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.