Hame gaed Jockey to his mither, crying.
Jock. Mither! Mither! I made it out, her mouth is sweeter na milk, my heart plays a whiltie whaltie whan I kiss her.
Mith. Fair fa’ thee my son Johny, thou’s gotten the geat o’t at last, and whan is thou gawn to be married?
Jock. Whan I like mither, but get the masons the morn, to big me my house, for I’ll hae a’ my things in right good order.
Mith. Thou’s want for naething, my bairn, but pusht forward as fast as ye can.
The wooing being o’er and the day being set, Jockey’s mither killed the black boul horn’d yeal Ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule fitted cock, to prevent the ripples, five pecks o’ maut masket in the meikle kirn, a pint o’ trykle to mak it thicker an sweeter an maumier for the mouth; five pints o’ whisky wherein was garlic and spice, for raising o’ the wind, an the clearing o’ their water; the friends and good neighbours went a’ wi’ John to the kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him and was married by the minister; the twa companies joined togither and came hame in a croud, at every change house they chanced to pass by, providence stopt their proceeding, with full stoups, bottles and glasses drinking their healths, wishing them much 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 coupt up him and proved detrimental to the same.
So home they came to the dinner, where his mother presented to them a piping het haggies, made of the creish of the black boul horn’d Ewe, boil’d in the meikle bag, 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 bizin like a working fat, and he playing het fit to the fidler, was suddenly seized with a bocking and rebounding, gave his dinner such a backward ca that he lost a’ but the grit bits scythed through his teeth; his mother cried to spence him, and bed him wi’ the bride, his breeks being fill’d, they washed both his hips, 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 brithal and his burial may baith be on ae day: some cuist water in his face, and jagg’d him wi’ a needle; till he began to rouze himself up, and rap out broken words, mither, mither, whar am I now? Whar are ye my bairn says his mither, ye’re beddet, and I’ll bring the bride to you. Beddet, and is my brithel done ells? Ay, said she, here’s the bride come to ly down wi’ you: na, na, said he, I’ll no ly wi that unco woman indeed, if it binna heeds and thraws, the way that I lay wi’ my mither; O fy dinna affront yoursel. The bride faus a crying. O mither, mither, was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man o’ manners and better mettle, poor thing Meg, thou’s caud thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market, says his mither, a shame fa you and her baith, he’s worthy o’ her tho’ she were better nor what she is, or e’er will be. His friends an her friends being a mixt multitude, some took his part some took her’s, there a battle began 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, trunchers, were flying like bombs and granades.
The crook, bouls and tongs were all employed as weapons of war: till down came the bed with a great mou of peats. So this disturbed the treading.[4]