PART V.

There was an old rich blind woman, who lived hard by, that had a

young girl, her only daughter, who fell deep in love with Tom,

and he fell as deep in love with the money, but not with the

maid. The old woman gave Tom many presents, and mounted him like

a gentleman; but he used every method to put off the marriage,

pretended he still wanted something, which the old woman gave the

money to purchase for him, until he had got about thirty pounds of

her money and then she would delay the marriage no longer. Tom then

took the old woman and girl aside, and made the following apology:

Madam, said he, I am very willing to wed with my dear Polly, for

she appears as an angel in my eyes, but I am sorry, very sorry to

acquaint you, that I am not a fit match for her. What, child, says

the old woman, there is not a fitter match in the whole world for

my Polly, I did not think your country could afford such a clever

youth as what I hear of you to be, you shall neither want gold nor

silver, nor a good horse to ride upon, and when I die, you shall

have my all.

O but, says Tom; Madam, that’s not the thing, the stop is this:

When I was in Scotland, I got a stroke from a horse’s foot, on the

bottom of the belly, which has quite disabled me below, that I

cannot perform a husband’s duty in bed. Then the old woman clapt

her hands and fell a crying, O! if it had been any impediment but

that, but that, but that wofu’ that! which gold and silver cannot

purchase, and yet the poorest people that is common beggars have

plenty of it.

The old wife and her daughter sat crying and wringing their hands,

and Tom stood and wept lest he should get no more money, O, said

Polly, mother, I’ll wed him nevertheless, I love him so dearly! No

you foolish girl, said her mother, would you marry a man and die a

maid? You don’t know the end of your creation; it is the enjoyment

of a man in bed that makes women to marry, which is a pleasure like

Paradise, and if you wed this man you will live and die, and never

feel it. Hoo, Hoo, says Tom, if I had got money I needed not been

this way till now. Money you fool, said the old woman, there’s

not such a thing to be got for money in all England. Ay, says Tom

there’s a doctor in Newcastle, will make me as able as any other

man for ten guineas. Ten guineas, said she, I’ll give him fifty

guineas if he will. But here is twelve and go to him directly, and

see what he can do, and then come again and wed my child or she and

I will both die for thy sake. Tom having now got twelve guineas

more of their money, got all things ready, and early next morning

set out for Newcastle, but instead of going there he came to old

Scotland, and left Polly and her mother to think upon him. In about

two weeks thereafter, when he was not like to return, nor so much

as any word from him, the old woman and Polly got a horse, and came

to Newcastle in search of him, went thro’ all the doctors’ shops,

asking if there came a young man there, about two weeks ago, with a

broken ---- to mend? Some laughed at her, other’s were like to kick

her out of doors, so they had to return without getting any further

intelligence of him.

Now after Tom’s return to Scotland, he got a wife, and took a

little farm near Dalkeith, and became a very douse man, for many

years, following his old business the couping horses and cows, and

feeding veals for the slaughter, and the like. He went one day

to a fair and bought a fine cow from an old woman; but Tom judged

from the lowness of the price, that the cow had certainly some very

great faults. Tom gives the wife the other hearty bicker of ale,

then says he, gudewife the money is yours and the cow is mine, you

maun tell me ony wee faults it has. Indeed, says the goodwife, she

has na faut but ane, and if she wanted it, I wad never a parted wi’

her. And what’s that gudewife, said he. Indeed said she, the filthy

daft beast sucks ay hersel’. But says Tom if that be all, I’ll soon

cure her of that. O! can you do’t, said she, if I had kent what wad

don’t I wadna sold her. A-well, says Tom, I’ll tell you what to do,

tak’ the price I gave you just now, and tie it hard and fast in

your napkin, and give it to me, through beneath the cow’s wame, and

I’ll give you the napkin again o’er the cow’s back, and I’ll lay

my life for it, that she’ll never suck hersel’ in my aught. I wat

well said she I’se do that, an’ there should be witchcraft in’t.

So Tom got it thro’ below the cow’s wame, he takes out his money,

and gave the wife her napkin over the cow’s back, as he promised,

saying, Now, wife, you have your cow and I my money, and she will

never suck herself in my aught, as I told you. O dole! dole! cried

the wife, is that your cure? you’ve cheated me, you’ve cheated me.

Tom being very scarce of money one time when he had his rent

to pay, and tho’ he was well acquainted with the butchers in

Edinburgh, and tried several of them, yet none of them would lend

him as much, he was known to be such a noted sharper. So Tom

contrived a clever trick, to give them all the bite in general,

who thus refused him; in he comes next day, (for they had all

heard of the fine calf he was feeding,) and tells one of the

butcher’s who dealt with him that he was going to sell the calf

he had at home. Well said the butcher, and what will you have for

it? Just thirty-five shillings, says Tom. No, says the butcher,

but by what I hear of it I’ll give you thirty. Na, says Tom you

must remember, that it is not the price of it, but you may give

me twenty shillings just now and send out your lad to-morrow, and

we’ll perhaps agree about it. Thus Tom went through ten of them in

one day, and got twenty shillings from each of them, and kept his

speech against the law, for whatever they offered him for his calf

he told them to remember, that was not to be the price of it, but

give me twenty shillings just now and send out your lad to-morrow

and perhaps we will agree, was all that passed. So Tom went home

with his ten pounds and paid his rent. Early next morning the

fleshers came to Tom’s house for the calf, and every one called for

his calf, but Tom had only one to serve them all. Now, says Tom,

whoever will give most, and speediest shall have it, I will put it

to a roup. What, said one of them, my master bought it yesterday.

Then, said Tom, you would be a great fool to buy it to-day, for it

is fashious to lead and heavy to carry.

ANECDOTES.

MARCH OF INTELLECT.

Two country carters, passing the entrance to the Arcade, Argyll

street, Glasgow, observed painted on the wall, “No Dogs to enter

here.” “No Dogs to enter here!” exclaimed one of them, “I’m sure

there’s nae use for that there.” “What way, Jock,” replied the

other. “’Cause dogs canna read signs,” said he. “Ha, ha, Jock,

ye’re may be wrang, I’se warran ye gentle folk’s dogs ’ill ken’t

brawley, for there’s schools, noo, whar they learn the dumb baith

to read an’ speak.”

HOW TO READ A SIGN-BOARD.

A Highland Drover passing through a certain town, noticed a

Sign-board above an entry, with the following inscription:

Green Teas, Raw Sugars, Marmalades, Jellies, Capped Biscuits, and

all sorts of Confectionary Goods, sold down this entry.

read it as follows:--

Green Trees, Raw Sodgers, Mermaids, Jades, Scabbed Bitches, and

all sorts of Confusionary Goods, sold down this entry.

ADDITION.

A farmer’s Son, who had been some time at the university, coming

home to visit his father and mother; and being one night with the

old folks at supper, on a couple of fowls, he told them, that by

the rules of logic and arithmetic, he could prove these two fowls

to be three.--“Well, let us hear,” said the old man; “Why this,”

said the scholar, “is one, and this,” continued he, “is two, two

and one, you know make three.”--“Since ye hae made it out sae

weel,” answered the old man, “your mother shall hae the first fowl,

I’ll hae the second, and the third you may keep to yoursell.”

FINIS.

THE

COMICAL HISTORY

OF THE

KING AND THE COBBLER;

CONTAINING

The Entertaining and Merry Tricks, and Droll

Frolics, played by the Cobbler.--How he got

acquainted with the King, became a great man,

and lived at Court ever after.

[Illustration]

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

THE

COMICAL HISTORY

OF THE

KING AND THE COBBLER.

How King Henry VIII, used to visit the watches in the city, and

how he became acquainted with a merry jovial Cobbler.

It was the custom of King Henry the Eight, to walk late in the

night into the city disguised, to observe and take notice how the

constables and watch performed their duty, not only in guarding

the city gates, but also in diligently watching the inner parts of

the city, that so they might, in a great measure, prevent those

disturbances and casualties which too often happen in great and

populous cities in the night; and this he did oftentimes, without

the least discovery who he was, returning home to Whitehall early

in the morning.

Now, on his return home through the Strand, he took notice of

a certain cobbler who was constantly up at work, whistling and

singing every morning. The king was resolved to see him, and be

acquainted with him, in order to which he immediately knocks the

heel of his shoe by hitting it against a stone, and having so done,

he bounced at the cobbler’s stall.

Who’s there? cries the cobbler.

Here’s one, cries the king. With that the cobbler opened the stall

door, and the king asked him if he could put the heel on his shoe.

Yes, that I can, says the cobbler: come in, honest fellow, and sit

thee down by me, and I will do it for thee straight, the cobbler

scraping his awls and old shoes to one side to make room for the

king to sit down.

The king being hardly able to forbear laughing at the kindness of

the cobbler, asked him if there was not a house hard by that sold

a cup of ale, and the people up?

Yes said the cobbler, there is an inn over the way, where I believe

the folks are up, for the carriers go from thence very early in the

morning.

With that the king borrowed an old shoe of the cobbler, and went

over to the inn, desired the cobbler would bring his shoe to

him thither as soon as he had put on the heel again. The cobbler

promised he would; so making what haste he could to put on the

heel, he carries it over to the king, saying, honest blade, here

is thy shoe again, and I warrant thee it will not come off in such

haste again.

Very well, says the king, what must you have for your pains?

A couple of pence, replied the cobbler.

Well, said the king, seeing thou art an honest merry fellow, there

is a tester for thee; come, sit down by me, I will drink a full pot

with thee; come, here’s a good health to the king.

With all my heart, said the cobbler, I’ll pledge thee were it in

water.

So the cobbler sat down by the king and was very merry, and drank

off his liquor very freely; he likewise sung some of his merry

songs and catches, whereat the king laughed heartily, and was very

jocund and pleasant with the cobbler, telling him withal that his

name was Harry Tudor, that he belonged to the court, and that if

he would come and see him there, he would make him very welcome,

because he was a merry companion, and charged him not to forget his

name, and to ask any one for him about the court, and they would

soon bring him to him; for, said the king, I am very well known

there.

Now the cobbler little dreamt that he was the king that spake to

him, much less that the king’s name was Harry Tudor. Therefore,

with a great deal of confidence, he stands up and puts off his hat,

makes two or three scrapes with his foot, and gives the king many

thanks, also telling him that he was one of the most honest fellows

he ever met with in all his life time, and although he never had

been at court, yet he should not be long before he would make a

holyday to come and see him.

Whereupon the king, paying for what they had drunk, would have

taken his leave of the cobbler; but he, not being willing to

part with him, took hold of his hand, and said, by my faith you

must not go, you shall not go, you shall first go and see my

poor habitation, I have there a tub of good brown ale that was

never tapped yet, and you must go and taste it, for you are the

most honest blade I ever met withal, and I love an honest merry

companion with all my heart.

CHAP. II.

How the Cobbler entertained the King in his cellar, and of the

disturbance they had like to have had by his wife Joan.

So the cobbler took the king with him over the way, where he had

his cellar adjoining the stall, which was handsomely and neatly

furnished for a man of his profession. Into the cellar he took the

king; there, said he, sit down, you are welcome; but I must desire

you to speak softly, for fear of waking my wife Joan, who lies hard

by, (shewing the king a close bed made neatly up at one corner of

the cellar, much like a closet,) for if she should wake she will

make our ears ring again.

At which speech of the cobbler’s the king laughed, and told him he

would be mindful and follow his directions.

Whereupon the cobbler kindled up a fire, and fetched out a brown

loaf, from which he cut a lusty toast, which he sat baking at the

fire; then he brought out his Cheshire cheese. Now, says he, there

is as much fellowship in eating as in drinking.

Which made the king admire the honest freedom of the cobbler. So

having eaten a bit the cobbler began. A health to all true hearts

and merry companions; at which the king smiled, saying, friend I’ll

pledge thee.

In this manner they ate and drank together till it was almost break

of day; the cobbler being very free with his liquor, and delighting

the king with several of his old stories, insomuch that he was

highly pleased with the manner of his entertainment; when, on a

sudden, the cobbler’s wife Joan began to awake. I’faith, says the

cobbler, you must begone, my wife Joan begins to grumble, she’ll

awake presently, and I would not for half the shoes in my shop she

should find you here.

Then taking the king by the hand, he led him up the stairs, saying,

farewell honest friend, it shan’t be long before I make a holyday

to come and see thee at court.

Thou shalt be kindly welcome, replied the king.

So they parted the king on his way to Whitehall, and the cobbler to

his cellar, and there putting all things to rights before his wife

Joan got up, he went to work again, whistling and singing as merry

as he used to be, being much satisfied that he happened on so good

and jovial a companion, still pleasing himself in his thoughts how

merry he should be when he came to court.

CHAP. III.

How the Cobbler prepared himself to go to court, and how he was

set out in the best manner by his wife Joan.

Now as soon as the king came home, he sent out orders about the

court, that if any one enquired for him by the name of Harry Tudor,

they should immediately bring him before him, whatever he was,

without any further examination.

The cobbler thought every day a month till he had been at court to

see his new acquaintance, and was troubled how he should get leave

of his wife Joan, for he could not get without her knowledge, by

reason he did resolve to make himself as fine as he could, for his

wife always keeped the keys of his holyday clothes; whereupon one

evening, as they sat at supper finding her in a very good humour,

he began to lay open his mind to her, telling her the whole story

of their acquaintance, repeating it over and over again, that he

was the most honest fellow that ever he met withal. Husband, quoth

she, because you have been so ingenious as to tell me the whole

truth, I will give you leave to make a holyday, for this once you

shall go to court, and I will make you as fine as I can.

So it was agreed that he should go to court the next day; whereupon

Joan rose betime the next morning to brush up her husband’s holyday

clothes, and made him as fine as she could. She washed and ironed

the lace-band, and made his shoes shine that he might see his face

in them; having done this she made her husband rise and pull off

his shirt. Then she washed him with warm water from head to foot,

putting on him a clean shirt; afterwards she dressed him in his

holyday clothes, pinning his laced band in prim.

CHAP. IV.

The Cobbler’s reception at court, with the manner of his

behaviour before the King.

The Cobbler being thus set forth, he strutted through the street

like a crow in a gutter, thinking himself as fine as the best of

them all.

In this manner he came to the court, staring on this body and that

body as he walked up and down, and not knowing how to ask for Harry

Tudor. At last he espied one, as he thought, in the habit of a

servant-man, to whom he made his address, saying,

Dost thou hear, honest fellow, do you know one Harry Tudor who

belongs to the court.

Yes, said the man, follow me, and I will bring you to him.

With that he had him presently up into the guard chamber, telling

one of the yeomen of the guard there was one that enquired for

Harry Tudor.

The yeoman replied; I know him very well, if you please to go along

with me, I’ll bring you to him immediately.

So the cobbler followed the yeoman, admiring very much the

prodigious finery of the rooms which he carried him through. He

thought within himself, that the yeoman was mistaken in the person

whom he inquired for; for, said he, he whom I look for is a plain,

merry, honest fellow, his name is Harry Tudor; we drank two pots

together not long since. I suppose he may belong to some lord or

other about the court.

I tell you, friend, replied the yeoman, I know him very well, do

you but follow me, and I shall bring you to him instantly.

So going forward, he came into the room where the king was

accompanied by several of his nobles, who attended him.

As soon as the yeoman had put up by the arras, he spoke aloud, may

it please your Majesty, here is one that inquires for Harry Tudor.

The cobbler hearing this, thought he had committed no less than

treason: therefore he up with his heels and ran for it: but not

being acquainted with the several turning and rooms through which

he came, he was soon overtaken and brought before the king, whom

the cobbler little thought to be the person he inquired after,

therefore in a trembling condition, he fell down on his knees,

saying,

May it please your Grace, may it please your Highness, I am a poor

cobbler, who inquired for one Harry Tudor, who is a very honest

fellow, I mended the heel of his shoe not long since, and for which

he paid me nobly, and gave me two pots to boot: but I had him

afterwards to my cellar, where we drank part of a cup of nappy ale,

and were very merry, till my wife Joan began to grumble which put

an end to our merriment, for that time, but I told him I would come

to the court and see him, as soon as conveniently I could.

Well, said the king, don’t be troubled, would you know this honest

fellow again, if you could see him?

The cobbler replied, Yes, that I will among a thousand.

Then said the king, stand up, and be not afraid, but look well

about you, peradventure you may find the fellow in this company.

Whereupon the cobbler arose, and looked wishfully upon the king and

the rest of the nobles, but it was to little or no purpose; for

though he saw something in the king’s face which he thought he had

seen before, yet he could not be Harry Tudor, the heel of whose

shoe he had mended, and who had been so merry a companion with him

at the inn, and at his own cellar.

He therefore told the king he did not expect to find Harry Tudor

among such fine folks as he saw there, but that the person he

looked for was a plain honest fellow. Adding withal, that he was

sure that did Harry Tudor but know he was come to court, he would

make him very welcome: for, says the cobbler, when we parted he

charged me to come to court soon and see him, which I promised I

would, and accordingly I have made a holyday on purpose to have a

glass with him.

At which speech of the cobbler’s the king had much ado to forbear

laughing out, but keeping his countenance as steady as he could

before the cobbler, he spoke to the yeoman of the guard.

Here, said he, take this honest cobbler down into my cellar, and

let him drink my health; and I will give orders that Harry Tudor

shall come to him presently.

So away they went, the cobbler being fit to leap out of his skin

for joy, not only that he had come off so well, but that he should

see his friend Harry Tudor.

CHAP. V.

The Cobbler’s entertainment in the King’s Cellar.

The cobbler had not been long in the king’s cellar, before the

king came to him in the same habit that he had on when the cobbler

mended his shoe; whereupon the cobbler knew him immediately, and

ran and kissed him, saying, honest Harry, I have made an holyday

on purpose to see you, but I had much ado to get leave of my wife

Joan, who was loath to lose so much time from my work; but I was

resolved to see you, and therefore I made myself as fine as I

could. But I’ll tell thee, Harry, when I came to court I was in a

peck of troubles how to find you out; but at last I met with a man

who told me he knew you very well, and that he would bring me to

you, but instead of doing so, he brought me before the king which

almost frightened me out of my seven senses; but faith I’m resolved

to be merry with you now, since I have met you at last.

Aye, that we shall replied the king, we shall be as merry as

princes.

Now after the cobbler had drunk about four or five good healths, he

began to be merry, and fell a-singing his old songs and catches,

which pleased the king very much, and made him laugh heartily.

When on a sudden several of the nobles came into the cellar,

extraordinary rich in apparel, and all stood uncovered before Harry

Tudor, which put the cobbler into a great amazement at first, but

presently recovering himself, he looked more wishfully upon Harry

Tudor, and soon knowing him to be the king, whom he saw in his

presence chamber, though in another habit, he immediately fell upon

his knees saying,

May it please your Grace, may it please your Highness, I am a poor

honest cobbler and mean no harm.

No, no, said the king, nor shall receive any here, I assure you.

He commanded him therefore to rise, and be as merry as he was

before; and though he knew him to be the king, yet he should use

the same freedom with him as he did before, when he mended the heel

of his shoe.

This kind speech of the king’s and three or four glasses of wine,

made the cobbler be in as good humour as before, telling the king

several of his old stories and singing some of his best songs, very

much to the satisfaction of the king and all his nobles.

THE

COBBLER’S SONG

IN THE

KING’S CELLAR.

Come let us drink the other pot,

our sorrows to confound.

We’ll laugh and sing before the King,

so let his health go round;

For I am as bold as bold can be,

no cobbler e’er was ruder;

Then here good fellow here’s to thee,

(remembering Harry Tudor.)

When I’m at work within my stall,

upon him I will think;

His kindness I to mind will call,

whene’er I eat or drink;

His kindness was to me so great,

the like was never known,

His kindness I shall still repeat,

and so shall my wife Joan.

I’ll laugh when I sit in my stall,

and merrily will sing.

That I with my poor last and awl,

am fellow with the king.

But it is more I must confess,

than I at first did know,

But Harry Tudor ne’ertheless,

resolves it shall be so.

And now farewell unto Whitehall,

I homeward must retire,

To sing and whistle in my stall,

my Joan will me desire:

I do but think how she shall laugh,

when she hears of this thing,

That he that drank her nut-brown ale,

Was England’s Royal King.

CHAP. VI.

How the Cobbler became a Courtier.

Now the king considering the pleasant humour of the cobbler, how

innocently merry he was, and free from any design; that he was a

person that laboured very hard, and took a great deal of pains for

a small livelihood, was pleased, out of his princely grace and

favour, to allow him a liberal annuity of forty merks a year, for

the better support of his jolly humour, and the maintenance of his

wife Joan, and that he should be admitted one of his courtiers, and

that he might have the freedom of his cellar whenever he pleased.

Which being so much beyond expectation, did highly exalt the

cobbler’s humour, much to the satisfaction of the king.

So after a great many legs and scrapes, he returned home to his

wife Joan, with the joyful news of his reception at court; which so

well pleased her, that she did not think much at the great pains

she took in decking him for the journey.

ANECDOTE.

When Charles II was on a progress through his dominions, he was

waited upon by the magistracy of a certain city in the north of

England. The Mayor had prepared with no little study a splendid

oration for so memorable an occasion. Kneeling down to deliver his

address the worthy Magistrate (who was excessively fat) commenced

by a feu dejoy of rather a singular nature: whether he deemed

an expression of loyalty tantamount to a royal salute of the

present day, history is silent: certain it is, he felt greatly

embarrassed, and blundered his oration most woefully. “I have,

please your Majesty, begun at the wrong end,” cried the good Mayor,

endeavouring to apologize for the incoherency of his speech. “So I

remarked,” replied the facetious monarch, “but I fear the mistake

can’t now be corrected:--Rise up, Sir Walter Cannon.”

THE TWO BEARS.

Two very intimate friends, one a painter, the other a goldsmith,

travelling together, were benighted near a convent of religious

christians, where they were entertained with great humanity. As

those travellers wanted money to continue their journey, the

painter, who was a proficient in his art, offered to work for the

monastery. He soon possessed his hosts with a high opinion of his

talents, and even inspired them with a confidence, which they had

soon too much reason to repent.

The monks having one night left the sacristy of their church open,

the painter and his friend the goldsmith went in; and, after taking

out all the vessels of gold and silver which they found there, they

ran away as fast as possible. Possessed of so great a booty, they

determined to return to their own country. When they arrived there,

fearing lest the robbery should be discovered, they put all their

riches into a chest, and made an agreement that neither should take

any out, without informing the other.

Soon after the goldsmith married, and became the father of two

children. To supply his expenses, which increased with his family,

he appropriated the greatest part of the treasure in the chest to

his own use. The painter perceived his treachery, and reproached

him with it. The other absolutely denied the fact.

The painter, provoked at his perfidy, determined to punish him for

it; but, to be more certain of his revenge, he pretended to believe

every thing his associate swore. With this view he applied to a

huntsman, a friend of his, to procure him two young bears alive.

When he had them in his possession, he ordered a wooden statue to

be made so much resembling the goldsmith in every respect, that the

eye was deceived. After having thus prepared every thing necessary

to his design, he accustomed the bears to eat out of the hands

of the statue. He led them every morning into the room where he

kept it; and, as soon as they saw it, they always ran and ate the

victuals, which had been put in its hands.

The painter employed many weeks in teaching them this exercise

every day. As soon as he saw the two bears were perfect in their

parts, he invited the goldsmith and his two children to supper.

The feast being prolonged till midnight, the goldsmith and his two

children lay at their host’s. At day-break the painter dexterously

conveyed away the two children, and in their place substituted the

two bears.

How much was the father, on waking, surprised to find them in his

room instead of his children! He cried out most dreadfully. The

painter ran to him, and appeared greatly astonished: “Perhaps,”

said he, “you have deserved so great a punishment as this

metamorphosis from heaven, for some very extraordinary crime.” The

goldsmith was not to be deceived by what his friend said; but being

convinced that he was the author of the metamorphosis, he obliged

him to appear before the cadi; and there accused him of having

stolen his children. “My lord,” said the painter, “It is very

easy for you to know the truth; order the two bears to be brought

here; and if, by their gestures and caresses, they distinguish the

goldsmith from the rest of the company, you cannot doubt their

being really his children.”

The cadi consented to make this trial. As soon as the two little

bears, whom the painter had made to fast two days before, saw the

goldsmith, they ran to him, and licked his hands. So extraordinary

a sight astonished the cadi, who was so embarrassed that he durst

not pronounce sentence.

The goldsmith confused, returned to the painter, and on his knees

confessed his treachery, conjuring him to pray to God to restore

his children to their natural form. The painter pretending to be

affected with what he said, passed the night with him in prayers.

He had before taken away the two bears, and in their place conveyed

the two children, whom he had hid till then. The painter conducted

their father into the room where they were; and returning them to

him, said, “God has heard my feeble prayers, learn from this time

to keep strictly to your engagements.”

[Illustration: FINIS.]

ENTERTAINING

HISTORY

OF

JOHN CHEAP

The Chapman;

CONTAINING

Above a Hundred Merry Exploits done by him

and his fellow traveller and companion, Drouthy

Tom, a sticked shaver.

IN THREE PARTS

[Illustration]

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

HISTORY

OF

JOHN CHEAP.

PART I.

The following Relation is taken from his own mouth verbatim.

John Cheap, the chapman, was a comical, short, thick fellow, with

a broad face and a long nose; both lame and lazy, and something

lecherous among the lasses. He chose rather to sit idle than work

at any time, as he was a hater of hard labour. No man needed offer

him cheese and bread after he cursed he would not have it; for he

would blush at bread and milk when hungry, as a beggar doth at a

bawbee. He got the name of John Cheap, the Chapman, by selling

twenty needles for a penny, and twa leather laces for a farthing.

I was born at the Hottom, near the Habertehoy Mill. My father was a

Scotch Highlander, and my mother a York-shire Wench, which causes

me to be of a mongrel kind; I made myself a chapman when very

young, in hopes of being rich when I became old.

My first journey was through Old Kilpatrick, I got no meat nor

money until the evening I began to ask for lodging, then every

wife to get me away would either give me a cogful of kail, or

a piece of cake. Well says I to myself, if this be the way, I

shall begin in the morning to ask for lodging, or any time when I

am hungry. Thus I continued going from house to house, until my

belly was like to burst, and my pockets could hold no more; at

last I came to a farmer’s house, but thinking it not dark enough

to prevail for lodging, I sat down upon a stone at the end of the

house, till day light would go away; and as I was getting up to go

into the house, out comes the goodwife, and sat down at the end of

the stone. I being at the other, there she began to let off her

water with full force, which I bore with very modestly, till near

an end; then she made the wind follow with such force, as made,

as I thought the very stone I leaned upon to move, which made me

burst out into laughter; then up gets the wife and runs for it; I

followed hard after into the house, and as I entered the door, I

heard the goodman saying, Ay, ay, goodwife, what’s the haste, you

run sae fast.

No more passed, until I addressed the goodman for quarters; which

he answered, ‘indeed lad, we hae nae beds but three, my wife and

I ourselves twa, and the twa bits o’ little anes, Willy and Jenny

lie in ane; the twa lads, our twa servant men, Willy Black and Tom

I’ve, lie in anither; auld Maggs my mither, and the lass Jean

Tirrem lie thegither, and that fills them a’.’ O but, says I,

goodman, there is some of them fuller than others, you may let me

lie with your mither and the lass; I shall lie heads and thraws

wi’ them, and keep on my breeks. A good keep me, quo’ the lass

frae a’ temptations to sin, although thou be but a callan, heth

I’ll rather lie wi’ Sannock Garnor. Hout awa, quo, the auld wife,

the poor lad may lie an a bottle o straw beyond the fire. No, no,

cries the goodwife, he’s no be here the night, or I’se no be here.

Dear goodwife, said I, what ails you at me! If you will not let

me stay, you’ll not hinder me to go where I please. Ay, ay, said

she, gae where you like; then I got in beyond the fire, beside

the goodman. Now, said I goodwife, I like to be here. A d----l be

here, and ye be here the night, said she. Ho, ho, said I, but I’m

here first and first comed, first served, goodwife; but if the

ill thief be a friend of yours, you’ll hae room for him too. Ye

thief-like widdifu’ said she, are ye evening me to be sib to the

foul thief; tis weel kend I am com’d o’ gude honest folks. It may

be so, goodwife, said I, but ye look rather the other way, when you

would lodge the devil in your house, and ca’ out a poor chapman to

die, such a stormy night as this. What do ye say, says she, there

wasna a bonnier night since winter came in than this? O goodwife,

what are ye saying, do ye no mind when you and I was at the east

end of the house, such a noise of wind and water was then. A wae

worth the filthy body, said she, is not that in every part? What,

said the goodman; I wat weel there was nae rain when I came in. The

wife then pushes me out, and bolted the door behind me. Well, said

I, but I shall be through between thy mouth and thy nose ere the

morn. It being now so dark, and I a stranger, could see no place

to go to, went into the corn yard, but finding no loose straw, I

fell a drawing one of their stacks, sheaf by sheaf, until I pulled

out a threave or two, and got into the hole myself, where I lay as

warm as a pye. The goodman, on the morning, perceiving the heap

of corn sheaves, came running to carry it away, and stop the hole

in the stack wherein I lay with some of the sheaves, so with the

steighling of the straw, and him talking to others, cursing the

thieves who had done it, swearing they had stole six sheaves of it;

I then skipped out of the hole, ho, ho, said I, goodman, you’re not

to bury me alive in your stack: he then began to chide me, vowing

to keep my pack for the damage I had done; whereupon I took his

servants witnesses he had robbed me; when hearing me urge him so,

he gave me my pack again, and off I came to the next house, and

told the whole of the story.

After this I travelled up by the water of Clyde, near the foot of

Tintock hill, where I met with a sweet companion, who was an older

traveller than I, and he gave me some information how to blow the

goodwife, and sleek the goodman; with him I kept company for two

months; and as we travelled down Tweed towards the border, we being

both hungry, and could get nothing to buy for the belly, we came

unto a wife who had been kirning, but she would give us nothing,

nor sell so much as one halfpenny worth of her sour milk: Na,

na, said she, I’ll neither sell butter, bread nor milk, ’tis a’

little enough to sair my ain family; ye that’s chapman may drink

water, ye dinna work sair. Ay, but goodwife, said I, I have been

at Temple-bar, where I was sworn ne’er to drink water if I could

get better. What do ye say, said she, about Temple-bar! a town just

about twa three miles and a bittock frae this; a thief ane was to

swear you there, an’ it wasna auld Willy Miller the cobbler the ill

thief, a nither minister nor a magistrate ever was in it a’. O but,

says the other lad, the Temple-bar he means by is at London. Yea,

yea, lad, an’ ye be com’d frae Lunun ye’re little worth. London,

said he, is but at home to the place he comes from. A dear man,

quoth she, and where in the warl’ comes he frae? All the way from

Italy, where the Pope of Rome dwells, says he. A sweet be wi’ us,

quoth she, for the fouks there awa is a’ witches and warlocks,

deils, brownies, and fairies. Well I wat that’s true, said I, and

that thou shalt know, thou hard hearted wretch, who would have

people to starve, or provoke them to steal. With that I rose, lifts

twa or three long straws, and casting knots on them, into the byre

I went, and throws a knotted straw on every cow’s stake, saying,

thy days shall not be long. The wife followed, wringing her hands,

earnestly praying for herself and all that was hers. I then came

out the door, and lifted a stone, and threw it over the house,

muttering some words, which I knew not myself, and concluded with

these words; thou monster, Diable, brother to Beelzebub, god of

Ekron, take this wife’s kirn, butter, and milk, sap and substance,

without and within, so that she may die in misery, as she would

have others to live.

The wife hearing the aforesaid sentence, clapt her hands; and

called out another old woman as foolish as herself, who came crying

after us to come back; back we went, where she made us eat heartily

of butter and cheese; and earnestly pleaded with me to go and lift

my cantrips, which I did, upon her promising never to deny a hungry

traveller meat nor drink, whether they had money to pay for’t or

not; and never to serve the poor with the old proverb, “Go home to

your own parish,” but gave them less or more as you see them in

need. This she faithfully promised to do while she lived, and with

milk we drank to the cow’s good health and her own, not forgetting

her husband’s and the bull’s, as the one was goodman of the house,

and the other of the byre; and away we came in all haste, lest

some of a more understanding nature should come to hear of it, and

follow after us.

In a few days thereafter we came to an ale house in a muir far

distant from any other, it being a sore day of wind and rain, we

could not travel, but were obliged to stay there: and the house

being very throng, we could get no beds but the servant lass’s,

which we were to have for a penny worth of pins and needles,

and she was to lie with her master and mistress. But as we were

going to bed, in comes three Highland drovers on their way from

England; the landlord told them that the beds were all taken up

but one, that two chapmen were to lie in: one of them swore his

broad sword should fail him if a chapman lay there that night.

They took our bed and made us sit by the fire all night; I put on

a great many peats, and when the drovers were fast asleep I put

on a big brass pan full of water and boiled their brogs therein

for the space of half an hour, then lays them as they were, every

pair by themselves; so when they rose, every one began to chide

another, saying, “Hup, pup, ye spewing a brog:” for not one of

them would serve a child ten years old, being so boiled in. The

landlord persuaded them that their feet were swelled with the hard

travelling, being so wet the last night, and they would go on well

enough if they had travelled a mile or two. Now the Highlandmen

laughed at me the night before when they lay down in the bed I was

to have; but I laughed as much to see them trot away in the morning

with boiled brogues in their hands.

PART II.

We again came to a place near Sutry-hill, where the ale was good,

and very civil usage, and our drouth being very great, the more

we drank the better we loved it. Here we fell in company with a

Quack Doctor, who bragged us with bottle about for two days and two

nights; only when one fell drunk, we pushed and pricked him up with

a big pin to keep him from sleeping; he bought of our hair, and we

of his drugs,--he having as much knowledge of the one as we had

of the other; only I was sure I had as much as would set a whole

parish to the midden or mug all at once; but the profit, though all

to come, went to the landlady to make up the loss of having the

lime pished off the door cheeks.

But at last our money ran short, and the landlady had no chalk or

faith to credit us, seeing by our coats, courage, and conduct,

that we would little mind performance against the day of payment;

so that we began to turn sober and wise behind the hand, and every

one of us to seek supply from another; and then we collected all

the money we had amongst us on the table, it was but four pence

halfpenny, which we lovingly divided among us, being only three

bawbees apiece; and as drouthy Tom’s stock and mine was conjunct,

we gave the Quack again his sh--ng stuff and his stinking mugs, and

he gave us our goods and pickles of hair, which we equally divided

betwixt us, the whole of it only came to eighteen shillings and

sixpence prime cost, and so we parted, I went for East Lothian

and Tom for the West; but my sorting of goods being unsuitable

for the country, I got little or no money next day; and it being

Saturday, I prevailed to get staying in a great farmer’s house,

about two miles from Haddington; they were all at supper when I

came in; I was ordered to go round the servants and collect a soup

out of every cog, which was sufficient to have served three men:

the goodwife ordered me to be laid in the barn all night, but the

bully-faced goodman swore he had too much stuff in it to venture

me there; the goodwife, said I should not lie in the house, for I

would be o’er near the lasses’ bed; then the lads swore I would

not go with them, for I was a for-jesket like fellow, and who kens

whether I was honest or not; he may fill his wallet wi’ our claes

and gang his wa’ or day light. At last I was conducted out to the

swine’s stye, to sleep with an old sow and seven pigs, and there I

lay for two nights. Now I began to reflect on the sour fruits of

drinking, and own all the misery just that was come upon me. In the

night the young pigs came grunting about me very kindly, thinking

I was some friend of their mother’s come to visit them; they gave

me but little rest, always coming kissing me with their cold noses,

which caused me to beat them off with my staff, which made them

to make a terrible noise, so that the old mother came up to argue

the matter, running upon me with open mouth, but I gave her such

a rout over her long snout, as caused her to roar out murder in

her own language, and alarmed the servants, who came to see what

was the matter. I told them their old sow was going to swallow me

up alive, bid them go and bring her meat, which they did, and the

brute became peaceable.

On the Sabbath morning I came into the house, the goodman asked me

if I could shave any: yes, said I, but never did on the sabbath

day. I fancy, said he, you are some Westland Whig? Sir, said I, you

may suppose me to be what you think proper to-day, but yesternight

you used me like a Tory, when you sent me into the sty to lie in

your sow’s oxter, who is a fitter companion for a devil than any

human creature; the most abominable brute upon the earth, said I,

who was forbidden to be eaten under the law, and cursed under the

gospel. Be they cursed or be they blessed, said he, I wish I had

anew of them: but an’ ye will not take aff my beard, ye’se get nae

meat here the day; then said I, if ye will not give me meat and

drink for money, until the sabbath be past, I’ll take on my wallet,

and go along with you to the kirk, and tell your minister how you

used me as a hog. No, said the goodwife, you will not want your

crowdle, man. But my heart being full of sorrow and revenge a few

of them sufficed me, whereon I passed over that long day, and at

night went to sleep with my old companions, which was not sound,

being afraid of mistress sow coming to revenge the quarrel we had

the night before.

On the morning I went into the house, the goodman ordered me

the pottage pot to lick; for, says he, it is an old property of

chapmen. Well, I had no sooner began to it, than out came a great

mastiff dog from below the bed, and grips me by the breast, then

turns me over upon my back, and takes the pot himself. Ay, ay,

said the goodman, I think your brother pot-licker and you cannot

agree about your breakfast. Well, said I, goodman, you said that

pot-licking was a chapman’s property, but your dog proves the

contrary. So away I comes, and meeting the goodwife at the door,

bade her farewell for ever; but what, said I, is your husband’s

name? to which she answered, John Swine: I was thinking so, said I,

he has such dirty fashions; but whether was yon his mother or his

sister I lay with these two nights?

All that day I travelled the country west from Haddington, but

could get no meat; when asked if they had any to sell, they told me

they never did sell any bread, and I found, by sad experience, they

had none to give for nothing. I came into a little country village,

and went through it all, house after house, and could get neither

bread nor ale to buy. At last I came into a poor weaver’s house,

and asked him if he would lend me a hammer: Yes, said he: what are

ye going to do with it? Indeed, said I, I am going to knock out

all my teeth with it, for I can get no bread to buy in all the

country, for all the stores and stacks you have in it. What, said

he, was you in the minister’s? I know not, said I, does he keep an

alehouse? O no, said he, he preaches every sunday; and what does he

preach? said I, is it to harden your hearts? haud well together?

have no charity? hate strangers? hunger the poor? eat and drink all

yourselves? better burst your bellies than give it to beggars, or

let good meat spoil? If your minister be as haughty as his people,

I’m positive he’ll drive a louse to London for the hide and tallow.

Here I bought the weaver’s dinner for twopence, and then set out

again, keeping my course westward. It being now night, I came to a

farmer’s house south from Dalkeith; the goodman being very civil,

and desirous of news, I related the whole passages of the two days

and nights by-past, whereat he was greatly diverted, and said, I

was the first he heard of, that ever that man gave quarters to

before, though he was an elder in the parish. So the goodman and I

fell so thick, that he ordered me to be laid on a shake-down bed

by the fire, where I lay more snug than among the swine. Now there

were three women lying in a bed in the same apartment, and they

not minding that I was there, first one of them rose and let her

water go below the chimney grate, where I had a perfect view of her

bonny thing, as the coal burned so clearely all the night; and then

another rose and did the same; last of all got up the old matron,

as she appeared to be, like a second handed goodwife, or a whirled

o’er maiden, six times overturned, and as she let her dam go, she

also, with full force, when done, let a f--t like the blast of a

trumpet, which made the ashes on the hearth stone to fly up like

dust about her buttocks, whereat I was forced to laugh out, which

made her to run for it, but to smother the laughter I stapt the

blankets in my mouth; she went to bed and awakened the other two,

saying, O dole! what will I tell you? yon chapman body has seen

a’ our a--ses the night! Shame fa’ him, said they, for we had nae

mind he was there; I wat weel, says one of them, I’se no rise till

he be awa’: but said the old woman, gin he has seen mine, I canna

help it, it’s just like other folk’s, an’ feint a hair I care. On

the morning the old matron got up first, and ordered up the house,

then told me to rise now, for chapmen and every body were up; then

she asked me if I had a custom of laughing in my sleep? Yes, said

I, when I see any daft like thing I can look and laugh at it as

well sleeping as waking. A good preserve us, said she, ye’r an unco

body; but ye needna wait on your porridge time, I’se gie you cheese

and bread in your pouch; which I willingly accepted, and away I

came.

Then I kept my course west by the foot of Pentland hills, where I

got plenty of hair, good and cheap, besides a great plenty of old

brass, which was an excellent article to make my little pack seem

big and weighty. Then I came into a little country village, and

going in by the side of a house, there was a great big cat sitting

in a weaver’s window, beiking herself in the sun, and washing her

face with her feet; I gave her a civil knap on the nose, which

made her turn back in through the window, and the weaver having a

plate full of hot pottage in the innerside to cool, poor baudrins

ran through the middle of them, burnt her feet, and threw them on

the ground, ran through the house crying fire and murder in her

own language, which caused the weary wicked wabster to come to the

door, where he attacked me in a furious rage, and I, to avoid the

first shock, fled to the top of the midden, where, endeavouring to

give me a kick, I catched him by the foot, and tumbled him back

into the midden-dub, where both his head and shoulders went under

dirt and water; but before I could recover my elwand or arms, the

wicked wife and her twa sons were upon me in all quarters, the

wife hung in my hair, while the twa sons boxed me both behind and

before, and being thus overpowered by numbers, I was fairly beat by

this wicked wabster, his troops being so numerous.

On the Saturday night thereafter, I was like to be badly off for

quarters, I travelled until many people were going to bed; but at

last I came to a farmer’s house asked what they would buy, naming

twenty fine things which I never had, and then asked for quarters,

which they very freely granted, thinking I was some genteel

packman, with a rich pack; and being weary with travel could take

but little supper; being permitted to lie in the spence beside the

goodman’s bed, the goodwife being very hard of hearing, she thought

that every body was so, for when she went to bed, she cries out A

how hearie goodman, is na yon a braw moderate chapman we hae here

the night, he took just seven soups o’ our sowens, and that fill’d

him fu’; a’ dear Andrew man, turn ye about an’ tak my cauld a--se

in your warm lunchoch. On the morrow I went to the kirk, with the

goodman, and I missed him about the door, went into the middle of

the kirk, but could see no empty seats but one big firm, where none

sat but one woman by herself, and so I set myself down beside her,

not knowing where I was, until sermon was over, when the minister

began to rebuke her for using her Merry-bit against law or license;

and then she began to whinge and yowl like a dog, which made me run

out cursing, before the minister had given the blessing.

PART III.

I travelled then west by Falkirk, by the foot of the great hills;

and one night after I had got lodging in a farmer’s house, there

happened a contest between the goodman and his mother, he being a

young man unmarried, as I understood, and formerly their sowens

had been too thin; so the goodman, being a sworn birly-man of that

barony, came to survey the sowens before they went on the fire, and

actually swore they were o’er thin; and she swore by her conscience

they would be thick enough, if ill hands and ill een bade awa

frae them. A sweet be here, mither, said he, do you think that

I’m a witch? Witch here, or witch there, said the wife, swearing

by her saul, and that was nae banning, she said, they’ll be gude

substantial meat;--a what say you chapman? Indeed, goodwife, said

I, sowens are but saft meat at the best, but, if you make them

thick enough, and put a good lump of butter in them, they’ll do

very well for a supper. I trow sae lad, said she, ye ha’e some

sense: so the old woman put on the pot with her sowens, and went to

milk the cows, leaving me to steer; the goodman, her son, as soon

as she went out, took a great cogful of water, and put it into the

pot amongst the sowens, and then went out of the house and left me

alone: I considering what sort of a pish-the-bed supper I was to

get if I staid there, thought it fit to set out, but takes up a

pitcher of water, and fills up the pot until it was running over,

and then takes up my pack, and comes about a mile farther that

night, leaving the honest woman and her son to sup their watery

witched sowens at their own pleasure.

The next little town I came to, and the very first house that I

entered, the wife cried out, ‘Plague on your snout, sir, ye filthy

blackguard chapman-like b----h it ye are, the last time ye came

here ye gart our Sandy burn the gude bane kame it I gid a saxpence

for in Fa’kirk, ay did ye, ay, sae did ye een, and said ye wad gie

him a muckle clear button to do it.’ Me, said I, I never had ado

with you a’ the days of my life, and do not say that Sandy is mine.

A wae worth the body, am I saying ye had ado wi’ me, I wadna hae

ado wi’ the like o’ you, nor I am sure wi’ them I never saw. But

what about the button and the bane kame, goodwife? Sannock is na

this the man? Ay is’t, cried the boy, gie me my button, for I burnt

the kame, and she paid me for’t. Gae awa, sir, said I, your mother

and you are but mocking me. It was either you or ane like you, or

some other body. O goodwife, I mind who it is now; ’twas just ane

like me, when ye see the tane ye see the tither; they ca’ him Jock

Jimbither. A wae worth him, quoth the wife, if I dinna thrapple him

for my gude bane kame. Now, said I, goodwife, be good, bridle your

passion, and buy a bane kame and coloured napkin, I’ll gie you a

whaukin’ penny-worth, will gar you sing in your bed, if I should

sell you the tae half and gift you the tither, and gar you pay for

every inch o’t sweetly or a’ be done. Hech, man, said she, ye’re a

hearty fallow, and I hae need o’ a’ these things, but a bane kame I

maun hae; for our Sannock’s head is a’ hotchen, and our John’s is

little better, for an’ let them alane but ae eight days, they grow

as grit as grossets. And here I sold a bane kame and a napkin, for

she believed such a douse lad as I had no hand in making the boy

burn the bone comb.

The next house I came into, there was a very little tailor sitting

on a table, like a t--d on a trencher, with his legs plet over

other, made me imagine he was a sucking three-footed tailor; first

I sold him a thimble, and then he wanted needles which I showed

him, one paper after another; he looked their eyes and trying their

nibs in his sleeve, dropt the ones he thought proper on the ground

between his feet, where he sat in a dark corner near the fire,

thinking I did not perceive him. O said he them needles of yours

are not good, man, I’ll not buy any of them. I do not think you

need, said I, taking them out of his hand, and lights a candle that

was standing near by; come, said I, sit about, you thieving dog,

till I gather up my needles, then gathers up ten of them.

Come, said he, I’ll buy twa penny worth of them frae ye, I hae

troubled you sae muckle; no, said I, you lousied dog, I’ll sell

you none, if there’s any on the ground, seek them up and stap them

in a beast’s a--se; but if ye were a man, I would burn you in the

fire, though it be in your own house; but as you are a poor tailor,

and neither a man nor a boy, I’ll do nothing but expose you for

what you are. O dear honest chapman, cried his wife, ye maunna

do that, and I’se gie you cheese and bread. No, no, you thieves,

I’m for nothing but vengeance; no bribes for such. So as I was

lifting up my pack, there was a pretty black cat which I spread my

napkin over, took the four corners in my hand, carrying her as a

bundle, until I came about the middle of the town, then provoking

the dogs to an engagement with me, so that there came upon me four

or five collies, then I threw the poor tailor’s cat in the midst

of them, and a terrible battle ensued for some time, and baudrins

had certainly died in the field, had I not interposed and got her

off mortally wounded. The people who saw the battle alarmed the

tailor, and he sallied out like a great champion, with his elwand

in his hand. Go back, said I, you lousie dog, or I’ll tell about

the needles; at which word he turned about. I travelled down the

side of a water called Avon; and as I was coming past a mill-dam,

there was a big clownish fellow lifting a pitcher of water out of

the dam, so he dipt it full and set it down on the ground, staring

at me he rumbled in himself out of sight o’er head and ears, and as

soon as he got out, I said,--Yo ho, friend, did you get the fish?

What an a fish, ye b----h? O, said I, I thought you had seen a

fish, when you jumped in to make it jump out. What a d----l, sir,

are you mocking me?--runs round his pitcher, and gives me a kick

on the a--e, so that I fell designedly on his pitcher, and it

tumbled down the bank and went in pieces: his master and another

man looking and laughing at us, the poor fellow complained of me to

him, but got no satisfaction.

The same evening as I was going towards the town of Linlithgow, I

met an old crabbed fellow riding upon an old glaid mare, which he

always was thrashing upon with his stick. Goode’en to you, goodman,

said I, are you going to the bull wi’ your mare? What do you say

sir? they gang to the bull wi’ a cow, you brute. O yes, goodman,

you are right, said I; but what do they ca’ the he-beast that rides

on the mare’s back? They ca’d a cusser, sir: a well then, goode’en

to you, master cusser. He rides a little bit, then turns back in a

rage, saying, I say, sir, your last words are waur than your first:

he comes then to ride me down, but I struck his beast on the face,

and in a short turn about it fell, yet, or I could get my pack

to the ground, he cut me on the head at the first stroke; I then

getting clear of the pack, played it away for some time, till by

blows on the face, I made him bleed at both mouth and nose; then

he cried out, Chapman, we are baith daft, for we’ll kill oursells

and mak naething o’t; we had better ’gree: with all my heart, said

I; and what will you buy? nothing but a pair of beard shears, said

he, and give me them cheap; so I sold him a pair of B. shears, for

three half-pence, and give him a needle, then parted good friends

after the battle was over.

So I went to Linlithgow that night, where I met with Drouthy Tom,

my sweet and dear companion, and here we held a most terrible

encounter with the tippenny for twa nights and a day; and then we

set out for Fife, on the hair order, by the way of Torryburn and

Culross; and came up to a parcel of women washing by a water-side,

I buys one of their hair: the time I was cutting it off, Tom fell a

courting and kissing and clapping one of them, what happened I know

not, but she cried out, Ye mislear’d filthy fallow, ye put your

hand atween my feet. Daft jade, canna ye haud your tongue when it’s

your ain shame that ye speak. Filthy body, the last chapman that

kissed me had a horse pack, but he’ll hae naething in his Pack but

auld breeks, hare skins, mauken skins, or ony trash that fills the

bag and bears bouk, and yet he wad kiss and handle me! I was made

for a better fallow.

FINIS.

THE

COMICAL HISTORY

OF

SIMPLE JOHN

AND HIS

TWELVE MISFORTUNES,

WHICH HAPPENED ALL IN TWELVE DAYS AFTER THE UNHAPPY

DAY OF HIS MARRIAGE.

[Illustration]

GLASGOW:

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

COMICAL HISTORY

OF

SIMPLE JOHN,

AND HIS

TWELVE MISFORTUNES.

Simple John was a widow’s son, and a coarse country weaver to his

trade. He made nothing but such as canvas for caff-beds, corn and

coal sacks, drugget and harn was the finest webs he could lay his

fingers to: he was a great lump of a lang, lean lad, aboon sax

feet afore he was aughteen years auld; and, as he said himsel,

he grew sae fast, and was in sic a hurry to be high, that he did

not stay to bring a’ his judgment with him, but yet he hoped it

would follow him, and he would meet wi’t as mony a ane does after

they’re married. He had but ae sister, and she had as little sense

as himsel’, she was married on Sleeky Willie, the wylie weaver;

his mither was a rattling rattle-scull’d wife, and they lived a’

in ae house, and every body held them as a family of fools. When

John came to man’s estate, to the age of twenty-one years, he told

his mither he would hae a wife o’ some sort, either young or auld,

widow or lass, if they had but heads and lips, tongue and tail, he

should tak them, and weel I wat, mither, quoth he, they’ll get a

lumping penny-worth o’ me, get me wha will.

His mither tells him o’ the black butcher on Ti’ot-side, wha had

three doughters, and every ane o’ them had something, there was

Kate, Ann, and Girzy, had a hundred merks the piece. Kate and Ann

had baith bastards. Girzy the eldest had a humph back, a high

breast, baker legged, a short wry neck, thrawn mouth, and goggle

ey’d; a perfect Æsop of the female kind, with as many crooked

conditions within as without, a very lump of loun-like ill-nature,

row’d a’ together, as if she had been nine months in a haggis, a

second edition of crook backed Richard, an old English King, that

was born with teeth to bite a’ around about him, and yet the wight

gaed mad to be married.

John’s mither told him the road where to go, and what to say, and

accordingly he sets out wi’ his Sunday’s coat on, and a’ his braws,

and a pair of new pillonian breeks o’ his mither’s making. In he

comes and tells his errand before he would sit down, says good

day to you, goodman, what are you a’ doing here? I am wanting a

wife, an’ ye’re a flesher, and has a gude sorting aside you, my

mither says ye can sair me or ony body like me, what say ye till’t,

goodman? How mony douchters hae ye? Are they a’ married yet? I fain

wad tak a look o’ some o’ them gin ye like.

A wow, said the goodwife, come in by, honest lad, and rest ye, an

ye be a wooer sit down and gie’s a snuff--A deed, goodwife, I hae

nae mills but my mither’s, and it’s at hame.--Whare win ye, I’se

no ken ye? I wat, quoth he, my name’s Jock Sandyman, and they ca’

me Simple John the sack weaver. I hae nae tocher but my loom, a

pirn-wheel, a kettle, pat, a brass pan, twa pigs, four cogs, and

a candlestick, a good cock, a cat, twa errocks new begun to lay;

my sister Sara is married on Sleeky Willie the wylie weaver, and I

maun hae a hagwife or my mither die, for truly she’s very frail,

and ony harl o’ health she has is about dinner time; what say ye

till’t, goodman? can ye buckle me or not?

_Goodman._ A dear John, ye’re in an unco haste, ye wadna hae your

wife hame wi’ ye? they’re a’ there before ye, which o’ them will ye

tak?

Hout, tout, says John, ony o’ them will sair me, but my mither says

there is twa o’ them has fauts. And what is their fauts? says the

goodwife. Hout, said John, it’s no meikle faut, but I dinna like

it, they got men or they were married. And what shall I do wi’

them? said the goodman.

_John._ A deed, goodman, as ye’re ay dealing among dead beasts and

living beasts, I wad put them awa among ither beasts, or gin ye be

aun ony penny, let somebody tak them up o’ desperate debt, I sud

flie the fykes frae them, they anger’d you, and sham’d you baith

with their bastards, a wheen daft jades it gets men or they be

married, and bairns or they get bridals.

_Goodwife._ A wat weel that’s true, lad.

_Girzy._ A weel, John, then, will ye tak me; I hae nae bastards;

how will you and I do?

_John._ I wat na gin ye be able to get a bastard, yet ye may hae

some waur faut; but ye maun be my pennyworth, for ye’re unco

little, and I’m o’er muckle, and gin ye and I war ance carded

through ither, we may get bonny weans o’ a middlen mak. I hae nae

fauts to ye, but ye hae a high breast, a humph back, a short neck,

and high shouthers, the hands and legs may do, tho’ your mouth be

a wee to the tae side it will lie weel to the rock, and I hae a

hantle o’ tow to spin, will be baith sarks and sacks till us, ye’ll

be my soncy dauty, up and down; a perfect beauty, wi’ cat’s yellow

een, black brous, and red lips, and your very nose is a purple

colour; ye hae nae fauts at a’. Now, whan will we be married?

_Girzy._ Ha, ha, John lad, we maun think on that yet.

_John._ What the yeltow, lass, should na ye be ready whan I’m

ready, and every body says that the woman’s aye ready.

_Goodman._ Ye’ll hae to come back and bring somebody wi’ you, and

we’ll gree about it, and set the day whan ye’ll be married.

_John._ A weel, goodman, I’ll tell my mither o’t, and come back on

Monday, and we’ll hae a chappin o’ ale, and roasted cheese on the

chance o’t, but I maun hae a word o’ the bride out by, to convoy

me, and a quiet speak to hersel about it.

_Goodwife._ A wow na, John, the daft loons will laugh at you, and

she’ll think shame, gang ye out by, and she’ll speak to you through

the gavel window.

Out goes John, and the bride, and her twa sisters goes to the

window within to hear the diversion, and what he would say.

Now says John, Girzy my dear, my braw pretty woman, an ye be in

earnest, tell me, for by my suth I’m no scorning.

_Girzy._ Indeed, John, I’m very willing to tak ye, but ye needna

tell every body about it.

_John._ Then gie me a kiss on that.

He shoves his head in at the window, making a lang neck to win

down to her, and she stood on a little stool to win up to him. O,

cries he, an ye were good flesh I could eat you a’, I like you sae

weel; it’s a pity there is sic a hard wa’ between us, I’se tell my

mither sae bonny as ye are: O, gie me anither kiss yet, and then

I’ll go. One of her sisters standing by in a dark corner, gets haud

o’ a cow’s head, which wanted a’ the skin but about the mouth, and

shoves it towards his mouth, which he kissed in the dark. O, cries

he, your mouth be cauld since I kissed ye last, and I think ye hae

a beard, I saw nae that before, or is’t wi’ spinning tow that maks

your mouth sae rough at e’en.

Hame he comes, and tells his mither the speed and properties of the

marriage.

All things was got ready, and next week Sleeky Willie the weaver

and him came to gree the marriage, and stay all night with the

bride, and teach John good manners, for when John was hungry, he

minded his meat mair than his good behaviour, and he never was fu’

till the dish was tume. Willie the weaver was to tramp on his fit

when he thought he had suppet aneugh; so all things being agreed,

upon short and easy terms, and the wedding day set, they were to be

three times cried on Sunday, and quietly married on Monday, neither

piper nor fiddler to be employ’d, but sweith awa hame frae the

Minister, and into the bed amang the blankets; ha, ha, cried John,

that’s the best o’t a’.

Now every thing being concluded and proposed, the supper was

brought, a large fat haggis, the very smell wad a done a hungry

body gude, but John had only got twa or three soups, until one of

the butcher’s meikle dogs tramped on John’s fit, which he took to

be the weaver, and then he would eat nae mair. After supper they

went to bed John and the weaver lay together, and then he abused

the weaver for tramping sae soon, which he denied; but O, said

John, there’s a hantle o’t left, and I saw whare it was set; they

are a’sleeping, I’ll go rise and tak a soup o’t yet. Aye, een do

sae, said Sleeky Willie, and bring a soup to me too. Away then John

goes to the amry, and lays to the haggis, till his ain haggis could

haud nae mair; then brought some to Sleeky Willie; but, instead of

going to the bed where he was, goes to the bed where the bride and

the twa sisters lay, they being fast asleep, speaks slowly, Will ye

tak it, will ye tak it; but they making no answer, he turns up the

blankets to put a soup into Willie’s mouth, but instead of doing

so, he puts a great spoonful close into one of their backsides.

Sleeky Willie hears a’ that past, comes out the bed, and sups out

the remainder, and sets up the dish where it was, leaves the amry

door open to let the cats get the blame of supping the haggis, and

away they go to bed; but poor John could get nae sleep for drouth;

up he gets in search of the water-can, and finding an empty

pitcher, puts in his hand to find if there was any water in it, but

finding nane he closed his hand when it was within the pitcher, and

then could not get it out, goes to the bed and tells Sleeky Willie

what had happened him, who advised him to open the door, and go out

to a knocking-stane that stood before the door, and break it there,

to get out his hand, and not to make a noise in the house. So out

he goes, and the bride’s sister who had gotten the great spoonful

of the haggis laid to her backside, was out before him, rubbing the

nastiness (as she took it to be) off the tail of her sark, and she

being in a louting posture, he took her for the knocking-stane, and

comes ower her hurdies with the pitcher, till it flew in pieces

about her, then off she runs with the fright, round a turf-stack,

and into the house before him. John came in trembling to the

bed again, wi’ the fright, praying to preserve him, for sic a

knocking-stane he never yet saw, for it ran clean awa when he broke

the pig upon it.

Now John was furnished in a house by his father-in-law; the bed,

the loom, heddles, treadles, thrumbs, reed, and pirn-wheel, was a’

brought and set up before the marriage, which was kept a profound

secret; so that John got the first night of his ain wife, and his

ain house at ae time. So, on the next morning after the marriage,

John and his wife made up some articles, how they were to work, and

keep house; John was to keep the house in meat, meal, fire, and

water; Girzy was to mak the meat, and keep the house in clothes;

the father-in-law to pay the rent for three years; they were to hae

nae servants, until they had children; and their first child was to

be a John, after its ain Daddy, get it wha will, if a boy; and if

a girl, Girzy, after its ain minny, as she said, wha wrought best

for’t.

MISFORTUNE I.

Then she ordered John to rise and begin his wark, by putting on a

fire, and to tak the twa new pigs and gang to the well for water.

No sooner had John opened the door, and gone out with a pig in

every hand, than a’ the boys and girls being gathered in a crowd

to see him, gave a loud huzza: and clapping their hands at him,

poor John, not knowing what it meant, thought it was fine sport,

began to clap his hands too, and not minding the twa pigs, clashes

the tane against the tither, till baith went to pieces, and that

was a cheerful huzza to baith young and auld that was looking at

him; Girzy the wife draws him into the house, and to him she flies

with the wicked wife’s weapon, her Tongue and Tangs, and made his

ribs to crack, saying, “They told me ye war daft, but I’ll ding the

daffing out o’ ye, I’ll begin wi’ you as I’ve a mind to end wi’

you.” Poor John sat crying and clawing his head.

“Ha, ha,” said he, “its nae bairn’s play to be married, I find that

already.” His mother-in-law came in and made up peace, went to a

cooper, and got them a big wooden stoop to carry in their water.

MISFORTUNE II.

Next morning, John was sent to the Flesh-market an errand to his

Father-in-law, who gave him a piece of flesh to carry home, and as

he was coming out of the market, he saw six or seven of the flesher

dogs fall on and worry at a poor country colly dog; “Justice,

justice,” cries John to the dogs, “ye’re but a wheen unmannerly

rascals, that fa’s a’ on ae poor beast, heth ye should a’ be put

in the toubuoth, and ta’en to the bailies, and hanged for the like

o’ that; its perfect murder;” and in he runs amongst the dogs,

“And be hanged to you a’ thegither, What’s the quarrel? What’s the

quarrel?” John flings down the flesh he had carrying, and grips

the colly, who took John for an enemy too, and bites his hands

till the blood followed, the whole of the tykes comes a’ on poor

John, till down he goes in the dirt amongst their feet, and one

of the dogs runs off with the flesh, so John went hame both dirty

and bloody and without his flesh, told Girzy how it happened, who

applied her old plaister, her Tangs and Tongue, made John to curse

the very minister that married them, and wished he might ne’er do

a better turn.

MISFORTUNE III.

Next morning, John was sent to the well with the great stoup to

bring in water for breakfast; and as he was pulling the stoup

out of the well, in he tumbles and his head down, the well being

narrow, he couldna win out: some people passing by chance heard the

slunge, cried, and ran to his relief, hauled him out half dead, and

helped him into the house; and after getting a dry sark, he was

comforted with the old plaister, her Tongue and hard Tangs.

MISFORTUNE IV.

Next day, she says, John, I must go to the market myself, for if

you go you’ll fight wi’ the dogs, and let them run awa wi’ ony

thing you buy: see that ye put on the pat, hae’t boiling again I

come hame. John promised weel, but performs very badly. She’s no

sooner gone, than he puts on the new pat without any water in it,

and a good fire to make it boil, and away he goes to the unhappy

well, fills his stoup, and sets it down to look at a parcel of boys

playing at cat and dog, they persuaded John to take a game wi’

them, on he plays, till ane o’ the boys cries, Hey John, yonders

your Girzy coming. John runs into the house wi’ the water, and the

pat being red-hot on the fire, he tumes in the cauld water into it,

which made the pat flee all in pieces, just as she was entering

the door. John runs for it, and she runs after him, crying catch

the thief, some persons stopped him; she comes up, and then she

laboured him all the way hame, and he crying, “O Sirs, ye see what

it is to be married!” The mither-in-law had to make up peace again,

and he promised good behaviour in time to come.

MISFORTUNE V.

On the next morning she sent him to the water to wash some cow’s

puddings and turn them on a spindle, showing him how he was to do

or he went away. John goes to the water very willingly, and as he

turned and washed them, he laid them down behind him, where one

of his father-in-law’s big dogs stood, and ate them up as fast as

he laid them down, till all was gone but the very last ane, which

he carried hame in his hand, crying like a child, and underwent a

severe tost of the old plaister before any mercy was shown.

MISFORTUNE VI.

His father-in-law, next day, sent him away to bring home a fat

calf he had bought in the country, and tied up the money in a

napkin, which he carried in his hand for fear he should lose it.

Being very weighty, as it was all in half-pence, and as he was

going alongst a bridge, he meets a man running after a horse, who

cries to John to stop the horse; John meets him on the top of the

bridge, and when he would not be stopped for him, he knocks the

horse on the face with the napkin and the money, so the napkin

rave, and most of the half-pence flew over the bridge in the water,

which made poor John go home crying very bitterly for his loss, and

dread of the old plaister, which he got very sickerly.

MISFORTUNE VII.

On the next morning, she sent him again to the bridge, to see if he

could find any of it in the water, and there he found some ducks

swimming, and ducking down with their heads below the water, as he

thought, gathering up his money, he kills one of them, and rips

her up, but found none of it in her guts or gabbie; then says he,

they have been but looking for it, I’ll go do as they did, strips

off his clothes and leaves them on the bridge, goes in a ducking,

in which time, a ragman came past, and took away all his clothes.

So he went home naked to get a bath of the old plaister.

MISFORTUNE VIII.

The next morning, she sent him to a farm-house for a pigful of

buttermilk, and as he was returning through the fields, the

farmer’s bull and another bull were fighting; the farmer’s bull

being like to loss, John runs in behind him, and sets his head to

the bull’s tail, on purpose to help him to push against the other;

but the poor bull thought John was some other bull attacking him

behind, fled aside, and the other bull came full drive upon John,

pushed him down, broke the pig, and spilt the milk. So John went

home to get his auld plaister, which began to be a usual diet to

him, and so he regarded it the less.

MISFORTUNE IX.

His mother-in-law, with several auld witty wives, held a private

council on John’s conduct, and bad luck, and concluded he was

bewitched. John was of the same opinion, and went to the Minister,

and told him he was the cause of a’ his misfortunes, ca’d him a

warlock to his face, and said, he had put such a black bargain into

his hand, that he was ruined for ever; insisted either to unmarry

them again, or send death and the bellman to take her awa, for she

has a lump of mischief on her back and anither on her breast, and

the rest of her body is a clean de’il. The Minister began to exhort

him to peace and patience, telling him that marriages were made in

heaven: “ye’re a baist liar,” says John, “for I was married in your

ain kitchen, and a’ the blackguards in the town were there, an it

had a been a heaven they wadna win in, yet tell me that matrimony

was sic a happy state, but had ye gotten as mony weel pay’d skins

as I hae gotten, ye wad a kend what it was; ill chance on you,

sir;” and out he goes cursing like a madman, throwing stanes and

breaking the Minister’s windows for which he was caught and put twa

hours in the stocks, and at last his lump of corruption came and

rubbed his lugs, drew his nose, got him out, and drove him home

before her, took a resolution never to set him about any business

in time coming, but keep him on his loom.

MISFORTUNE X.

Now she gave him no sleep all that night for scolding. John got up

in the morning lang or day, and left his Tormenter in bed, fell

asleep upon his loom wi’ the candle in his hand, and so set the

web, heddles, reed, and treadle cords in a fire. By chance his old

Viper looked out of the bed, or the whole house had been gone. Up

she gets, and with her cries alarmed the neighbourhood who came to

her relief; but poor John underwent a dreadful swabbing for this.

MISFORTUNE XI.

After the former hurry and beating being over, his work being

stopt, he went to bed and slept a’ that day, and following night.

On the next day, having nothing to do, she sent him in search of a

hen’s nest, which had ta’en some by-place to lay her eggs in: so

as poor John was in an auld kill searching a’ about the walls, the

kill-ribs broke, and down he goes with a vengeance into the logie,

cutted and bruised himself in a terrible manner; up he could not

win, but had to creep out at the logie below, scarce able to get

hame, his face and nose all running of blood. In this condition she

pitied and lamented for him very much, tied his sores and laid him

in bed; then sat down very kindly, saying, “My dear, and my lamb,

do you think there is ony of your banes broken; and what part of

you is sairest? And what will I get to do good?” “Oh!” said he,

“Girzy, I’m a’ brizzled atween the feet.” “Are ye indeed?” quoth

she, “then I wish ye had broken your neck, that I might a gotten

anither, useless ae way, and useless mae ways, upo’ my word, ye’s

no be here, gang whare ye like.”

MISFORTUNE XII.

Now, as poor John was turned out o’ doors next morning, to go awa’

hirpling on a staff; one came and told him his mother had died

last night. Oh hoch! said John, and is my mither clean dead! O an

she wad but look down through the lift, and see how I’m guided

this morning, I’m sure she wad send death for me too. I’m out o’ a

mither and out o’ a wife, out o’ my health and strength, and a’ my

warklooms. His mother-in-law came and pleaded for him: Haud your

tongue, mither, said Girzy, if ye kent what ail’d him ye wadna

speak about him, he’s useless, no worth the keeping in a house, but

to ca’ him to die like an auld beast at a dyke-side. Hout tout,

co’ the auld wife, we’ll mak o’ him and he’ll mend again. So John

got peace made up after a’, and he was easier mended than the burnt

web; got all his treadles and warklooms set in order, the wife’s

tongue excepted, which was made of wormwood, and the rest of her

body of sea water, which is always in a continual tempest.

So John appeals to a Jedburgh Jury if it be not easier to deal wi’

fools than headstrong fashious fouks; owns he has but an empty

skull, but his wicked wife wants wit to pour judgment into it,

never tells him o’ danger till it comes upon him, for his mother

said he was a biddable bairn, if ony body had been to learn him wit.

FINIS.

THE

MERRY TALES

OF THE

WISE MEN

OF

GOTHAM.

Of merry Books this is the chief,

’Twill make you laugh your fill.

[Illustration]

GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE

BOOKSELLERS.

THE MERRY TALES OF THE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM

TALE I.

There were two men of Gotham, and one of them was going to

Nottingham market to buy sheep, and both met together on Nottingham

bridge. Well met, said one to the other; whither are you going?

said he that came from Nottingham. Marry, said he that was going

thither, I am going to the market to buy sheep. Buy sheep! said the

other, which way will you bring them home? Marry, said the other,

I will bring them over this bridge. By Robin Hood, said he that

came from Nottingham, but thou shalt not. By my maid Margery, said

the other, but I will. You shall not, said the one. I will, said

the other. Then they beat their staves one against the other, and

then against the ground, as if a hundred sheep had been betwixt

them. Hold there, said the one. Beware of my sheep leaping over

the bridge, said the other. I care not, said the one. They shall

all come this way, said the other. But they shall not, said the

one. Then said the other, if thou makest much ado, I will put my

finger in thy mouth. A turd thou wilt, said the other. And as they

were in contention, another wise man that belonged to Gotham, came

from the market with a sack of meal on his horse; and seeing his

neighbours at strife about sheep and none betwixt them, said he, Ah

fools! will you never learn wit! Then help me, continued he, to lay

this sack upon my shoulder; they did so, and he went to the side

of the bridge and shook out the meal into the river, saying, How

much meal is there in my sack, neighbour? Marry, said one, there is

none. Indeed, replied this wise man, even so much wit is there in

your two heads to strive for that you have not. Now which was the

wisest of these three, I leave thee to judge.

TALE II.

There was a man of Gotham that rode to the market with two bushels

of wheat, and lest his horse should be damaged by carrying too

great a burden he was determined to carry the corn himself, upon

his own neck, and still kept riding upon his horse till he arrived

at the end of his journey. I will leave you to judge which was the

wisest, his horse or himself.

TALE III.

On a time the men of Gotham fain would have pinned in the cuckoo

that she might sing all the year; and in the midst of the town they

had a hedge made round in compass, and got a cuckoo and put her

into it, and said, Sing here, and thou shalt lack neither meat nor

drink all the year. The cuckoo, when she found herself encompassed

by the hedge, flew away. A vengeance on her, said these wise men,

we did not make our hedge high enough.

TALE IV.

There was a man of Gotham who went to Nottingham market to sell

cheese; and going down the hill to Nottingham bridge, one of his

cheeses fell out of his wallet and ran down the hill. Whoreson,

said the man, can you run to the market alone? I’ll now send one

after another. Then laying his wallet down, and taking out the

cheeses, he tumbled them down the hill one after another. Some ran

into one bush and some into another. He charged them, however, to

meet him at the market place. The man went to the market to meet

the cheeses, and staying till the market was almost over, then went

and inquired of his neighbours if they saw his cheeses come to the

market? Why, who should bring them? says one; Marry, themselves,

said the fellow, they knew the way very well. A vengeance on them,

they ran so fast, I was afraid they would run beyond the market;

I am sure they are by this time as far as York. So he immediately

rode to York, but was much disappointed. And to add to it, he never

found nor heard of one of his cheeses.

TALE V.

A man of Gotham bought, at Nottingham market, a trevet of bar iron;

and going home with it, his feet grew weary with the carriage. He

set it down, and seeing it had three feet, said, Whoreson, thou

hast three feet and I but two; thou shalt bear me home if thou

wilt, so he set himself down upon it, and said to it, bear me as

long as I have done thee, for if thou dost not thou shalt stand

still for me. The man of Gotham saw his trevet would not move.

Stand still said he, in the Mayor’s name, and follow me if thou

wilt, and I can shew you the right way. When he went home, his

wife asked where the trevet was? He said it had three legs, and

he had but two, and he had taught him the ready way to his house,

therefore he might come himself if he would. Where did you leave

the trevet? said the woman. At Gotham bridge, said he. So she

immediately ran and fetched the trevet herself; otherwise she must

have lost it on account of her husband’s want of wit.

TALE VI.

A certain smith of Gotham had a large wasp’s nest in the straw at

the end of the forge, and there coming one of his neighbours to

have his horse shod, and the wasps being exceeding busy, the man

was stung by one of them. The man, being grievously affronted,

said, Are you worthy to keep a forge or not, to have men stung with

these wasps? O neighbour, said the smith, be content, and I will

put them from their nest presently. Immediately he took a coulter,

and heated it red hot, and thurst it into the straw at the end of

his forge, and set it on fire, and burnt it up. Then, said the

smith, I told thee I’d fire them out of their nest.

TALE VII.

On Good Friday the men of Gotham consulted together what to do

with their white herrings, sprats, and salt fish, and agreed,

that all such fish should be cast into a pond or pool, in the

midst of the town, that the number of them might increase the next

year. Therefore every one that had any fish left, did cast them

immediately into the pond. Then said one, I have gotten left so

many red herrings. Well, said another, and I have left so many

whitings. Another cried out, I have as yet gotten so many sprats

left. And, said the last, I have gotten so many salt fishes, let

them go together in the great pond, without any distinction, and

we may be sure to fare like lords the next year. At the beginning

of the next Lent, they immediately went about drawing the pond,

imagining they should have the fish, but were much surprised to

find nothing but a great eel. Ah! said they, a mischief on this

eel, for he hath eaten up our fish. What must we do with him? said

one; chop him in pieces, said another. Nay, not so, said another,

but let us drown him. Be it accordingly so, replied they all. So

they went immediately to another pond, and cast the eel into the

water. Lay there, said these wise men, and shift for thyself, since

you may not expect help from us. So they left the eel to be drowned.

TALE VIII.

On a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their rents to

their landlord; so one said the other, to-morrow must be pay-day,

by whom can we send our money? So one said, I have this day taken

a hare, and she may carry it, for she is very quick footed; be it

so, replied the rest; she shall have a letter, and a purse to put

our money in, and we can direct her the way. When the letter was

written and the money put into a purse, they tied them about the

hare’s neck, saying, You must first go to Loughborough, and then to

Leicester, and at Newark is our landlord; then commend us to him,

and there is his due. The hare, as soon as she got out of their

hands, ran quite a contrary way.--Some said, Thou must first go to

Loughborough; others said, Let the hare alone, for she can tell a

nearer way than the best of us; let her go.

TALE IX.

A man of Gotham, that went mowing in the meadow, found a large

grasshopper He instantly threw down his scythe, and ran home to

his neighbour, and said that the devil was at work in the field,

and was hopping among the grass. Then was every man ready with

their clubs, staves, halberts, and other weapons, to kill the

grasshopper. When they came to the place where the grasshopper was,

said one to the other, let every man cross himself from the devil,

for we will not meddle with him. So they returned again, and said,

We are blest this day that we went no farther. O ye cowards! said

he that left the scythe in the meadow, help me to fetch my scythe.

No, answered they, it is good to sleep in a whole skin. It is much

better for thee to lose thy scythe than to mar us all.

TALE X.

On a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham that went to

fish; some waded in the water, and some stood on dry land. In

going home, one said to the other, we have ventured wonderfully

in wading, I pray God that none of us did come from home to be

drowned. Nay, marry, said one to the other, let us see that, for

there did twelve of us come out. Then they told themselves, and

every one told eleven. Said the one to the other, there is one of

us drowned. They then went back to the brook, where they’d been

fishing, and sought up and down for him that was drowned, making

great lamentation. A courtier coming by, asked what it was they

sought for, and why they were sorrowful. Oh, said they, this day we

went to fish in the brook; twelve of us came out together, and one

is drowned. The courtier said, tell how many there be of you. One

of them told eleven, but he did not tell himself. Well, said the

courtier, what will you give me, and I will find the twelfth man?

All the money we have got, said they. Give me the money, said he.

He began with the first, and gave him a stroke over the shoulders

with his whip, that made him groan, saying, here is one, and so he

served them all, and they groaned at the matter. When he came to

the last, he paid him well, saying, here is the twelfth man. God’s

blessings on thee said they, for finding our brother.

TALE XI.

A man of Gotham, riding along the highway, saw a cheese, so drew

his sword and pricked it with the point, in order to pick it up.

Another man who came by, alighted, picked it up, and rode away with

it. The man of Gotham rides to Nottingham to buy a long sword to

pick up the cheese, and returning to the place where it did lie, he

pulled out his sword, pricked the ground, and said, if I had had

but this sword I should have had the cheese myself, but now another

has come before me and got it.

TALE XII.

A man in Gotham, that did not love his wife, and she having fair

hair, he said divers times he would cut it off, but durst not do it

when she was awake, so he resolved to do it when she was asleep;

therefore, one night he took a pair of shears and put them under

his pillow, which his wife perceiving, said to her maid, go to bed

to my husband, to-night, for he intends to cut off my hair; let him

cut off thy hair, and I will give thee as good a kirtle as ever

thou didst see. The maid did so, and feigned herself asleep, which

the man perceiving, cut off her hair, wrapped it about the shears,

and, laying them under the pillow, fell asleep. The maid arose, and

the wife took the hair and shears, and went to the hall and burnt

the hair. The man had a fine horse that he loved, and the goodwife

went into the stable, cut off the hair of the horse’s tail, wrapped

the shears up in it, and laid them under the pillow again.--Her

husband, seeing her combing her head in the morning, marvelled

thereat. The girl, seeing her master in a deep study, said, What

ails the horse in the stable, he has lost his tail? The man ran

into the stable, and found the horse’s tail was cut off; then going

to the bed, he found the shears wrapped up in his horse’s tail. He

then went to his wife, saying, I crave thy mercy, for I intended

to cut off thy hair, but I have cut off my own horse’s tail. Yea,

said she, self do self have. Many men think to do a bad turn, but

it turneth oft times to themselves.

TALE XIII.

A man of Gotham laid his wife a wager that she could not make him

a cuckold. No! said she, but I can. Do not spare me, said he, but

do what you can. On a time she had hid all the spigots and faucets,

and going into the buttery, set a barrel of broach, and cried to

her spouse, Pray, bring me a spigot and faucet, or else the ale

will all run out. He sought up and down, but could not find one.

Come here then, said she, and put thy finger in the tap-hole. Then

she called a tailor with whom she made a bargain. Soon after she

came to her husband, and brought a spigot and a faucet, saying,

Pull thy finger out of the tap-hole, good cuckold. Beshrew your

heart for your trouble, said she, make no such bargain with me

again.

TALE XIV.

A man of Gotham took a young buzzard, and invited four or five

gentlemen’s servants to the eating of it; but the wife killed an

old goose, and she and two of her gossips ate up the buzzard, and

the old goose was laid to the fire for the gentlemen’s servants.

So when they came the goose was set before them. What is this?

said one of them. The goodman said, a curious buzzard. A buzzard!

why, it is an old goose, and thou art a knave to mock us, and so

departed in great anger. The fellow was sorry that he had affronted

them, and took a bag and put the buzzard’s feathers in it; but his

wife desired him, before he went, to fetch a block of wood, and

in the interim she pulled out the buzzard’s feathers, and put

in the goose’s. The man, taking the bag, went to the gentlemen’s

servants, and said, Pray, be not angry with me, you shall see I

had a buzzard, for here be the feathers. Then he opened the bag,

and took out the goose’s feathers; upon which one of them took a

cudgel, and gave him a dozen of stripes, saying, Why, you knave,

could you not be content to mock us at home, but you are come here

to mock us also.

TALE XV.

A man’s wife of Gotham was brought to bed of a male child, and the

father invited the gossips, who were children of eight or ten years

of age. The eldest child’s name was Gilbert, the second’s name was

Humphrey, and the godmother was called Christabel. Their relations

admonished them divers times, that they must all say after the

parson. And when they were come to church, the priest said, Be

you all agreed of the name? Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel,

said the same. The priest then said, Wherefore came you hither?

They immediately said the same. The priest being amazed, could not

tell what to say, but whistled and said Whey, and so did they.

The priest being angry, said, Go home, you fools, go home. Then

Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel, did the same. The priest then

provided god-fathers and god-mothers himself.

TALE XVI.

A young man of Gotham went a wooing a fair maid: his mother warned

him before-hand, saying, whenever you look at her, cast a sheep’s

eye at her, and say, How dost thou my sweet Pigmy? The fellow went

to a butcher and bought seven or eight sheep eyes. And when this

lusty wooer was at dinner, he would look upon the fair wench, and

cast in her face a sheep’s eye, saying, How dost thou do, my sweet

Pigmy? How I do, said the wench; Swine’s face, what do you mean

by casting a sheep’s eye at me? O! sweet Pigmy have at thee with

another. I defy thee Swine’s face, said the wench, What my sweet

old Pigmy, be content, for if you live till next year you will be

a foul sow. Walk, knave, walk, said she, for if you live till next

year you will be a fool.

TALE XVII.

There was a man of Gotham who would be married, and when the day of

marriage was come, they went to church. The priest said, Do you say

after me. The man said, Do you say after me. The priest said, Say

not after me such like, but say what I shall tell you; thou dost

play the fool to mock the holy Scriptures concerning matrimony. The

fellow said, Thou dost play the fool to mock the holy Scriptures

concerning matrimony. The priest wist not what to say, but

answered, What shall I do with this fool? and the man said, What

shall I do with this fool? So the priest took his leave, and would

not marry them. The man was instructed by others how to do, and was

afterwards married. And thus the breed of the Gothamites has been

perpetuated even unto this day.

TALE XVIII.

There was a Scotsman who dwelt at Gotham, and he took a house a

little distance from London, and turned it into an inn, and for his

sign he would have a boar’s head, accordingly he went to a carver,

and said, Can you make me a bare head? Yes, said the carver. Then

said he, make me a bare head, and thou’se hae twenty shillings for

thy hire. I will do it, said the carver, on St Andrew’s day, before

Christmas, (called Yule in Scotland,) the Scot came to London for

his boar’s head. I say, speak, said the Scotsman, hast thou made

me a bare head? Yes, said the carver. He went and brought a man’s

head of wood that was bare, and said, Sir, there is your bare head.

Ay said the Scot the meikle de’il! is this a bare head! Yes, said

the carver. I say, said the Scotsman, I will have a bare head like

the head that follows a sow with gryces. What, whoreson, know you

not a sow that will greet and groan and cry a-week, a-week. What,

said the carver, do you mean a pig! Yes, said the Scotsman, let me

have her head made of timber, and set on her a scalp, and let her

sing--Whip whire. The carver said he could not. You whoreson, said

he, gar her as she’d sing whip whire.

TALE XIX.

In old times, during these tales the wives of Gotham were got into

an alehouse, and said they were all profitable to their husbands.

Which way, good gossips! said the ale-wife. The first said, I will

tell you all, good gossips I cannot brew nor bake, therefore I am

every day alike, and go to the alehouse because I cannot go to

church; and in the alehouse I pray to God to speed my husband, and

I am sure my prayers will do him more good than my labour. Then

said the second, I am profitable to my husband in saving of candle

in winter, for I cause my husband and all my people to go to bed by

day-light and rise by day-light. The third said, I am profitable in

sparing bread, for I drink a gallon of ale, and I care not much for

meat. The fourth said, I am loath to spend meat and drink at home,

so I go to the tavern at Nottingham and drink wine, and such other

things as God sends me there. The fifth said, A man will ever have

more company in another’s house than his own, and most commonly

in the ale-house. The sixth said, My husband has flax and wool to

spare, if I go to other folk’s houses to do their work. The seventh

said, I spare my husband’s wood and clothes, and sit all day

talking at other folks’ fires. The eighth said, Beef, mutton, and

pork are dear, I therefore take pigs, chickens, conies, and capons,

being of a lesser price. The ninth said, I spare my husband’s soap,

for instead of washing once a week, I wash but once a quarter.

Then said the ale-wife, I keep all my husband’s ale from souring;

for as I was wont to drink it almost up, now I never leave a drop.

TALE XX.

On Ash Wednesday, the minister of Gotham would have a collection

from his parishioners, and said unto them, My friends, the time is

come that you must use prayer, fasting, and alms, but come ye to

shrift, I will tell you more of my mind. But as for prayer, I don’t

think that two men in the parish can say their Paternoster. As for

fasting, ye fast still, for ye have not a good meal’s meat in the

year. As for alm-deeds, what should they give that have nothing? In

Lent you must refrain from drunkenness and abstain from drink. No

not so, said one fellow, for it is an old proverb, that fish should

swim. Yes, said the priest, they must swim in the water. I crave

thy mercy, quoth the fellow, I thought it should have swam in fine

ale, for I have been told so. Soon after the men of Gotham came to

shrift and being seven, the priest knew not what penance to give.

He said, if I enjoin you to pray, you cannot say your Paternoster.

And it is but folly to make you fast, because you never eat a

meal’s meat. Labour hard and get a dinner on Sunday, and I will

partake of it. Another man he enjoined to fare well on Monday, and

another on Tuesday, and another on Wednesday, and so on one after

another, that one or other should fare well once in the week that

he might have part of their meat, on every day during the week.

And as for your alm-deeds, the priest said, ye be but beggars all,

except one or two, therefore bestow your alms on yourselves.

FINIS.

THE

LIFE OF

MANSIE WAUCH

TAILOR IN DALKEITH.

[Illustration]

For a tailor is a man, a man, a man,

And a tailor is a man.

GLASGOW;

PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS

THE LIFE OF

MANSIE WAUCH.

I was born during the night of the 15th of October, 1765, in that

little house, standing by itself, not many yards from the eastmost

side of the Flesh-Market Gate, Dalkeith. Long was it spoken about

that something mysterious would happen on that dreary night; as

the cat, after washing her face, gaed mewing about, with her tail

sweeing behind her like a ramrod; and a corbie, from the Duke’s

woods, tumbled down Jamie Elder’s lum, when he had set the little

still a-going--giving them a terrable fright, as they took it for

the deevil and then for an exciseman--and fell with a great cloud

of soot, and a loud skraigh, into the empty kail-pot.

The first thing that I have any clear memory of, was my being

carried out on my auntie’s shoulder, with a leather cap tied under

my chin, to see the Fair Race. Oh! but it was a grand sight! I have

read since then, the story of Aladdin’s Wonderful Lamp, but this

beat it all to sticks. There was a long row of tables, covered

with carpets of bonny patterns, heaped from one end to the other

with shoes of every kind and size, some with polished soles, and

some glittering with sparribles and cuddyheels; and little red

worsted boots for bairns, with blue and white edgings, hinging

like strings of flowers up the posts at each end;--and then what

a collection of luggies! the whole meal in the market sacks on a

Thursday did not seem able to fill them: and horn spoons, green and

black freckled, with shanks clear as amber,--and timber caups,--and

ivory egg-cups of every pattern. Have a care of us! all the eggs in

Smeaton dairy might have found resting places for their doups in

a row. As for the gingerbread, I shall not attempt a discription.

Sixpenny and shilling cakes, in paper, tied with skinie; and

roundabouts, and snaps, brown and white quality, and parliaments,

on stands covered with calendered linen, clean from the fold. To

pass it was just impossible; it set my teeth a-watering, and I

skirled like mad, until I had a gilded lady thurst into my little

nieve; the which after admiring for a minute, I applied my teeth

to and of the head I made no bones: so that in less than no time,

she had vanished, petticoats and all, no trace of her being to the

fore, save and except long treacly daubs, extending east and west

from ear to ear, and north and south from cape nep of the nose to

the extremity of beardyland.

But what, of all things, attracted my attention on that memorable

day, was the show of cows, sheep and horses, mooing, baaing, and

neighering; and the race--that was best! Od, what a sight!--we were

jammed in the crowd of auld wives, with their toys and shining

ribbons; and carter lads, with their blue bonnets; and young

wenches, carrying home their fairings in napkins, as muckle as

would hold their teeth going for a month;--there scarcely could

he muckle for love, when there was so much for the stomach;--and

men with wooden legs, and brass virls at the end of them,

playing on the fiddle,--and a bear that roared, and danced on

its hind feet, with a muzzled mouth,--and Punch and Polly,--and

puppie-shows and mair than I can tell,--when up came the horses

to the starting-post. I shall never forget the bonny dresses of

the riders. One had a napkin tied round his head, another had on

a black velvet hunting-cap and his coat stripped O! but he was a

brave lad and sorrow was the folks for him, when he fell off in

taking ower sharp a turn, by which auld Pullen, the bell-ringer wha

was holding the post was made to coup the creels. And the last was

all life, as gleg as an eel. Up and down he went and up and down

gaed the beast on its hind-legs and its fore-legs, funking like

mad; yet tho’ he was not aboon thirteen, or fourteen at most, he

did not cry out for help more than five or six times, but grippit

at the mane with one hand and at the back of the saddle with the

other, til, daft Robie, the hostler at the stables claught hold

of the beast by the head, and off they set. The young birkie had

neither hat nor shoon but he did not spare the stick; round and

round they flew like daft. Ye would have thought their een would

have loupen out, and loudly all the crowd were hurraing, when young

hatless came up foremost, standing in the stirrups, the long stick

between his teeth, and his white hair fleeing behind him in the

wind like streamers on a frosty night.

CALF-LOVE.

Just after I was put to my ’prenticeship, having made free choice

of the tailoring trade, I had a terrible stound of calf-love.

Never shall I forget it. I was growing up, long and lank as a

willow-wand, brawns to my legs there were none, as my trowsers of

other years too visibly effected to show. The long yellow hair hung

down, like a flax-wig, the length of my lantern jaws, which looked,

notwithstanding my yapness and stiff appetite, as if eating and

they had broken up acquaintanceship. My blue jacket seemed in the

sleeves to have picket a quarrel with the wrists, and had retreated

to a tait below the elbows. The haunch-buttons, on the contrary

appeared to have taken a strong liking to the shoulders, a little

below which they showed their tarnished brightness. At the middle

of the back the tails terminated, leaving the well-worn rear of my

corduroys, like a full moon seen through a dark haze. Oh! but I

must have been a bonny lad.

My first flame was the minister’s lassie, Jess, a buxom and forward

queen, two or three years older than myself. I used to sit looking

at her in the kirk, and felt a droll confusion when our een met.

It dirled through my heart like a dart, and I looked down at my

psalm-book sheepish and blushing. Fain would I have spoken to her,

but it would not do; my courage aye failed me at the pinch, though

she whiles gave me a smile when she passed me. She used to go to

the well every night with her twa stoups, to draw water after the

manner of the Israelites at gloaming; so I thought of watching to

give her the two apples which I had carried in my pouch for more

than a week for that purpose. How she laughed when I stappit them

into her hand, and brushed by without speaking? I stood at the

bottom of the close listening, and heard her laughing till she was

like to split. My heart flap flappit in my breast like a pair of

fanners. It was a moment of heavenly hope; but I saw Jamie Coom,

the blacksmith, who I aye jealoused was my rival, coming down to

the well. I saw her give him one of the apples: and hearing him

say with a loud gaffaw, “Where is the tailor?” I took to my heels,

and never stopped till I found myself on the little stool by the

fireside, and the hamely sound of my mother’s wheel bum-bumming in

my lug, like a gentle lullaby.

Every noise I heard flustered me, but I calmed in time, though

I went to my bed without my supper. When I was driving out the

gaislings to the grass on the next morn, who was it my ill fate to

meet but the blacksmith. “Ou, Mansie,” said Jamie Coom, “are ye

gaun to take me for your best man? I hear you are to be cried in

the kirk on Sunday?”

“Me!” answered I, shaking and staring.

“Yes!” said he, “Jess the minister’s maid told me last night,

that you had been giving up your name at the manse. Ay, it’s ower

true--for she showed me the apples ye gied her in a present.

This is a bonny story, Mansie, my man, and you only at your

’prenticeship yet.”

Terror and despair had struck me dumb. I stood as still and as

stiff as a web of buckram. My tongue was tied and I couldna

contradict him. Jamie faulded his arms, and gaed away whistling,

turning every now and then his sooty face over his shoulder, and

mostly sticking his tune, as he could not keep his mouth screwed

for laughing. What would I not have given to have laughed to!

There was no time to be lost; this was the Saturday. The next

rising sun would shine on the Sabbath. Ah, what a case I was in I

could mostly have drowned myself, had I not been frighted. What

could I do? My love had vanished like lightning: but oh, I was in

a terrible gliff! Instead of gundy, I sold my thrums to Mrs Walnut

for a penny, with which I bought at the counter a sheet of paper

and a pen; so that in the afternoon I wrote out a letter to the

minister, telling him what I had been given to hear, and begging

him, for the sake of mercy, not to believe Jess’s word, as I was

not able to keep a wife, and as she was a leeing gipsy.

PUSHING MY FORTUNE.

The days of the years of my ’prenticeship having glided cannily

over on the working board of my respected maister, James Hosey,

where I sat working cross-legged like a busy bee, in the true

spirit of industrious contentment, I found myself at the end of the

seven year, so well instructed in the tailoring trade, to which I

had paid a near-sighted attention, that, without more ado, I girt

myself round about with a proud determination of at once cutting my

mother’s apron string, and venturing to go without a hold. Thinks

I to myself “faint heart never won fair lady;” so, taking my stick

in my hand, I set out towards Edinburgh, as brave as a Hielander

in search of a journeyman’s place. I may set it down to an especial

providence, that I found one, on the very first day, to my heart’s

content in by at the Grassmarket, where I stayed for the space of

six calendar months.

Had it not been from a real sense of the duty I owed to my future

employers, whomsoever they might be, in making myself a first-rate

hand in the cutting, shaping, and sewing line, I would not have

found courage in my breast to have helped me out through such a

long and dreary time.

Never let us repine, howsomever, but consider that all is ordered

for the best. The sons of the patriarch Jacob found out their

brother Joseph in a foreign land, and where they least expected it:

so it was here--even here where my heart was sickening unto death,

from my daily and nightly thoughts being as bitter as gall--that I

fell in with the greatest blessing of my life, Nanse Cromie!

In the flat below our workshop lived Mrs Whitterraick, the wife of

Mr. Whitterraick, a dealer in hens and Hams in the poultry market,

who coming from the Lauder neighbourhood had hired a bit wench of

a lassie that was to follow them come the term. And who think ye

should this lassie be, but Nanse Cromie, afterwards, in the course

of a kind providence, the honoured wife of my bosom, and the mother

of bonny Benjie.

In going up and down the stairs,--it being a common entry, ye

observe--me may be going down with my every day hat on to my

dinner, and she coming up, carrying a stoup of water, or half

a-pound of pouthered butter on a plate, with a piece of paper

thrown over it,--we frequently met half-way, and had to stand still

to let one another pass. Nothing came of these forgetherings,

howsomever, for a month or two, she being as shy and modest as she

was bonny, with her clean demity short gown, and snow-white morning

mutch, to say nothing of her cherry mou, and me unco douffie in

making up to strangers. We could not help, nevertheless, to take

aye a stoun look of each other in passing; and I was a gone man,

bewitched out of my seven senses, falling from my claes, losing my

stomach, and over the lugs in love, three weeks and some odd days

before ever a single syllable passed between us.

If ever a man loved and loved like mad, it was me, Mansie

Wauch,--and I take no shame in the confession; but, kenning it all

in the course of nature, declared it openly and courageously in

the face of the wide world. Let them laugh who like; honest folk,

I pity them;--such know not the pleasures of virtuous affection.

It is not in corrupted sinful hearts that the fire of true love

can ever burn clear. Alas, and ohon orie! they lose the sweetest,

completest, dearest, truest pleasure that this world has in store

for its children. They know not the bliss to meet, that makes the

embrace of separation bitter. They never dreamed the dreams that

make awakening to the morning light unpleasant. They never felt

the raptures that can dirl like darts through a man’s soul from a

woman’s ee. They never tasted the honey that dwells on a woman’s

lip, sweeter than yellow marygolds to the bee; or fretted under the

fever of bliss that glows through the frame on pressing the hand of

a suddenly met, and fluttering sweetheart. But tuts-tuts--hech-how!

my day has long since past; and this is stuff to drop from the lips

of an auld fool. Nevertheless, forgive me, friends: I cannot help

all-powerful nature.