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.
THE Vth AND LAST PART.
Being an Account of Jockeys Mother’s Death and Burial: With an Elegant Elegy and Epitaph on that occasion—The Baptizing of his two Children, and how he mounted the stool.
As Jockey and his mither came hobbling hame together on the out side of the auld doil’d beast his mither’s black mare; a waefu’ misfortune befel them;—Her hinderlets being wickedly wet, in John Davie’s well that morning, and it being a frosty night, her coats was a’ frozen round about her and the hard harn sark plaid clash between her legs like a wet dish clout, her teeth gaed like a rattle bag till almost haf gate hame, then she was suddenly seiz’d wi’ a rumbling in her muckle bag, what we kintry fouks ca’s a rush i’ the guts; Jockey was fash’d helping her aff and helping her on, foul, fat and dirty was the road, having like half a T——d as ever tadder length.