maggy, dost thou not mind since I came to your father’s bull wi’ my mother’s cow, ye ken she wadna stand, and ye helped me to haud her; aye after that they scorn’d me, that I wad be married to you.
Mag. It’s very true man, it’ll be an odd thing and it be; but it’ll na fa’ back at my door, I assure you.
Jock. Nor at mine—But my mither bade me kiss ye.
Mag. Indeed sall ye. Johnny, thou’s no want twa kisses, ane on every side of the mouth, man.
Jock. Ha, ha, Maggy, I’ll hae a merry night of kissing you shortly.
Mag. Ay, but Johnny, you maun stay till that night come; it’s best to keep the feast till the feast day.
Jock. Dinna be angry, Maggy, my wife to be; for I have heard my mither say in her daffin, that fouk sud aye try gin their house will haud their plenishing.
Mag. Ay, but Johnny, a wife is ae thing and a house anither; a man that’s a-mind to marry a woman, he’ll no make her a whore.
Jock. ’Tis a’ true, Maggy, but fouks may do it ance or they be married, and no hae nae ill in their minds.
Mag. Aha, Johnny, mony a ane has been beguiled wi’ ance; and do it ance, ye may do it aye. What an ye get a bystart, and hae to suffer for the foul act of fornication.
Jock. Ay, but my mither says, if I dinna get thee wi’ bairn, I’ll no get thee, for ’tis the surest way of wooing.
Mag. Indeed, Johnny, I like you better nor ony lad I see; an I sall marry you an ance my faither’s muck were out; my mither downa work at the midden.
Jock. Ah Maggy, Maggy! I’m feared ye beguile me, and then my mither will murder me for being so silly.
Mag. My jo, Johnny, tell your mither to provide a’ things for the bridal and I sall marry you in three ouks after this; but we maun gie in siller to the Precentor, a groat and a drink to the bellman, and then the kirk wa’s maun hear o’t three Sundays or it come.
Jock. But Maggy, I’m not to mak a blind bargain wi you nor nae body; I maun ken of your things, and you sall ken of mine.
Mag. I ken well what I was to get, and gin my mither likes the bargain weel, she’ll mak it better; but an my father be angry at the bargain, I darna speak of marrying.
Jock. I seena how he can be angry. I wat well I’m a gay sturdy fallow, when I laid a bow and five pecks of beer on the Laird’s Bawsy, and he’s as bilshy a beast as in a’ the barony.
Mag. Ay, but my mither is aye angry at ony body that evens themselves to me, an it binna them she likes, indeed she bade me tak ony body, if it wasna auld tottering Tammy; for his beard is aye brown wi’ sucking tobacco, and slavers a’ the breast of his fecket.
Jock. O Maggy take me, and 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 and the gaun gear was to be divided between me and my mither, and if she died first, a’ her gear was to come in among mine, and if I died before her, a’ my gear was to come back to her again, and her to marry anither man, if she could get him. But since ’tis happened sae, she is to gie me Brucky and the black mare, the half of the cogs, three spoons, four pair of blankets, and a cannas: she’s to big a twabey to her ain gavel, to be a dwelling house to me and my wife, and I’m to get the wee byre at the end of the raw, to haud my cow and twa couties; the half of the barn, and a bed of the kail-yard, as lang as she leaves, and when she dies, I’m to pay for the yerding of her honestly, and a’ the o’ercome is to be my ain; and by that time I’ll be as rich as e’er my father was before me.
Mag. Truly, Johnnie; I’se no sae 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 be.
Jock. I wat weel I’m courting in earnest tell me what you hae, an we’ll say na mair but marry ither.
Mag. I’se tell you a’ I ken of, whate’er my guidame gies ye’s get it.
Jock. That’s right, I want nae mair, ’tis an unco thing to marry a naked woman, and get naething but twa bare legs.
Mag. O Johnny, ye’re in the right o’t, for mony a ane is beguiled and gets naething, but my father is to gie me forty pound Scots that night I am married, a lade of meal, a furlot of groats: auld Crummie is mine since she was a calf, and now she has a stirk will tak the bill ere Belten yet; I hae twa stane of gude lint, and three pockfu’s of tow, a gude ca’f bed, twa bousters and three cods, with twa pair of blankets, and a covering, forby twa pair to spin, but my mither wadna gie me creesh to them, and ye ken the butter is dear now.
Jock. Then fareweel the night, Maggy; the best of friends maun part.
Mag. I wish you well, Johnny, but say nae mair till we be married, and then, lad.
Hame gaed Maggy and telled her Mither.
Mag. O mither! I hae something to tell ye, but ye maunna tell my father.
Mith. Dear Maggy and what is that?
Mag. Deed, Mither, I’m gaun to be married an the muck were out.
Mith. Dear, Maggy, and wha’st thou gaun to get, ’tis no auld bubly Tammie?
Mag. Na, na, he’s a braw young man, and I’ll tell you, ’tis Johnny Bell; and his mither sent him to the market just to court me ance errand.
Mith. Deed, Maggy, ye’ll no be ill yoked wi’ him, he’s a gay well gaun fellow, right spruce, maist like an ill-faured gentleman. Hey gudeman, do you hear that our Maggy is gaun to be married an the muck were a’ ance out.
Fath. Na, na, I’ll no allow that until the peats be custen and hurled.
Mag. O father! ’tis dangerous to delay the like of that, I like him and he likes me; ’tis best to strike the iron when ’tis het.
Fath. And wha’s she gaun to get, gudewife?
Mith. And wha think ye gudeman?
Fath. A what wat I, here and she please hersel, I’m pleased already.
Mith. Indeed she’s gaun to get Johnny Bell, as clever a little fellow as in a’ the parony whare he bides.
Fath. A-weel, a-weel, herie, she’s yours as well as mine, gie her to wha you please.
Mith. A-weel Maggy, I’se hae all things ready, to hae thee married or a month.
Mag. Thanks to ye mither, mony a guid turn hae ye done me, and this will be the best.
Hame gaed Jocky to his mither crying.
Jock. Mither! mither I made it out, her mouth is sweeter than milk; my heart play’d a’ whilkie whaltie whan I kissed her.
Mith. Fair fa’ thee, my son, Johnny, thou’s gotten the geat o’t at last. And whan art thou gaun to be married?
Jock. Whan I like, mither; but get the masons the morn to big me my house, for I’ll hae a’ things in right good order.
Mith. Thou’s want for naething, my bairn, to get thee ready for marriage.
The wooing being over and the day being set, Jockey’s mither killed the black boul horned yeal ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule-fitted cock; to prevent the ripples, 5 pecks of maut masked in the muckle kirn, a pint of treacle, to mak it thicker, and sweeter, and mamier for the mouth; 5 pints of whisky, wherein was garlic and spice, for raising the wind, and the clearing their water. The friends and good neighbours went wi’ John to the Kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him, and was married by the minister. The twa companies joined the gither, and came hame in a crowd; and at every change-house they chanced to pass by, Providence stopt their proceeding with full stoups, bottles, and glasses, drinking their healths, wishing them 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 couped him up, and proved detrimental to the same.
So hame they came to the dinner, where his mither presenting to them a piping het haggis, made of the creesh of the black boul horned ewe, boiled in the meikle pot, 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-bizzing like a working fat; and he playing het-fit to the fiddler, was suddenly seized with a bocking and rebounding, which gave his dinner such a backward ca’, that he lost a’ but the girt bits, which he scythed thro’ his teeth. His mither cried to spence him, and bed him with the bride. His breeks being filed, they washed both his hips and 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 bridal and his burial may be in ae day. Some cuist water in his face, and jag’d him wi a needle, till he began to rouse himself up, and then lisp out some broken words. Mither, mither! cries Jockey, whar am I now? Whar are you now, my bairn, says his mither, ye’re bedet, and I’ll bring the bride to you. Beded, says Jockey, and is my bridal done else? Ay is’t, said his mither, and here’s the bride come to lie down beside you, my man. Na na, mither, says Jockey, I’ll no lie wi an unco woman indeed, and it binna heads and thraws, the way that I lie wi’ you, mither. O fy, John, says his mither, dinna affront yoursel’ and me baith, tak her in o’er the bed ayont ye, and kiss her, and clap her, and daut her till ye fa’ asleep. The bride fa’s a-crying out, O mither! mither! was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man of manners, and better mettle; poor thing, Meg, thou’s ca’d thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market! says Jockey’s mither; a shame fa’ you and her baith, he’s wordy of her though she were better nor what she is, or e’er will be.—His friends and her friends being a mixed multitude, some took his part, some took hers, there did a battle begin 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, and trenchers, were flying like bombs and granadoes; the crook, bouls, and tangs, were all employed as weapons of war, till down came the bed, with a great mou of peats! So this disturbed a’ the diversion at Jockey’s bedding, and the sky was beginning to break in the east before the hurly-burly was over.