Part IV.
Now Jockey and his mither came hame together, cheek for chow cracking like twa hand guns.
Moth. I trow I have fought a battle this day, and win the field condingly, whan I hae conquer’d a’ the canker’d carles about the kirk.
Jock. Indeed mither I think ye are a better man nor the minister, and gin ye had Arithmattock and Latin, to ken the kittle figures you may preach as well as he.
Moth. I true Jock lad their black stool o’ sham repentance ne’er got sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.
Jock. Na, na, mither, a’ the whoremongers that ever set a hip on’t kens na sae muckle about the auld foundation o’t as ye do.
Moth. But Johny man, an’ thou wad start in the morning, the first o’ the daft days,[17] and that’s on Munday, ye an’ I wad go and see the daft jade, Jenny the mither o’t.
Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but wi maun giet something an’ it were an auld servet, or an auld sark to keep the hips o’t warm, young weans is ay wet about the a—se ye ken.
Moth. A well then Johny, I’se cry to thee whan the hens begin to keckle, and that’s about the break o’ day, an’ wees be ready to tak the road again Torryburn day light, whan weel ken a turd by a stane.
Up gets auld Maggy, Jocks mither in the morning, puts on the kettle, and maks her Yool sowens, the meikle pot hung on the fire a’ night wi’ the cheek of an auld cows head, skims aff the fat an’ mak’s a great cog o’ brose, then pours on a chappen o’ clean creish like oil, which made a brave sappy breakfast for Jockey and his mither, and Maggy got the cog to scart.
The brose being done and a’ thing ready, he halters the black mare, lays on the sunks and a covering, fine furniture for a country wife.[18]
Jockey mounts, and his mother behind him, trots awa, till coming down the brae abune John Davie’s well; the auld beast being unfiery o’ the feet, she fundred before, the girth and curple brake, Jockey tumbled o’er her lugs, and his mother out o’er him in the well wi’ a slung.
Jock. Ay, ay, mither, tho’ I fell ye needna faun abune me, an’ gin ye had lyne whar ye lighted first, ye wadna tumbl’d into the well; its an unco thing that a body canna get a fa’ but ye maun fa’ abune them: auld ruddoch it thou is, thou might a hauden better by the rumple, an’ ye wadna a bruised a my back wi’ your auld hard banes, nor a wat a’ yoursel say, and see how ye hae drummel’d a John Davie’s well.
Moth. Hech quo she, I wonder gin I be kill’d, thou always was wont to get the word of a good rider, baith upon hussies and horses, an’ this be thy management thou’s little worth; fel’d the auld beans it bore thee! sic a bath as I hae gotten to my Yool, thou coudna gien me a war bed nor a water hole in a cauld frosty morning: wae be to thee an’ that ill gotten gett o’ thine, O! let never better bounty be gotten wi’ bystarts getting, an’ this is so much for the fruits o’ fornication, a war stance nor the black-stool yet.
Jock. Let’s a be now wi’ your auld taunts about bystarts getting, or I’se gie you the wind o’ the mare’s tail, an’ gar you wammel hame an’ a’ your wate coats about you.
Moth. Na, na, my man Johny, haud the auld jade till I loup on, we came together, and wi’s gang together, wi sall see thy bystart and its mither or wi gae hame.
Jock. Wi’ a’ my heart mither, but yonder the house an’ the hens on’t, the lums reeking rairly, but little ken they wha’s coming.
At length they came to Jenny’s mother’s door.
In goes his mother and in goes his mare,
Himself follows after, cries how’s a’ here?
Moth. Hech, is that poor body in her bed yet?
Her mother answers,
Well a wat she’s in her bed, an’ cauld cauld, and comfourtless is her lying; bystarts getting is just like lent gear, seldom or ever weel paid back again; but my poor lassie coudna done war nor she’s done, O! gin she had yielded her body to some bit herd laddie, he wad a seen her lang or now.
Moth. A dear Marrion what wad ye be at? Do ye think that our John wha has a wife o’ his ain, cou’d come an’ wait on her as she were a dame o’ honour, or yet an honest man’s wife, poor silly lown it she is, an’ he had thought on what he was com’d o’ he wad ne’er a offer’d benevolence to the like o’ her.
Mar. An’ ye had been as great an instrogater against his making her double ribbet, as ye’re now against doing her justice, for the filthy jimcrack he’s gien her, ye wadna need to ca’ her silly lown the day, an him an honest man; but the ne’er an honest man wad a hoddl’d sae lang on a ae poor hussie an’ then gane awa an a married anither for love of a pickle auld clouts, and twa three pock-fou’s o’ tow: an she is but a silly lown indeed that lute him or ony rattle-scul else, shake their tail so lang upon her, without his faith, an’ his troth, an’ his fist before the minister.
Moth. A cauld be your cast kimmer, do ye think it your dadeling daughter’s a match fit for my son John; I think less may sair, her father was but a poor cotter carle, an’ our John’s father was a farmer, an’ its but a trick o’ youth, an’ the course of youdeth maun be out; but she may thank good fortune an’ tell her friends ay, an’ count it a credit that ever she bore a bystart to the like o’ him; a good fu fat farmer’s son, but ae laigher nor a laird.
Mar. A wae be to sic a credit it’s no worth the cracking o’, an’ whar was a’ his noble equals whan he bute to lay a leg on a my poor lassie, poor clarty clukny it thou is? an’ if they warna baith ae man’s mak I wad think naething o’t; for they warna a needle o’ differ between their dadies an’ what war they baith but twa sticket taylors at the best? ye had as good a gane hame an’ a counted bow-kail stocks, as to come here to count kindred wi’ me.
Jock. Hout awa daft witless wives, I kenna what you’re flyting about, I wad rather see the wean gin it be ony thing wally and like the warld.
Mar. Indeed sall ye John, you’ll see your ain picture for little siller, a muckle mouth’t haverel it is just like yoursel.
The child is presented.
Jock. Mither, mither, it has a muckle mouth just like mine, an’ sees wi’ baith ot’s een, an bit five days auld yet.
Moth. Dear Johny thou’s no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be blin, the poor thing saw whan it was new born.
Jock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skill’d as the howdies, an’ them that’s ay hobbling weans: but I thought they had a been like the wee bit’s a whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.
Moth. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu’, comparing a beast till a woman’s ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, an’ a wean is a chrisen’d creature.
Jock. Na mither, its no a chrisen’d creature yet, for hit has neither gotten the words nor the water, nor as little do I ken how to ca’t yet.
Mar. I wat well it’s a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or yet t’ meet in a morning, a body wanting a name.[19]
Moth. Hout tout ay, ye it’s auld wives is ay fu o’ frits an’ religious fashions, them that looks to frits, frits follows them, but it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an’ I never kend a sabbath day by a nither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.
Mar. Dear guidwife what needs ye speak so loud? ye fright the wean wi’ crying sae, see as it starts.
Moth. Ay, ay, the bystarts is a’ that way, but ken ye the reason o’ that?
Mar. Ye that kens the reason of everything may soon find out that too.
Moth. A deed than woman I’ll tell you, the merry begotten weans, its bystarts I mean, is red wood, half wittet hillocket sort o’ creatures: for an it be nae ane among twenty o’ them, they’re a’ scar’d o’ the getting, for there’s few o’ them gotten in beds like honest fouk’s bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o’ dikes, and kil-loggies; whar there’s ay somebody wandering to scar poor needfu’ persons, at their job of journay-wark: for weel ken I the gaits o’t, experience gars me speak.
Jock. A deed mither that’s very true, for whan I was getting that wean at the black hole o’ the peat stack, John Gammel’s muckle Colly came in behind us wi’ a bow wow, of a great goul just abune my buttocks; an’ as I’m a sinner, he gart me loup laveruck height, an’ yet wi got a wean for a’ that.
Moth. A weel than Johnny that mak’s my words good yet.
Jenny answers out o’ the bed. A shame fa your fashions ye hae nae muckle to keep whan ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the getting o’t.
Jock. A shame fa yoursel Jenny, for I hae gotten my part o’ the shame else, an’ gin ye hadna tell’d first there wad nane kend, for nae body saw us but John Gammel’s auld colly an’ he’s no a sufficient witness.
Mar. Now guidwife amang a’ your tales ye hae tell’d me, how is this wean to be maintain’d?
Moth. Ill chance on your auld black mouth Marrion, did I not send you my guid sprittled hen, a pund of butter and a sixpence, forby a libby o’ groats an’ a furlat o’ meal; mak her a guid cogfu’ o’ brose, an’ put a knoist o’ butter in them, to fill up the hole whar the lown came out, an’ I’ll send mair or that be done.
Mar. An it be na better nor the last ye may een keep it to your sell; your groat meal, and gray meal, sand dust and seeds, course enough to feed cocks an’ hens, besides a woman in her condition.
Moth. A foul be your gabs, ye’re a sae gash o’ your gabbies; a whine fools that stives up your gutses wi’ guid meat, to gar the worms turn wanton and wallop in your wames; feed yourselves as I do, wi’ hacket kail brose, made o’ groat meal, an’ gray meal, sand, seeds, dust an’ weak shilling, ony thing is good enough to fill the guts an’ make a t—d of.
Jock. Na, na, mither an’ the wean wad suck our Maggy, I sud take it hame in my oxter.
Moth. O ye fool, Maggy’s milk is a mould salt and sapless lang syne; but I trow she wad keb at it, as the black ew did at the white ews lamb the last year, sae speak nae mair o’ Maggy’s milk, no to compare a cat to a creature, the yeal cats is never kind to kitlens, an’ the maiden’s bairns is a’ unco weel bred.
Jock. Na, na, ye’re a’ mistane mither, Maggy has milk yet for every pap she has is like a burn pig, I’se warrand ye they’ll haud pints the piece.
Moth. My man Johny let them keep the wean, that has the wean, we’ll never miss a pockfu’ of meal now and tan, I wadna hae my bed pisht and blankets rotten for a bow o’ the best o’t.
Jock. O mither! I canna lea’t I like it say weel it has twa bonny glancing een, just like mine in a keeking glass, I wonner how I was able to get the like o’t, indeed mither I think mare o’ it, nor I do o’ my gray horse, Maggy an’ the four ky.
Moth. My man Johnny ye’re at nae strait about bairns getting, nane needs to gang to London to learn that auld trade; I ken very weel when ane gets warklums right to their hand, nature will teach them how to fa’ to.
Jock. Now fare ye weel Janet, that wean is weel worth the warkmanship, I’ll warrand ye weel a wat ist.
Jenny. Guidnight wi’ you John, but O man thou’s broken my fortune, I’ll never get mair o’ a man nor I hae gotten, an’ dear, dear, hae I suffer’d for what I hae done, an’ if thou had a bestowed thyself on a me, ye see what a bonny bairn time we had a hane.
Moth. Thou says it thou’s suffer’d sadly for what thou’s done, but though they wad take the hide o’er thy een holes it wadna tak the inclination out o’ thee; for thou’ll do’t again, but it’s no wi my bairn I’se warrand thee, an’ now Johnny come awa hame to thy hauf marrow an’ use thy freedom as formerly, thou’ll hae weans thick and three fauld; I’se make thee a decoction of cock stanes, lamb stanes, an’ chicken broe, will gar thee cock thy tail like a mevies an’ canter like a Galloway toop.