PART III
Poor Sawny had a terrible night o’t, wi a sair head and a sick heart, his eyes stood in his head, his wame, caddled like ony cow’s milks, and puddings crocket like a wheen puddocks in a pool; his mither rocket and wrung her hands, crying, a wae be to the wife that brewed it, for I hae lost a weel foster’d bairn wi’ their stinking stuff, a meikle deil ding the doup out of their caldron, my curse come on them and their whisky-pots, it’s brunt him alive; ay, ay, my bairn he’s gone.
But about the break of day, his wind brak like the bursting of a bladder, O happy deliverance, cried Mary his mither; tho’ dirt bodes luck, and foul farts file the blankets, I wish ne’er waur be among us. The next thing that did Sawny good, was three mutchkins of milk made into thin brose, and a pickle fine pepper in them, yet he had a soughing in his lugs like a saw-mill, and every thing gade round about wi’ him a’ that day; his mither gat him out of bed, and put him in the muckle chair wi a’ pair of blankets about his shoulders, a cod at his back, and a het brick to his soles, to gar him trow he was nae well, and there he sat like a lying-in wife, cracking like a Holladdie, and ate twa dead herrin’ and a crust, telling a the outs and ins about the bridal, and when it was to be, for he had gotten every body’s consent but the bride’s about it.
Mither. But Sawny, man, that’s the main thing; ye maun hae that too.
Sawny. Na, na, mither, I’m the main thing myself, aye she’s but a member; the men maun aye be foremost—gang what way it will, I’se aye be uppermost.
Mither. But Sawny man, what way is thou gaun to do? will ye make a penny wedding; or twa or three gude neebours, a peek of meal baken, wi a cheese and a barrel of ale; will that do?
Sawny. Na na mither, I’ll take a cheaper gate nor ony of them; I’ll gar-a-crown and half a mutchkin, or a rake of coals do it a’, then a body has nae mair to do but piss and tumble into bed.
Mither. Na na, my man Sawny, I hae mony a time heard thy honest father say, that never a ane would do well that capstrided the kirk or cuckold the minister.
Sawny. A tell nae me, mither, of the minister, they’re aye for their ain end as well as ither fouk, and if a poor beggar body had a bit wean to christen, the deil a bait they’ll feike him o’t.
Mither. Hute awa man, there’s na body has weans but what has siller to pay the christening of them; or if they be that poor, they sudna get nae weans, and they wadna be fashed syne.
Sawny. Ha ha mither, the poor fouk, like the lice, ay when they meet they marry, and maks mae of them: and I think the ministers might christen their bits of weans for naething, the water’s no sae scant; they are weel paid for their preaching, they may very weel baith marry and christen a’ the poor fouks into the bargain, by the way of a maggs.
Mither. Ay, ay, my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young fouk, and the bed undefiled.
Sawny. What the vengeance, mither, do ye think a body’s to file the bed every night because they did it ance.
Mither. Na, na that’s no what I mean; it is the happiness that fouk hae that’s married, beside the lonesome life that I hae, lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane: O sirs, but a man in bed be a useful body, an it were but to claw anes back, as for a body’s foreside they can claw it themselves.
Sawny. Ah mither, mither, ye hae fun a string again; I think ye might a wanted all your days, when ye hae wanted sae lang: ye hae plenty of baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco; but ye smell at the crack of a whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet, for I’ve seen her fit waggan this lang time.
Mither. A dear Sawny man, an thou were ance fairly aff the fodder, I’ll be cast into a hole of a house by mysel, where I’ll just lye and break my heart, and weary myself to death; but an I could get a bit honest weaver, a cobbler, or some auld tailor by the tail, I would tackle to him yet, let the country clash as they please about it.
Sawny. A well, a well mither, tak your ain flight, there’s nae fool like an auld fool; for the morn I’ll be aff or on wi’ the hissie I hae in hand.
So on the morrow Sawny got all his claes cleaned, his hair camed and greased with butter, and his face as clean as if the cat had licked it, and away he goes singing.
I will buy a pound of woo’,
I will wash’t and mak a plaidy,
I’m gaun ower the muir to woo’,
Carlin, is your daughter ready.
Now poor Sawny, although he sang, he was as pale as a ghost from the grave; his face was whitely white, like a weel bleached dishclout, and he looked as if he had been eaten and spued again; but at length he came to the bride’s door, and in he goes with a brattle, crying, how’s all here the day? and what’s comed of thy mither lassie? O Saunders, quo the bride she’s awa to the town: what came of ye yesterday, she waited on you the whole day, ye gart her lose a day’s trade lad, and she is awa this morning cursing like a heathen, and swearing Be-go that ye hae gien her the begunk.
Sawny. A dole woman, I took a sudden blast in the hame gaun and was never sae near dead in my life.
And wha think you was in company wi Kate the bride, but the wee button of a tailor, who sat and sewed on a table, cocking like a t—d on a trencher; but when he kent wha was come, he leaped down on the floor, coost a dash of pride like a little bit prince, bobbet about, and so out he goes, with the tear in his eye, and his tail between his feet, like a half worried dog.
Sawny. Now, Katie, do ye ken what I’m comed about?
Kate. O yes, my mither tell’d me: but I’m no ready yet, I hae twa gowns to spin and things to make.
Sawny. Hute, things to make, ye hae as mony things as ye’ll need, woman; canna ye spin gowns in your ain house wi me, as weel as here, wi an auld girning mither?
Kate. But dear Saunders, ye maun gie a body time to think on’t—’twad be ill-far’d to rush the gither just at the first.
Sawny. And do ye think I hae naething ado but come here every ither day hoiting after you, it will no do! I maun be either aff or on wi’ you, either tak me or tell me, for I ken of ither twa, and some of you I’ll hae, for as I’m a sinner, my mither is gaun to be married too, an she can get ony bit man of ony shape or trade.
Kate. Indeed, then, Saunders, since you’re in such haste, ye maun e’en tak them that’s readiest, for I’m no ready yet.
Sawny. Dear woman, when your mither and my mither’s pleased, and I am willing to venture on ye, what a sorrow ails you?
Kate. Na, na, I’ll think on’t twa or three days; its o’er lang a term to see without a thought.
Sawny. Wode I think ye’re a camstrerie piece of stuff; it’s true enough what your mither said of ye, that ye’re no for a poor man.
Kate. And what mair said she of me?
Sawny. Wode, she said ye could do naething but wash mugs, and scour gentleman’s bonny things, but hissies that is bred amang gentle houses, minds me of my mither’s cat; but ye’re far costlier to keep, for the cat wastes neither sape nor water, but spits in her loof, and washes her ain face, and wheens of you can do nae ither thing; and up he gets.
Kate. O Saunders, but ye be short, can ye no stay till my mither come hame?
Sawny. I’ve staid lang enough for ony thing I’m to be the better; and I’m nae sae short as your totum of a tailor, that I could stap in my shoe, sae could I e’en.
Hame he goes in a passion, and to his bed he ran, crying, O death! death! I thought the jade wad a jumped at me: no comfort nor happiness mair for me. O mither, gae bake my burial bread, for I’ll die this night, or soon the morn. But early next morning in comes auld Be-go his guid mither, wha had left her daughter in tears for slighting of Sawny, and hauls him and his mither awa’ to get a dinner of dead fish; where a’ was agreed upon, and the wedding to be upon Wednesday, no bridal fouks but the twa mithers, and themselves twa.
So according to appointment, they met at Edinburgh, where Sawny got the cheap priest, who gave them twa three words, and twa three lines, took their penny and a guid drink, wished them joy, and gade his wa’s. Now, said auld Be-go, if that be your minister, he’s but a drunken b—h, mony a ane drinks up a’, but he leaves naething; he’s got the penny for diel a hate, ye might cracket lufes on’t, tane ane anither’s word, a kiss and a hoddle at a hillock side, and been as weel, if no better: I hae seen some honest man say mair o’er their brose nor what he said a’ the gither; but an ye be pleased, I’m pleased; about in the bed ends a’, and makes sure wark—so here’s to you, and joy to the bargain—its ended now, well I wat.