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.
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.