A CREED FOR ROMISH BELIEVERS.
I believe the Pope of Rome, to be the right heir and true successor of Peter the Apostle, and that he has a power above all the kings of the world, being spiritual and temporal; endowed with a communication from beyond the grave, and can bring up any departed shoul[169] he pleases, even as the woman of Endor brought up Samuel to Saul, by the same power he can, assisted by the enchantments of old Manasseh, a king in Israel. I believe also in the Romish priests that they are very civil chaste gentlemen, keep no wives of their own, but partake a little of other men’s, when in secret confession. I acknowledge the worshipping of images and relicks of shaints departed to be very just; but if they hear us and not help us, O they are but a parcel of ungrateful wretches.
Finis.
SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES.
[‘The Comical History of Simple John, and his Twelve Misfortunes; which happened all in twelve Days after the unhappy Day of his Marriage. Giving a particular account of his Courtship and Marriage to a Scolding Wife; which has been a mortifying Misery to many a poor Man.
O Sirs will you see,
What it is to married be!
Glasgow: Printed for the Company of Flying Stationers, in Town and country. MDCCLXXX.’ Such is the full title of the edition here used. It has been with the following editions:—‘Edinburgh: printed for the booksellers, 1823’; and ‘Stirling: printed by William Macnie, and sold wholesale and retail, 1823’; and also with the modern Glasgow one.]
THE COMICAL HISTORY OF SIMPLE JOHN AND HIS TWELVE MISFORTUNES.
Simple John was a widow’s son, and a coarse country weaver to his trade; he made nothing but such as canvas for caff-beds, corn and coal-sacks, druggit and harn was the finest webs he could lay his fingers to; he was a great lump of a lang lean lad, aboon sax fit high afore he was aughteen year auld, and as he said himsel he grew sae fast and was in sic a hurry to be high, that he did not stay to bring a’ his judgment wi’ him, but yet he hoped it would follow him, and he would meet wi’t as mony a are does after they’re married; he had but ae sister, and she had as little sense as himsel, she was married on Sleeky Willy, the wylie weaver, his mither was a rattling rattle-scul’d wife, and they lived a’ in ae house, and every body held them as a family of fools. When John came to man’s state, to the age of twenty-one years, he tell’d his mither he would hae a wife o’ some sort, either young or auld, widow or lass, if they had but head and hips, tongue and tail, he shou’d tak them, and weel I wat mither, quoth he, they’ll get a lumping penny-worth o’ me, get me wha will.
His mither tells him o’ the black butcher on Ti’ot-side, who had three dochters, and every ane of them had something, there was Kate, Ann, and Girzy, had hunder merks the piece, Kate and Ann had both bastards. Girzy the eldest had a hump back, a high breast, baker legs, a short wry neck, thrawn mouth, and goggle ey’d, a perfect Æsop of the female kind, with as many crooked conditions within as without, a very lump of loun-like ill nature, row’d a’ together, as if she had been nine months in a haggies, a second edition of crooked backed Richard an old English king, that was born wi’ teeth to bite a’ round about him; and yet the wight gaed mad to be married.
John’s mother tell’d him the road where to go, and what to say, and accordingly he sets out wi’ his sunday’s coat on, and a’ his braws, and a pair o’ new pillonian breeks o’ his mither’s making. In he comes and tell’d his errand before he would sit down, says good day to you goodman, what are you a’ doing here? I am wanting a wife, an’ ye’re a flesher and has a gude sorting aside you, my mither says ye can sair me or ony body like me, what say ye till’t goodman, how mony dochters hae ye? are they a’ married yet? I fain wou’d tak a look o’ some o’ them gin ye like.
A wow said the goodwife come in by honest lad and rest you, an ye be a wooer sit down an gi’s a snuff; a deed goodwife I hae nae mill but my mither’s, and it’s at hame. A whar win ye, I’se no ken ye; I wat quoth he, my name’s Jock Sandeman, they ca’ me simple John the sack weaver, I hae nae tocher but my loom, a pirn wheel, a kettle pat, a brass pan, twa piggs, four cogs and a candlestick, a good cock, a cat, two eerocks new begun to lay; my sister Sara is married on sleeky Willie the wylie weaver, and I maun hae a hagwife or my mither die, for truly she’s very frail, and ony harle o’ health she has is about dinner-time; what say ye till’t, goodman? can ye buckle me or no?
Goodman. A dear John ye’re in an unco haste, ye wadna hae you’re wife hame wi’ ye? they’re a’ there before ye, which o’ them will ye tak?
Hout tout says John, ony o’ them ’ill sare me, but my mither says there’s twa o’ them has fauts: and what is their fauts said the goodwife, hout said John, it’s no meikle faut, but I dinna like it, they got men or they were married. And what shall I do wi’ them said the goodman.
John. A deed goodman as ye’re ay dealing among dead beasts and living beasts, I wad put them awa amang ither beasts, or gin ye be aun ony penny, let some body tak them up o’ desperate debt, I sud flay the sikes frae them, they anger’d you an’ sham’d you baith wi’ their bastards, a wheen daft jades it gets men or they be married, and bairns or they get bridals.
Goodwife. A wat weel that’s true lad.
Girzy. A weel John than, will ye tak me, I hae nae bastards, how will you and I do?
John. I watna gin ye be able to get a bastard, yet ye may hae some war faut; but ye maun be my pennyworth for ye’re unco little, and I’m o’er muckle, and gin ye and I war ance cairded thro’ ither, we may get bonny weans o’ a midlen mak; I hae nae fauts to ye, but ye hae a high breast, a hump back, a short neck, and high shoulders, the hands and legs may do, tho’ your mouth be a wee bit to the tae side it will ly well to the rock and I hae a hantle o’ tow to spin, will be baith sarks and sacks till us, ye’ll be my sonsy dauty up and down; a perfect beauty, wi’ cats yellow een, black brows and red lips, and your very nose is a purpey colour, ye hae nae fauts at a’: now whan will we be married.
Girzy. Ha, ha, John lad, we maun think on that yet.
John. What the yeltow lass, shoudna ye be ready whan I’m ready, and every body says that the women’s aye ready.
Goodman. Ye’ll hae to come back and bring somebody wi’ you, and we’ll gree about it, and set the day whan ye’ll be married.
John. A well goodman I’ll tell my mither o’t, and come back on munonday, and we’ll hae a chappin o’ ale and roasted cheese on the gude chance o’t, but I maun hae a word o’ the bride outby to convoy me, an a quiet speak to hersel about it.
Good wife. A wow na John, the daft louns will laugh at you, and she’ll think shame, gang ye out by and she’ll speak to you thro’ the gavel window.
Out goes John, and the bride and her twa sisters goes to the window within to hear the diversion, and what he would say; now says John, Girzy my dear, my braw pretty woman, an ye be in earnest tell me, for by my suthe I’m no scorning.
Girzy. Indeed John I’m very willing to tak you, but ye need na tell every body about it.
John. Then gi’ me a kiss on that? He shutes his head in at the window, making a lang neck to win down to her, and she stood on a little stool to win up to him, O cries he, an ye were good flesh I could eat you a’ I like you sae well, it’s a pity there is sic a hard wa’ a ’tween us, I’se tell my mither sae bonny as ye’re: O gi’ me anither kiss yet an then I’ll go; one of her sisters standing by in a dark corner, get’s ha’d of a cow’s head which wanted a’ the skin but about the mouth, and shutes it towards his mouth, which he kiss’d in the dark, O cry’d he, but your mouth be cauld since I kiss’d ye last, and I think ye hae a beard, I saw nae that afore, or is’t wi’ spinning tow that maks your mouth sae rough at e’en?
Hame he comes, and tells his mither the speed and properties of the marriage; a’ things was got ready, and next week sleeky Willy the weaver and him came to gree the marriage and stay a’ night wi’ the bride, and teach John gude manners, for whan John was hungry he minded his meat more than his gude behaviour, and as he never was fu’ till the dish was tume, Willy the weaver was to tramp on his fit when he thought he had supped enough; so all things being agreed upon short and easy terms and the wedding day sett, they were to be three times cry’d on Sunday and quietly married on Munonday, neither piper nor fidler to be employ’d, but sweith awa’ hame frae the minister, and into the bed amang the blankets, ha, ha, cries John, that’s the best o’t a’.
Now every thing being concluded and proposed, the supper was brought, a large fat haggies, the very smell would done a hungry body gude, but John had only got twa or three soups until are of the butcher’s meikle dogs tramped on John’s fit, which he took to be the weaver, and then he would sip no more; after supper they went to bed, John and the weaver lay together, and then he abused the weaver for tramping sae soon which he denied; but O, said John, there’s a hantle o’t left, and I saw where it was set, they’re a’ sleeping, I’ll go rise and tak a soup o’t yet, ay een do sae said Sleeky Willy, and bring a soup to me too; away then John goes to the amry and lays to the haggies, till his ain haggies cou’d had nae mair, then brings the rest to Sleeky Willy, but instead of going to the bed whare he was, goes to the bed whare the bride and her twa sisters lay, they being fast asleep, speaks slowly, will ye tak it, will ye tak it, but they making no answers, he turns up the blankets to put a soup into Willy’s mouth, but instead of doing so, he puts a great spoonful close into one of their backsides, Sleeky Willy hears all that past, comes out o’ the bed, and sups out the remainders, and sets up the dish whare it was, leaves the amry door open to let the cats get the blame of supping the haggies, and awa’ they goes to bed, but poor John cou’d get nae sleep for drouth, up he gets in search of the water can, and finding an empty pitcher, puts in his hand to find if there was any water in it, but finding none, he closed his hand when it was within the pitcher, and then could not get it out, goes to the bed and tells Sleeky Willy what had happened him, who advised him to open the door and go out to a knocking-stane that stood before the door, and break it there to get out his hand, and not to mak a noise in the house, so out he goes, but the bride’s sister who had gotten the great spoonful of the haggies laid to her backside was out before him, rubbing the nastiness (as she took it to be) off the tail of her sark, and she being in a louting posture, he took her for the knocking-stane, and comes o’er her hurdies with the pitcher, till it flew in pieces about her, then off she runs wi’ the fright, round a turf stack and into the house before him; John comes in trembling to the bed again wi’ the fright, praying to preserve him, for sic a knocking stane he never saw, for it ran clean awa’ when he brake the pigg upon it.
Now John was furnished in a house by his Father-in-law, the bed, loom, heddles, treadles, thrums, reeds and pirn-wheel was a’ brought and set up, before the marriage, which was kept as a profound secret; so that John got the first night of his ain wife, and his ain house a’ at ae time: So on the next morning after the marriage, John and his wife made up some articles, how they were to work, and keep house, John was to keep the house in meat, meal, fire, and water; Girzy was to mak the meat and keep the house in clothes, the Father-in-law to pay their rent for three years, they were to hae no servants, until they had children, and the first child was to be a John after its ain Daddy, get it wha will, if a boy, and if a girl, Girzy after its ain Minny, as he said, wha had wrought best for’t.[170]
I. Then she ordered John to rise and begin his work, by putting on a fire, and take the twa new piggs and gang to the well, no sooner had John opened the door, and gone out with a pigg in every hand, than a’ the boys and girls being gathered in a croud to see him, gave a loud huzza, and clapping their hands at him, poor John not knowing what it meant, thought it was fine sport, began to clap his hands too, and not minding the two piggs, clashes the tane against the tither, till baith went in pieces, and that was a chearful huzza, to baith young and auld that was looking at him. Girzel the wife draws him into the house, and to him she flies with the wicked wife’s wapons, her Tongue and Tangs, made his ribbs to crack, saying, They tell’d me ye was daft, but I’ll ding the daffing out o’ ye, I’ll begin wi’ ye as I’m amind to end wi’ ye; poor John sat crying and clawing his lugs. Ha, ha, said he, its nae bairns play to be married, I find that already; his Mither-in-law came in and made up peace, went to a cooper, and got them a big wooden stoup to carry in their water.
II. Next morning John was sent to the flesh-market an errand to his Father-in-law, who gave him a piece of flesh to carry home, and as he was coming out of the market, he saw six or seven of the fleshers-dogs fall on and worry at a poor country colley dog, Justice, justice, cries John to the dogs, ye’re but a wheen unmannerly raskel’s, that fa’s a on ae poor beast, heth ye sude a’ be put in the toubooth, and tane to the bailies, and hang’d for the like o’ that, it’s perfect murder, and in he runs amongst the dogs, and be hang’d to you a’ the-gither, What is the quarrel? What is the quarrel? John flings down the flesh he had carrying, and grips the colley, who took John for an enemy too, and bites his hands, till the blood followed, the whole of the tykes comes on a poor John, till down he goes in the dirt amongst their feet, and one of the dogs runs off with his flesh, so John went hame both dirty and bloody without his flesh, tell’d Girzy how it happened, who applied her old plaister, her tangs and tongue, made John to curse the very minister that married them, and wished he might never do a better turn.
III. Next morning, John was sent to the well with the great stoup to bring in water for breakfast, and as he was pulling the stoup out of the well, in he tumbles, and his head down, the well being narrow, he you’d na win out, some people passing, by chance heard the slunge, cried, and runs to his relief, hail’d him out half dead, and helped him into the house, and after getting a dry sark, he was comforted with the old plaister, her tongue and the hard tangs.
IV. Next day, she says, John, I must go to the market myself, for if you go, you’ll fight wi’ the dogs, and let them run awa’ wi’ ony thing ye buy, see that ye put on the pot, and hae’t boiling again I come hame; John promised well, but performs very badly, she’s no sooner gone, than he puts on the new pot without any water in it, and a good fire to make it boil, and away he goes to the unhappy well, fills his stoup and sets it down, to look at a parcel of boys playing at Cat and Dog, they perswades John to take a game wi’ them, on he plays till are o’ the boys cries, hy John, yonder’s your Girzy coming. John runs into the house wi’ the water, and the pot being red hot on the fire, he tumes in the cold water into it, which made the pot flee all in pieces, just as she was entering the door. John runs for it, and she runs after him, crying, haud the thief, some persons stop’d him, she comes up, and then she laboured him all the way home, and he crying, O sirs, ye see what it is to be married; the Mither-in-law had to make up a peace again, and he promised good behaviour in time to come.
V. On the next morning she sent him to the water to wash some cows puddings, and turn them on a spindle, showing him how he was to do or he went away; John goes to the water very willingly, and as he turn’d and wash’d them, he laid them down behind him, where one of his Father-in-law’s big dogs stood, and ate them up as fast as he laid them down till all was gone but the very last one, which he carried home in his hand, crying like a child, and underwent a severe tost of the old plaister, before any mercy was shown.
VI. His Father-in-law next day sent him away to bring home a fat calf he had bought in the country, and tied up the money in a napkin, which he carried in his hand for fear he should lose it, being very weighty as it was all in halfpence, and as he was going alongst a bridge, he meets a man running after a horse, who cries to John to stop the horse, John meets him on the top of the bridge, and when he wou’d not be stopped for him, he knocks the horse on the face wi’ the napkin and the money, so the napkin broke and most of the half-pence flew over the bridge in the water, which made poor John go home crying very bitterly for his loss, and dread of the auld plaister which he got very sickerly.
VII. On the next morning, she sent him again to the bridge to see if he you’d find any of it in the water, and there he found some ducks sweeming, and ducking down with their heads below the water, as he thought gathering up his money he kills one of them and rips her up, but found none of it in her guts or gabbie, then says he, they have been but looking for it, I’ll go do as they did, strips off his clothes and leaves them on the bridge, goes in a ducking, in which time a rag man came past and took away all his clothes, so he went home naked to get a bath of the old plaister.
VIII. The next morning she sent him to a farm house for a piggful of butter milk, and as he was returning through the fields the farmer’s bull and anither bull was fighting, the farmer’s bull being like to lose, John runs in behind him and sets his head to the bull’s tail, in purpose to help him to push against the other, but the poor bull thought John was some other bull attacking him behind, fled aside, and the other bull came full-drive upon John, pushed him down, broke the pigg and spilt the milk, so John went home to his auld plaister, which began to be an usual diet to him, and so he regarded it the less.
IX. His Mother-in-law with several auld witty wives held a private counsel on John’s conduct and bad luck, and concluded he was bewitched, John was of the same opinion, and went to the minister, and told him he was the cause of a’ his misfortunes, ca’d him a warlock to his face, and said, he had put such a black bargain in his hand, that he was ruin’d for ever; insisted either to unmarry them again, or send death and the bell-man to take her awa’, for she has a lump of mischief on her back and anither on her breast, and the rest of her body is a clean deil. The minister began to exhort him to peace and patience, telling him that marriage was made in heaven: ye’re a baist liar, says John, for I was married in your ain kitchen, an a’ the blackguards about the town was there, an it had a-been heaven they wadna win in, yet tell’t me that matrimony was sic a happy state, but an ye had gotten as mony we’ll paid skins as I hae gotten, ye wad ken what it is; ill chance on you stir, and out he goes, cursing like a madman, throwing stanes, and breaking the minister’s windows, for which he was catch’d and put twa hours i’ the stocks, and at last his Lump of Corruption came and rubbed his lugs, threw his nose, got him out, and drove him home before her; took a resolution never to set him about any bisiness in time coming, but keep him on his loom.
X. Now she giving him no sleep a’ that night for scolding; John got up in the morning lang or day, leaving his tormentor in bed; fell asleep upon his loom with his candle in his hand, and so set the web, heddles, reed, and treadle cords in a fire, by chance his old Viper looked out of the bed, or the whole house had been gone; up she got, and with her cries alarm’d the neighbourhood who came to her relief, but poor John underwent a dreadful swabing for this.
XI. After the former hurry and beating being over, his work being stopt, he went to bed and sleept a’ that day, and following night, on the next day having nothing to do; she sent him in search of a hen’s-nest, who had taken some by-place to lay her eggs in, so as poor John was in an auld kill searching a’ about the walls, the kill-ribs brake, and down he goes with a vengeance into the logie cutted and bruised himself in a terrible manner, up he could not win, but had to creep out at the logie below, scarcely able to get hame, his face and nose a’ running o’ blood, in this condition she pitied and lamented for him very much, tied his sores and laid him in bed, then sat down very kindly, saying, My dear and my lamb, do ye think there is ony o’ your banes broken, and what part o’ you is sairest? And what will I get to do you good? O! said he Girzy I’m a brizel’d atween the feet; Are ye indeed quoth she, then I wish ye had broken your neck, that I might a gotten anither, useless ae way, and useless mae ways, a po’ my word, ye’s no be here, gang whar ye like.
XII. Now, as poor John was turn’d 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 thro’ 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 kend 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 fashous fouks; owns he has but an empty scull, but his wicked wife wants wit to pour judgment into it, never tells him o’ danger till it come upon him, for his mother said, he was a bidable bairn, if ony body had been to learn him wit.
Finis.
THE ANCIENT AND MODERN HISTORY OF BUCK-HAVEN.
[This is one of the most valuable folk-lore chap-books ever issued from the press. Its richness in this respect has attracted the attention of Professor Stephens of Copenhagen, who gave some quotations from it in the second volume of The Folk-Lore Record. The edition used here is from the library of Alexander Macdonald, Esq., and bears the following on the title-page:—‘The Ancient and Modern History of Buck-haven in Fife-shire. Wherein is contained, The Antiquities of their old Dress. The Bucky-boat, with a flag of a green tree; with their dancing, Willy and his trusty rapper. Their Burgess Ticket, with a view of their new College: the noted sayings and exploits of Wise Willy in the Brae, Witty Eppie the ale-wife, and Lingle-tail’d Nancy. By Merry Andrew at Tamtallon. Glasgow, Printed by J. and M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1806.’ It is a 24 pp. 12mo, and is illustrated by several rough woodcuts which had apparently done service in other chap-books. The editor has carefully collated it with the following editions:—One, undated, by Morren, Cowgate, Edinburgh; another, also without date, by Morren, but a different issue from the other, there being a change in the illustrations; one published in 1817 by R. Hutchison & Co., 10 Saltmarket, Glasgow; and an abridged one by M. Randall, Stirling (without date), with this short title—‘The Exploits of Wise Willie, and Witty Eppie the Ale-Wife of Buchaven.’ The three editions last mentioned, were courteously sent to the editor, all the way from Copenhagen, by Professor Stephens. There is also a modern Glasgow edition, greatly abridged, the text, as issued by Randall, having evidently been used by its publishers.]
THE HISTORY OF BUCK-HAVEN.
Amongst several ancient records, this Bucky is not mentioned; there was a set called Buccaniers, who were pirates, that is to say sea-robbers, and after a strict search for that set of sea-robbers, they dispersed; what of them escaped justice in the southern climate, are said to have sheltered at or near Berwick upon Tweed. After a smart battle, among themselves, they divided, and ’tis said, the party who gained this Bucky-battle, fearing the English law to take place, set northward and took up their residence at this Buck-haven, so called not only from the great quantity of Buckies that are found in and about that place, but on account of the battle they had with their neighbours at Berwick when they divided, which was then called bucking one another, but is now named boxing or fighting. Another party of these Buckers settled in another town northward of Banff, called Bucky, near the river Spey, which is a large sea-town, but among all the sea-towns in Scotland, the fishers still retain a language, quite different from the people in the country, and they almost all shift the letter H, and use O, instead thereof which no country-people do in Scotland, but themselves.[171] There is a corruption of speech, in every county over all Britain, and likewise they use different tones and pronouncing words from others, even some in the South of Scotland, can hardly be understood by those in the North, though both pretend to speak English, and have a liberal part of education: but since learning is now so easy to be obtained, ignorance and corruption of speech are greatly decreased.[172]
In the county of Fife, on the sea-coast, there stands a little town, inhabited by few but fishers, called Bucky-harbour, because of the sea buckies and shells to be found so plenty on the rocks, in and about that place; there is little mention made of this town by historians, to know its original extraction and antiquities, but in their own burges-ticket, which was part of it perfect truths, but more of it by way of lampoon; this ticket was dated the two and thirty day of the month of Julius Cæsar, their coat of arms was two hands gripping each other over a Scate’s rumple, their oath was, “I wish the de’il may tak me an I binna an honest man to you, an ye binna de like to me.” An article of good neighbourhood they had, whoever was first up in a good morning, was to raise all the rest to go to sea, but if a bad morning, they piss and lie down again till break of day then raise Wise Willy, who could judge of the weather by the blowing of the wind.
Their freedoms were to take all sorts of fish contained in their tickets, viz., lobsters, partans, podles, spout-fish, sea-cats, sea-dogs, flukes, pikes, dike-padocks, and p— fish.
Among these people were said to be one Tom and his two sons, who were fishers on the coast of Norway, and in a violent storm were blown over, and got ashore at Bucky-harbour, where they settled, and the whole of his children were called Thomsons,[173] this is a historical saying, handed down from one generation to another. So in course of time they grew up and multiplied, that they soon became a little town by themselves; few of any other name dwelt among them, and were all called the Thomsons; they kept but little communication with the country people, for a farmer in those days thought his daughter cast awa, if she married one of the fishers of Bucky-harbour,[174] and Witty Eppie the ale-wife, wad a sworn be-go laddie, I wad rather see my boat and a’ my three sons dadet against the Bass or I saw ony ane o’ them married on a muck-a-byre’s daughter, a wheen useless taupies, that can do naething but rive at a tow-rock, and cut corn; they can neither bait a hook nor red a line, hook sandles nor gather periwinkles.
Now Wise Willy and Witty Eppie the ale-wife lived there, about an hundred years ago. Eppie’s chamber was their college and court-house, where they decided their controversies, and explained their wonders, for the house was wide like a little kirk, had four windows and a gavel-door, the wives got leave to flyte their fill, but fighting was forbidden, (as Eppie said, up hands was fair play) their fines, were a’ in pints o’ ale, and Eppie sold it at a plack the pint; they had neither minister nor magistrate, nor yet a burly-bailie to brag them wi’ his tolbooth; my Lord was their landlord,[175] Wise Willy and Witty Eppie the ale-wife were the rulers of the town.
Now Eppie had a daughter, call’d Lingle-tail’d Nancy, because of her feckless growth, her waist was like a twitter, had nae curpen for a creel, being Embruch bred, and brought up wi’ her Lowdin aunty, was learned to read and sew, make corse-claiths and callico-mutches,[176] there wasna scholar in the town but hersel, she read the Bible and the book of Kirk-sangs which was newly come in fashion, Willy and Eppie tell’d ay what it meant, and said a’ the letters in it, was litted by my Lord, for they saw him hae a feather that he dipped in black water, and made crooked scores just like the same, and then he spoke to it o’er again, and it tell’d him what to say.
It happened on a day, that two of their wives found a horse-shoe near the town, brought it hame, and sent for Wise Willy to see what it was. Willy comes and looks at it, Indeed co’ Willy, its a thing and holes in’t. Then said they, he would get a name til’t, aha, co’ Willy, but whair did ye find it? aneath my Lords ain house, Willy. Adeed, said Willy, its the auld moon, I ken by the holes in’t for nailing it to the lift; but I wonder it she fell in Fife, for the last time I saw her she was hinging on her back aboon Embruch, a hech co’ Willy we’ll hae her set up on the highest house in the town, and we’ll hae moon-light o’ our ain a’ the days o’ the year. The whole town ran to see the moon; hout tout, cried Witty Eppie, ye’re a’ fools together, it is but ane o’ the things it my Lord’s mare wears upo’ her lufe.[177]
At another time, one of the wives found a hare with its legs broken, lying among her kail in the yard; she, not knowing what it was, called out her neighbours to see it, some said it was a gentleman’s cat, or my lady’s lap-dog, or a sheep’s young kitlen, because it had saft horns; Na, na, cry’d Wise Willy, its ane o’ the maukens, that gentlemen’s dogs worrie. What will you do wi’t? haith co’ Maggy, I’ll singe the woo’ afi’t, and mak fish and sauce o’t to my Tammy’s parrich: No, no, said Witty Eppie, better gie’t to my Lord, and he’d stap an iron stick thro’ the guts o’t, and gar’t rin round afore the fire till it be roasted; Na, na, said Wise Willy, we’ll no do that indeed, for my Lord wad mak us a’ dogs, an gar us rin thro’ the kintry seeking maukins till him.
It happened on a dark winter morning, that two of the wives were going to Dysart to sell their fish, and near the road-side there happened to be a tinker’s ass tedder’d, and the poor ass seeing the wives coming with their creels, thought it was the tinkers coming to flit or remove him, fell a crying, the two wives threw their fish away, and ran home like mad persons, crying, they had seen the de’il, aye the very horned de’il, an that he had spoken to them, and cried after them, but they did not ken what he said, for it was worse words than a Highlandman’s. The whole town was in an uproar, some would go with picks and spades and hag him a’ in pieces, others wad gang and catch him in a strong net, and then they could either hang or drown him. Na, na, co’ Wise Willy, we manna cast out wi’ him at the first, as he’s gotten the twa burden o’ fish, he’ll ables gang his wa’ and no fash nae mair, he is o’er souple to be catch’d in a net, a’ your pith ’ill neither hang him nor drown him, an’ the kintry he comes frae is a’ het coals, he’ll never burn, we’ll go to him in a civil manner, and see what he wants: get out Eppie the ale-wife, and lingle-tail’d Nancy, with the Bible and the Saum-book:[178] so aff they came in a croud, either to kill the de’il or catch him alive, and as they came near the place, the ass fell a crying, which caused many of them to faint and run back: Na, na, co’ Willy, that’s no the de’ils words ava’, it’s my Lord’s trumpeter touting on his brass whistle, Willy ventured till he saw the ass’s twa lugs, now, cried Willy back to the rest, come forward and hand him fast, I see his twa horns, hech sirs, he has a white beard like an auld beggar man, so they enclosed the poor ass on all sides thinking it was the de’il: but when Wise Willy saw he had nae cloven feet, he cried out, Fearna’ lads, this is no the de’il, it’s some living beast, ’tis neither a cow nor a horse, and what is it then Willy? Indeed co’ Willie, ’tis the father o’ a’ the maukens, I ken by its lugs.
Now some say, this is too satirical a history, but it is according to the knowledge of those times, not to say in any place by another, old wives tell us yet of many such stories, as the devil appearing to their grandfathers and grandmothers, and dead wives coming back again to visit their families, long after their being buried: but this Bucky-haven which was once noted for droll exploits, is now become more knowing, and is a place said to produce the best and hardiest watermen or sailors of any town on the Scots coast, yet many of the old people in it, still retain the old tincture of their old and uncultivated speech, as be-go-laddie, also a fiery nature, if you ask any of the wives where their college stands, they’ll tell you, if your nose were in their arse, your mouth would be at the door of it.
Now, it happened, when Wise Willy turned old he took a great swelling in his wame, and casting up o’ his kail, collops and cauld fish, that nothing staid on his stomach, and a stout stomach had he, for crab-heads, or scate-brose, or fat-brose on a bridal morning; yet it fail’d him; he fell sick, and none could cure him, or tell what ail’d him, till a mountebank stage-doctor came to Kirkcaldy, that could judge by people’s water, the troubles of their person, and Willy hearing of his fame, pissed into a bottle, and sent it away with his daughter; the bottle being uncorked, his daughter spilt it by the way, and to conceal her sloth in so doing, pissed in it herself, and on she goes, till she comes to the stage, and cries, Sir Dochter, Sir Dochter, here is a bottle o’ my father’s wash, he has a sair guts, and never needs to drite ony, he spues a’ he eats, ’tis true I tell you my dow; the doctor looks at it, and says, It is not your father’s, surely it is your mother’s; de’il’s i’ the man, co’ she, divna I ken my father by my mother? Then, said he, he is with child: A de’il’s i’ the man co’ she, for my mother bore a’ de bairns before, dat’s no true sir, a figs ye’re a great liar, home she came, and tell’d Willy her father, that the doctor said he was wi’ bairn. O waes me, co’ Willy, for I hae a muckle wame, and I fear its o’er true, O plague on you Janet, for ye’re the father o’t, and I’m sure to die in the bearing o’t. Witty Eppie was sent for, as she was houdy, and fand a’ Willy’s wame, to be sure about it, indeed co’ Eppie ye’re the first man e’er I saw wi’ bairn before; and how ye’ll bear’t I dinna ken, ye hae a wally wame, weel I wat, but how men bear bairns I never saw them yet, but I would drink sa’t water and drown’t in my guts, for an men get anes the gate o’ bearing weans themsells, they’ll seek nae mae wives: so Willy drank sea-water till his guts was like to rive, and out he goes to ease himself among the kail, and with the terrible hurl of farting, up starts a mauken behind him, thinking she was shot, Willy sees her jumping o’er the dike, thought it was a child brought forth, cries, Come back my dear and be christened, and no rin to the hills and be a Pagan,[179] so Willy grew better every day thereafter, being brought to bed in the kail-yard: but his daughter was brought to bed some months thereafter, which was the cause of the doctor’s mistake.