The wooing being over and the day being set, Jockey’s mither killed the black boul horned yeal ewe, that lost her lamb the last year, three hens and a gule-fitted cock; to prevent the ripples, 5 pecks of maut masked in the muckle kirn, a pint of treacle, to mak it thicker, and sweeter, and mamier for the mouth; 5 pints of whisky, wherein was garlic and spice, for raising the wind, and the clearing their water. The friends and good neighbours went wi’ John to the Kirk, where Maggy chanced to meet him, and was married by the minister. The twa companies joined the gither, and came hame in a crowd; and at every change-house they chanced to pass by, Providence stopt their proceeding with full stoups, bottles, and glasses, drinking their healths, wishing them joy, ten girls and a boy. Jockey seeing so many wishing well to his health, coupt up what he got for to augment his health, and gar him live long, which afterwards couped him up, and proved detrimental to the same. So hame they came to the dinner, where his mither presenting to them a piping het haggis, made of the creesh of the black boul horned ewe, boiled in the meikle pot, mixt with bear-meal, onions, spice, and mint. This haggis being supt warm, the foaming swats and spice in the liquor set John’s belly a-bizzing like a working fat; and he playing het-fit to the fiddler, was suddenly seized with a bocking and rebounding, which gave his dinner such a backward ca’, that he lost a’ but the girt bits, which he scythed thro’ his teeth. His mither cried to spence him, and bed him with the bride. His breeks being filed, they washed both his hips and laid him in his bed. Pale and ghostly was his face, and closed were baith his een. Ah, cries his mither, a dismal day indeed; his bridal and his burial may be in ae day. Some cuist water in his face, and jag’d him wi a needle, till he began to rouse himself up, and then lisp out some broken words. Mither, mither! cries Jockey, whar am I now? Whar are you now, my bairn, says his mither, ye’re bedet, and I’ll bring the bride to you. Beded, says Jockey, and is my bridal done else? Ay is’t, said his mither, and here’s the bride come to lie down beside you, my man. Na na, mither, says Jockey, I’ll no lie wi an unco woman indeed, and it binna heads and thraws, the way that I lie wi’ you, mither. O fy, John, says his mither, dinna affront yoursel’ and me baith, tak her in o’er the bed ayont ye, and kiss her, and clap her, and daut her till ye fa’ asleep. The bride fa’s a-crying out, O mither! mither! was this the way my father guided you the first night? Na, na, thy father was a man of manners, and better mettle; poor thing, Meg, thou’s ca’d thy hogs to a bonny market. A bonny market! says Jockey’s mither; a shame fa’ you and her baith, he’s wordy of her though she were better nor what she is, or e’er will be.--His friends and her friends being a mixed multitude, some took his part, some took hers, there did a battle