Part III.
Poor Sawny had a terrible night o’t, wi’ a sair head, and a sick heart, his een stood in his head, his wame caddled like onny mill trows,[41] and a’ his puddings crocket like a wheen paddocks in a pool; his mither rocket and wrang her hands, crying a wae be to the wife that brew’d it! for I hae lost a well foster’d bairn, wi’ their stinking stuff, a meikle deel ding the doup out o’ their ca’dron, my curse come on them and their whisky pots, its burnt him alive, ay, ay, my bairn he’s gone.
But about the break of day, his wind brake like the bursting of a bladder; O happy deliverance! cried Mary his mither, tho’ dirt bodes luck,[42] and foul farts files the blankets, I wish ne’er war be amang us. The next thing that did Sawny good was, three mutchkins o’ milk made in thin brose, and a fine pickle pepper in them, yet he had a soughing in his lugs like a saw-mill, and every thing ran round about wi’ him a’ that day. Yet his mother got him out o’ the bed, on o’ the meikle chair, a pair o’ blankets about his shoulders, a cod at his back, and a hot brick to his soles, to gar him true he was nae well; and there he sat like a lying-in wife, cracking like a Hollander, and ate twa dead herrin and a cufe,[43] telling a’ the outs and ins about his bridal, and whan 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 am the only thing myself, she’s but a member, the men maun ay be foremost, gang what way it will, I’se ay be the uppermost.
Mither. But Sawny man, what way is thou gaun to do? will ye mak a pay penny wedding?[44] or twa three gude neighbours, a peck o’ meal baken, wi’ a cheese, and a barrel o’ ale, will that do?
Sawny. Na, na, mither, I’ll take a cheaper gate nor ony o’ them; I’ll gar haf-a-crown and haf-a-mutchkin or a rake o’ coals do it a’, then a body has nae mair a-do but piss and then go to bed syne.
Mither. Na, na, my man Sawny, I have mony, mony a time, heard thy honest father say, that never a ane wad do well that cap-strided the kirk, or cuckol’d the minister.[45]
Sawny. A tell na me mither, o’ the ministers; they’re ay for their ain hands as well as other fouks, an’ if a poor beggar body had a bit wean to chrisen, the deil a doit they feike him o’t.
Mither. Hute awa man, there’s nae body has weans, but what has siller to pay the chrissening o’ them; or if they be that poor they sude na get nae weans, and they wad na be fash’d syne.
Sawny. Ha, ha, mither the poor foukes like the lice; ay when they meet they marry and maks mae o’ them: And I think the ministers might chrisen their bits a weans for nae thing, the water is no sae scant; they’re well paid for their preaching, they may very well both marry and chrisen a’ the poor foukes into the bargain, by the way of a maggs.[46]
Mither. Ay, ay, my man Sawny, marriage is a sweet thing for young fouke an’ the bed undefil’d.
Sawny. What the vengeance mither, do ye think that a body is to file the bed every night, an’ they do’t ance.
Mither. Na, na, that’s no what I mean, its happiness that fouk has that’s married, besides the wearied lonesome life it I hae, lying tumbling and gaunting in a bed my lane; O sirs! but a man in a bed be a usefu’ body, an’ it were but to claw ane’s back, as for a body’s foreside they can claw it themsel.
Sawny. A’ mither, mither, ye hae fun a string again, I think ye might a wanted a’ your days when ye fasted sae lang; ye hae plenty o’ baith milk and meal, snuff and tobacco, but ye smell at the crack o’ the whip, I kend my mither wad ride yet; for I seen her fit wagging this lang time.
Mither. A dear Sawny man, an thou were ance fairly aff the fodder, I’ll be casten into a hole of a house by mysel, where I’ll just ly and break my heart, and weary mysel to dead, but an I cou’d get a bit honest weaver, a cobler, or some auld taylor by the tail, I wad tickle to him yet, let the country clash as they please about it.
Sawny. A well, a well, then mither, take then your ain flight; there’s nae fool to an auld fool; for the morn I’se be aff or on wi’ the hissy I hae on hand.
So on the morning Sawny got a’ his clase clean, his hair cam’d and greas’d wi’ butter, and his face as clean as the cat had licket it; and away he goes singing.
I will buy a pound of woo’,
I will wash’d and make a plaidy:
I’m gaun o’er the moor till woo,
Carline, is your daughter ready?[47]
Now poor Sawny altho’ he sang, was as pale as a ghost from the grave, his face was whitly white, like a well bleatch’d dish-clout, he looked just as he had been eaten and spued again; but at length he came to the bride’s door, and in he goes wi’ a brattle, crying how is a’ here the day? an’ what’s com’d o’ thy mither lassie? O Saunders said the bride she’s awa’ to the town, what came o’ you yesterday, she waited on you the whole day; ye gart her lose a day’s trade lad, and she is away this morning cursing like a heathen, an’ swearing be-go that ye hae geen her a begunk.
Sawny. A dole woman, I took a sudden blast o’ the hame gawn, an’ was never so near dead in my life.
An’ wha think you was in company wi’ Kate the bride, but the wee button of a taylor, who sat and sewed on a table, cocking like a t—d on a trencher, but when he kend wha was com’d he leaped down on the floor, custe a dash o’ pride like a little bit prince, he bobet about, and so out he goes with the tear in his eye, and his tail between his feet like a haff worried colly-dog.
Sawny. Now Katty do ye ken what I’m com’d about?
Kate. O yes my mither tell’d me, but I’m no ready yet, I have twa gowns to spin, and things to mak.[48]
Sawny. Hute, things to mak, ye have as mony things as ye’ll need woman, canna ye spin gowns in your ain house wi’ me, as right as here wi’ an auld girning mither?
Kate. But dear Saunders, ye must give a body time to think on’t, ’twad be ill far’d to rush together just at the first.
Sawny. And do ye think I have naething a-do, but come here every other day hoiting after you? it’ll no do, I maun be either aff wi’ you or on wi’ you, either tell me or tak me, for I ken of other twa, and some o’ you I will hae, for as I’m a sinner my mither is gawn to be married too, an’ she can get a bit man of ony shape or trade.
Kate. Indeed then Saunders, since you’re in such a haste, you must e’en tak them that’s readiest, for am no ready yet.
Sawny. Dear woman whan your mither an’ my mither’s pleas’d, am willing to venture on ye, what a sorrow ails you?
Kate. Na, na I’ll think on’t twa or three days; it’s o’er lang a term to see without a thought.
Sawny. Wode I think ye’re a cumstrarie piece o’ stuff, it’s true enough your mither said o’ ye, that ye’re no for a poor man.
Kate. And what mair said she o’ me?
Sawny. Wode she said you could do naething but scure wash mugs, an’ gentlemen’s bonny things, but hissies it is bred amang gentle houses, minds me o’ my mither’s cat, but ye’r far costlier to keep, for the cat wastes neither saep nor water, but spits in her lufe and washes ay at her face, and whins o’ you can do nae ither thing, and up he gets.
Kate. O Saunders but ye be short, will ye no stay till my mither come hame?
Sawny. I stay’d long enough for any thing I’ll be the better; and am no sae short as your totum of a taylor it I cou’d stap it my shoe, sae cou’d I e’en.
Hame he goes in a passion, and to his bed he ran crying, O death, death! I thought the jade wad jumpet at me; no comfort nor happiness mair for poor me. O mither gar make my burial bread, for I’ll die this night or soon the morn.[49] But early next morning in comes auld Be-go his good mither, who had left her daughter in tears for the slighting o’ Sawny; and haules him and his mither away to get a dinner of dead fish, where a’ was agreed upon, 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,[50] who gave them twa three words, and twa three lines, took their penny and a good drink, wish’d them joy and gaed 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 that penny for deil haet, ye might cracket lufes on’t[51] and been as well, if no better; I have seen some honest men say mair o’er their brose[52] nor what he said a’ the gither, but an ye be pleas’d am pleas’d, a bout in the bed ends a’, and makes firm wark: so here’s to you, and joy to the bargain, its ended now well I wat.
COMICAL TRANSACTIONS OF LOTHIAN TOM.
[This is another unique specimen of the early chap-book from the library of George Gray, Esq. The original is in three numbers of eight pages each, breaks being made in the narrative without respect to any thing but the filling of requisite space. The first number bears the title:—‘The History and Comical Transactions of Lothian Tom. In Six Parts. Wherein is contained a Collection of Roguish Exploits done by him, both in Scotland and England,’ while the other two are but modifications of it. There is this addition on the third number:—‘Which contains a dialogue betwixt Tom and Pady about their questions, and Tom’s song.’ They were all printed in Niddery’s Wynd, Edinburgh: the first in 1775, the second in 1777; while the third is without date. Since the Introduction to these volumes was written we have seen an edition of this chap-book published by Morren, Cowgate, Edinburgh, without date. It is a 24 pp. 12mo., and contains all the material to be found in the edition from which the following pages are printed, including Tom’s Song. In this edition, however, ‘Pady’s New Catechism’ is made part VI., while part II. as in the 1775 edition, with additions and alterations, is incorporated into part I. The ‘Catechism,’ as already explained, does not seem to belong to this chap-book, but to ‘Pady from Cork.’]
THE LIFE AND COMICAL TRANSACTIONS OF LOTHIAN TOM.
This Thomas Black, vulgary called Lothian Tom, because of that country, was born four miles from Edinburgh, his Father being a very wealthy farmer, who gave him good education, which he was very awkward in receiving, being a very wild cross mischievous boy.
When he was about 10 years of age, he was almost killed by the stroke of a horse’s foot, which his father had; who had a trick of kicking at every person that came in behind him. But when Tom was got heal of the dreadful wound, whereof many thought he would have died. To be even with the horse, he gets a clog, or piece of tree which was full of wooden pins; a thing which the shoe makers used to tann their leather upon; and with a rope he tied it to the cupple balk in the stable, directly opposite to the horse’s tail, gets up on the balk and gives it a swing back so that the pikes in the end of it, came with a full drive against the horse’s arse; which made him to fling and the more he flung and struck at it, it rebounded back again and struck him; the battle lasted with great fury for a long time, which was good diversion for Tom, until his father hearing some disturbance in the stable, came in to know the matter, and was surprized when he saw the poor horse tanning his own hide, with his legs all cut and bloody, with kicking against the pikes of the tanners stool; so he cut the rope and the battle was ended, but the poor horse would never kick at any thing that came behind him afterwards, but always run from it.
It happened one day that Tom went a fishing and brought home a few small fish, which his grandmother’s cat snapt up in the dark; so Tom to have justice of the cat for so doing catches her, and puts her into a little tub cogbome,[53] then sets her a drift into a mill-dam, ordering her to go a fishing for herself; then sets two or three dogs upon her, where a most terriable seafight ensued as ever was seen in fresh watter: for if any of the dogs assayed to board her, by setting in over their nose, badrons came flying to that quarter, to repulse him with her claws; then her vessel was like to overset by the weight of herself, so she had to flee to the other, and finding the same there, from thence to the middle, where she sat mawing, always turning herself about, coming her nose with her foot. The old woman being informed of the dangerous situation of her dearly beloved cat, came running with a long pole to beat off the dogs and haul her ashore: What now, says Tom, if you be going to take part with my enemies, you shall have part of their reward: then gives the old woman such a push that she tumbled into the dam over head and ears, beside her beloved cat, and would undoubtedly perished in the water, had not one of the people who were there looking at the diversion, com’d to her relief.
After this Tom was sent to the school to keep his hands out of an ill turn; and having an old canker’d crab witted fellow for his dominie, they were always at variance, for if Tom had got his whips, which he often deserved, he was sure to be revenged upon his master again for it. So Tom perceiving his master had a close-stool in a little closet within the school, where he went and eased himself when need was: Tom gets a penny-worth of gun powdar, and strinkled it on the ground directly before the seat, and lays a little of it along in a train to the fire side, then perceiving when his master went into it, and as he was loosing down his breeches, sets fire to the train which blew it all up about his master’s bare hips, which scorched him most terriably, besides the fright; for which Tom was severely whipt; yet in a little after he began to study revenge on his master.
So it happened one day as Tom went into the master’s house, the wife was stooping into a big meal barrel[54] to bring out some meal; there he takes her by the feet and cowps her up into the barrel with her head down, and her bare backside upper-most; then runs into the school, crying, “O! master, master! the deel’s looking out of your meal stand wi’ a fat face, and a black ill far’d mouth: yon’s just auld nick and he be living.” At this the master run with all speed he could to see what it was, and found it to be his own wife speechless and almost smothered to death; but as she could not tell who did it, Tom got clear off; yet he was not satisfied without some more vengeance on the old fellow; and knowing his master had a fashion when he was going to whip the boys, if they would not loose their breeches willingly, he drew his knife and cut them thro’ the waistband behind: so Tom goes to a butcher and gets a raw pudding, and fills it with blood and watter and puts it in within the waistband of his breeches: then goes to school next day, and as the master was sitting with his back towards the fire, Tom lights a piece of paper and sets his wig in a low, which burnt for some time unperceived, until the flames came fizing about his ears: he first put out the wig by trampling it upon the ground with his feet, and being informed that Tom did it, flies to him in a rage, ordering him to loose his breeches, but Tom told him he was never so mad: then he drew his knife and whips poor Tom over his knee, and with great kicking and struggling cuts the waistband of his breeches through pudding and all, so that the blood gushed out; and Tom cried murder, murder, and down he fell. The poor dominie went out of the door crying and wringing his hands. Word flew about that Tom was sticket by the dominie, which made the people come running from several parts of the country round about to see how it was; but searching him for the wound, found none but the empty pudding, which discovered the fraud.[55] Then two men had to get horses and ride after the poor dominie, who had by this time got two or three miles away; and when he saw them coming after him, crying to stand, and come back again, he ran the faster, untill he could run no more, but fell over on the road, praying him to let him go, for if he was taken back he was sure of being hanged: and would not be persuaded that Tom was alive, until they forced him back and he saw him: but he would be Tom’s teacher no longer; so Tom’s father had to seek another master for him.