The Brithers Grimm

Pitten ower fae the Nether-Saxon (Laich-German) by Andy Eagle. Collectit by the Brithers Grimm.

Fergus Suithfast An Fergus Suithless
(Ferenand Getrü un Ferenand Ungetrü)

The' war ance a man an a wife that didna hae ony bairns sae lang as thay wis rich, but whan thay becam puir, thay haed a wee laddie. But thay coudna find a Godfaither for him. Syne the man said he wad gang tae anither airt for tae see gin he coud find ane thare. On his gate he cam ower a puir man. The puir man speirt waur he wis gaun. The man said he wantit awa for tae find a Godfaither, but he's puir an nae body wantit tae be Godfaither.
"Och", said the puir man,
"ye're puir an A'm puir, A want tae be the Godfaither; but A'm sae puir A canna gie the bairn ocht. Gang hame an tell the howdie-wife she shoud come til the kirk wi the bairn."
As aw the menyie cam til the kirk, the gaberlunzie wis awreadies ben, he gied the bairn the name Fergus Suithfast. As thay gaed oot the kirk the gaberlunzie said,
"gang hame nou, A canna gie ye ocht an ye shoudna gie's ocht aither."
But he gied the howdie-wife a key an said she shoud gie it til the faither whan she gets hame, he shoud tak tent o't till the bairn's fowerteen year auld, syne the bairn shoud gang up til the muir, thare's a castle that the key fits, an aw whit's inby belangs him.

Whan the bairn wis a weel grawn seiven year auld, he gaed daffin wi the tither laddies, the tane haed gotten mair aff his Godfaither nor the tither. He coudna say muckle an grat an gaed hame an said til his faither,
"Hiv A no gotten ocht aff ma Godfaither?"
"Och ay", said the faither,
"ye wis gien a key. Gin ye see a castle up on the muir, gang til it an open it."
Syne he gaed thare but thare wisna a castle tae be seen or haurd.

Ance mair, efter anither seiven year, whan he wis fowerteen year auld, he gaed back an thare stuid a castle. Whan he appent it thare wis nocht inby but a horse an saidle. The laddie wis sae up tae hie-doe that he haed the horse, he sat hissel on it an breeshelt til his faither,
"nou that A hae a saidle A want tae stravaig an aw."
Syne he gaed awa, an as he wis on his gate, he seen a scrievin-quill liggin on the grund. At first he wantit tae tak it up, but he thocht til hissel,
"Och, ye shoud lea' it liggin, nae maiter whaur ye come til ye'll aye find a quill whan ye hae want o ane."
As he gaed it cried efter him,
"Fergus Suithfast tak it wi ye."
He leukit aboot him but didna see onybody, he gaed back again an pickit it up. Efter he haed ridden a whilie, he cam ower a loch. A fish wis liggin on the bank, pechin an pechin for air. Sae he said,
"haud on ma lief fish, A want tae help ye get back intil the loch."
Syne he grippit the fish by the tail an flang it intil the loch. Syne the fish raxed his heid oot the watter an said,
"nou that ye hae helpit me, A want tae gie ye a penny-whistle, an gin ye drap onything intil the loch, whistle an A will rax it oot tae ye."

He nou rade awa. Syne a man cam til him an speirt whaur he wis gaun.
"Och, til the neist clachan."
"whit's yer name?"
"Fergus Suithfast."
"See thare, we naurhaund hae the same name, A'm cried Fergus Suithless."
Syne the baith o thaim gaed til the neist clachan, tae the inn. Nou it wis ill that Fergus Suithless aye kent awthing that the tither haed thocht an wantit tae dae. He kent thon throu aw kins o wickit cantrips.

In the inn wis an upricht lassie that haed sic a pure face an cleidit hersel sae bonnie. She wis smitten wi Fergus Suithfast. She wis a luesome body an speirt whaur he wis gaun. Och, he wantit tae stravaig aboot. Syne she said he shoud juist bide thare. Here in the kintra wis a keeng that wad blythe tak on a servand or an ootrider. Still an on he shoud gang intil the service. He answert that he coudna weel gang thare an bode hissel. Syne the lassie said,
"A'll e'en dae't."
An wi thon she gaed straucht til the keeng an telt him she kent a braw servand. That wis awricht an the keeng lat him come til him for tae mak him a servand. But he wad liefer be an ootrider, acause whaur his horse is, he maun be an aw. Sae the keeng taen him on as an ootrider.

Whan Fergus Suithless fund oot aboot thon he said til the lassie,
"Haud on, ye helpit him an no me?"
"Och ", said the lassie, "A want tae help ye an aw."
She thocht: "A maun keep an ee on him acause he's no tae lippen til."
She gaed an stuid afore the keeng an bode him as a servand. The keeng wis weel sert. Mornins whan Fergus Suithless gaed til his maister, the keeng aye yammert,
"och! gin A haed ma lassie wi me."
Fergus Suithless wis aye schamin agin Fergus Suithfast, ance mae as the keeng wis yammerin he said,
"Ye hae the ootrider send him, he coud bring her here, an gin he daesna dae it, his heid maun be liggit afore his feet."
Syne the keeng lat Fergus Suithfu be brocht til him an telt him, he haed a lassie an he shoud bring her here, an gin he didna dae it he maun dee.

Fergus Suithfast gaed til his saidle in the stable an grat an yammert.
"Och! Whitna puir craitur A am."
Syne a body cried oot ahint him,
"Fergus Suithfast whit for are ye greetin?"
He leukit aboot but didna see onybody, an aye yammert on,
"Och ma lief saidleockie, nou A maun lea' ye, nou A maun dee."
It syne cried again,
"Fergus Suithfast whit for are ye greetin?"
Syne he jaloused that it wis the saidle that speirt at him.
"Are ye daein thon, ma saidleockie, can ye speak?" An said ower: "A maun gang awa an bring the trystit ane back, dae ye no ken hou A micht coud begin?"
Syne the saidleockie answert,
"Gang til the keeng an say, gin he gies ye whit ye maun hae, ye will bring her, gin he gies ye a ship laiden wi flesh an a ship laiden wi breid, than ye can win throu. Thare's muckle etins in the loch, gin ye daena bring thaim ony flesh thay will rive ye, an thare's muckle birds, that will pick oot the een fae yer heid gin ye daena hae ony breid for thaim."
Syne the keeng lat aw the fleshers in the airt slauchter an aw the baxters bak, sae that the ships'll be laiden fou. An whan thay wis laiden fou, the saidleockie said til Fergus Suithfast,
"Nou sit upo me an ride abuird the ship, an whan the etins comes say:

'Wheesht, wheesht ma lief etinies,
A hiv on ye thocht,
A hiv brocht ye ocht.'

An whan the birds comes, ance mae ye say:

'Wheesht, wheesht ma lief birdies,
A hae on ye thocht,
A hae brocht ye ocht.'

Than thay winna skaithe ye, an whan ye win til the castle, the etins will help ye. Syne gang intae the castle an tak twa-three etins wi ye. The princess ligs thare sleepin but ye maunna wauken her. The etins maun heeze up her an the bed, an cairy her abuird the ship.

An as thay cam til the keeng, she said she coudna lue him. She maun hae her screeds, thay war left liggin in her castle.

Syne Fergus Suithless wis schamin for tae hae Fergus Suitfast cried an the keeng telt him he maun fesh the screeds frae the castle, ithergates he maun dee. Ance mae he gaed intil the stable an grat an said,
"Och ma lief saidleockie, Nou A maun gang awa ance mae, hou shoud A dae thon?"
Syne the saidleockie said,
"ye maun laid the ships fou ance mae."
As thay wan til the castle the saidleockie telt him, he shoud gang in, in the princess's bedchaumer, the screeds is on the desk. Syne Fergus Suithfast gaed in an gat a haud o thaim. As thay wis on the loch he lat his quill faw intil the watter, syne the saidleockie said,
"A canna help ye nou."
Syne he mynt the penny-whistle, he begoud tae play, syne the fish cam wi the quill in his mooth an raxed it up til him. Syne he brocht the screeds til the castle waur the waddin wis tae be hauden.

The queen coudna thole the keeng acause he didna hae a neb, but she wis sair lief on Fergus Suithfast. Efter aw the menfowk o the coort wis forgaithert, the queen said she coud dae cantrips, she coud sned a body's heid aff an pit it back on, juist ae body daur come forrit. But naebody wantit tae be the first, Fergus Suithless haed tae acause o Fergus Suithless' schamin. She sned aff his heid an pit it back on again, an it wis healt straucht awa, an leukit lik he haed a reid threid roond his hause. Syne the keeng said til her,
"hen, whaur did ye learn tae dae thon?"
"Ay", she said, "A unnerstaund sic cantrips, shoud A ettle an dae it wi ye an aw?"
"Och aye!" he said.
Syne she sned aff his heid but didna pit it back on again, she lat on she coudna get it back on, acause he wadna sit still. Syne the keeng wis yirdit. She wantit Fergus Suithfast but he aye rade his saidle, an as he sat on it, it said til him, he shoud gang til anither muir that he shawed him, an ride aboot it thrice, an efter he haed duin thon it gaed up on its hint-legs an chynged intae a prince.

Anent The Fisher An His Wife
(Von dem Fischer un seyner Fru)

Thare wis ance a fisher an his wife that steyed thegither ablo a cowpit chantie aneist the sea. Ilka day the fisher gaed til the sea for tae fish, an he fisht an he fisht. Ance he sat fishin an glowerin intil the clear watter, he sat an he sat. Syne the line gaed tae grund, deep doun, an as he heezed it oot, he heezed oot a muckle rodden fleuk. Syne the rodden fleuk says til him,
"tak tent, fisher, A fleetch at ye for tae lat's leeve, A'm no a real rodden fleuk A'm a bewitchit prince. Hou's it gaun tae help ye gin ye kill me? A wadna taste richt guid tae ye onywey, pit us back intil the watter an lat us soum."
"Crivens!", says the man,
"ye daena need haiver a hantle sicht, A wad as lief lat a rodden fleuk that can speak gang soum."
Wi thon he pit the rodden fleuk back intil the clear watter. Syne the rodden fleuk gaed tae grund lea'in a lang straik o bluid ahint him. Syne the man gat up an gaed til his wife ablo the chantie.
"Guidman" says the wife,
"Hae ye no catcht onything the day?"
"Na" says the man, "A catcht a rodden fleuk that said he wis a bewitchit prince, sae A lat him gang soum."
"Did ye no wiss for onything?" speirt the wife.
"Na" says the man, "whit shoud A wiss masel?"
"Och!" says the wife, "it's sae awfu, aye haein tae stey ablo a chantie at stews an is sae scunnersome. Ye coud hae wissed us a wee bothy. Gang back an cry on him. Tell him we want a wee bothy, he's boond tae dae thon."
"Och!" says the man, "whit for shoud A gang thare?"
"Ah!" says the wife, "ye catcht him, an syne lat him gang soum, he's boond tae dae thon. Gang straucht thare."
The man didna richt want tae, but he didna want tae fash his wife sae he gaed til the sea. Whan he gat thare the sea wis gey an green an yellae, an no sae clear ony mair. Sae he gaed an stuid thare an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

Syne the rodden fleuk soums up an speirs: "Ah, whit's she efter?"
"Och", says the man, "A catcht ye an nou ma wife says A shoud hae makkit a wiss. She daesna want tae stey ablo a chantie ony mair, she wad sair like a bothy."
"gang back man" says the rodden fleuk, "she awreadies haes hit."
Syne the man gaed back, an his wife wisna sittin ablo a chantie ony mair, but a wee bothy stuid thare, an his wife wis sittin afore the door on a bink. Syne his wife teuk him by the haund an says til him,
"Come awa ben, see, nou thon's a guid bit mair better".
Syne thay gaed awa in, an in the bothy wis a wee entry, an a braw wee stove, an a chaumer whaur ilk ane's bed stuid, an a keetchen, an a press. Aw the bestest gear, an aw the bonniest polisht pewther an bress thingmies, an awthing that's aucht thon. Oot the back wis a wee yaird wi teukies an deuks, an a bit gairden wi green yerbs an fruit.
"See", says the wife, "is thon no braw?"
"Ay", says the man, "an sae it shoud bide, nou we're gaun tae leeve gey an blythesome."
"We'll think on thon", says the wife.
Wi thon thay haed a bit meat an gaed til thair beds.

Sae it gaed on for aicht or fowerteen days. Syne the wife said,
"Tak tent guidman, the bothy's growen ower hampert, an the yaird an gairden's sae wee. The rodden fleuk coud hae gien us a mair muckle hoose. A want tae stey in a muckle stanern castle. Gang til the rodden fleuk, he shoud gie's a castle."
"Och wife" says the man, "the bothy's aye guid eneuch, whit will we dae in a castle?"
"Och whit!", says the wife, "gang ye thare, the rodden fleuk can aye dae't."
"Nae wife", says the man, "the rodden fleuk first gied us the bothy, A daena want tae aye be comin back, it micht coud mismey the rodden fleuk."
"Gang onywey", says the wife, "he can dae thon richt guid, an he likes tae. Gang ye thare."
The man didna want tae an his hert wis wechty. He says intil hissel,
"Thon's no richt"
but he gaed thare onywey. Whan he cam til the sea the watter wis fair purpie an daurk blae, an gray an stieve, an no sae green an yellae ony mair, but it wis aye still lown. He gaed an stuid thare, an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och", says the man, hauf dowie-like, "she wants tae stey in a muckle stanern castle."
"Gang back man" says the rodden fleuk "she's staundin afore the door."
Syne the man gaed back an thocht he wad be gaun tae the bothy, but whan he gat thare, a muckle stanern palace stuid thare, an his wife haed juist gane on the stair for tae gang in. She teuk him by the haund an says, "come awa ben."
Wi thon he gaed ben wi her. In the castle wis a muckle haw wi a seamless merble fluir, an the' war sae mony servands that poud the muckle doors open, an the waws wis happit wi braw wawpaper, an in the chaumers wis mony gowden cheers an tables, an creestal chandeleeries hingin fae the camceil, an aw the rooms an chaumers haed cairpets, an meat an the brawmaist wine stuid on the tables, naur garrin thaim brak thegither. Ahint the hoose wis a muckle yaird wi a horsestable an byre, an the best maist horsecairts, an thare wis a muckle byous gairden, wi the bonniest flouers an rare fruit trees, an a maize, a fou hauf mile lang. The war rae-deer an donies intil't, an awthing that a body coud aye wiss for.
"Na!" says the wife, "is thon no braw?"
"Och ay", says the man, "an sae it shoud bide, nou that we stey in this braw castle, we shoud be contentit."
"We'll think on thon", says the wife, "We shoud sleep."
Wi thon thay gaed til thair beds.

The neist morn the wife wis the first waukent. It wis juist dawin, an fae her bed she seen the braw laund liggin afore her. The man wis aye still oot-raxed, sae she proggit him in the side wi her elbucks an says,
"Staund up guidman an keek ower the windae. See, can we no be the laird ower aw thon laund? Gang til the rodden fleuk, we want tae be the laird."
"Och wife", says the man, "Whit for dae ye want tae be the laird? A daena want tae be the laird."
"Na", says the wife, "gin ye daena want tae be the laird A'll be the laird. Gang til the rodden fleuk A want tae be the laird."
"Och wife", says the man, "whit for dae ye want tae be the laird?, A daena want tae tell him thon."
"Hou no?", says the wife, "gang straucht thare, A maun be the laird."
Syne the man gaed, he wis gey an dowie acause his wife wantit tae be the laird.
"Thon's no richt, it's no richt ava" thocht the man.
He didna want tae gang, but he gaed onywey. Whan he gat til the sea, the sea wis aw black-gray an the watter wis hotterin up fae aneath, an stewed awfu fersle an aw. He gaed an stuid thare an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the see,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter? speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och", says the man, "she wants tae be the laird."
"gang back man" says the rodden fleuk "she's awreadies hit."
Syne the man gaed, an as he cam til the palace it haed become mair muckle, wi a heich touer wi braw whigmaleeries on it, an the airmed gaird stuid afore the door an the' war sae mony sodgers, an pipes an drums. An as he gaed in the hoose awthing wis wrocht fae pure merble, wi gowd an saitin plaids an muckle gowden tossles. Syne the doors o the muckle haw appent, thare wis the hail coort, an the wife sittin on a muckle throne o gowd an diamont. She haed a muckle gowden croun on, an a sceptre o pure gowd an precious stanes in her haund, an at baith her sides, young lassies stuid in a raw, an aye ane a heid wee-er nor the neist. He gaed an stuid thare an says,
"Och wife, are ye the laird nou?"
"Ay", says the wife, "A'm the laird nou."
Thare he stuid an leukit at her, an efter he'd leukit at her a whilie, he says,
"Och wife, lat it be, nou ye're the laird! Nou we're no gaun tae wiss for ony mair."
"Nae guidman", says the wife, an becam awfu fykerie,
"The time's ower langsome. A canna thole it ony mair. Gang til the rodden fleuk, A'm the laird, nou A maun be the keeng an aw."
"Och wife says the man, "whit for dae ye want tae be the keeng?"
"Guidman", she says, "gang til the rodden fleuk, A want tae be the keeng."
"Och wife", says the man, "he canna mak keengs, A daena want tae tell the rodden fleuk thon. Thare's juist the ae keeng in the kinrick. The rodden fleuk canna mak ye the keeng. He canna dae siclike."
"Whit!" says the wife, "A'm the laird an ye're ma guidman, are ye gaun tae gang richt nou? Gang straucht thare, gin he can mak a laird he can mak a keeng an aw, A want tae be the keeng, gang straucht thare."
The man buid gang. But as he gaed he becam awfu fleyed, an thocht intil hissel,
"thon winna gang guid. Keeng is ower sneistie, the rodden fleuk will be fauchelt by the end o't."
Wi thon he cam til the sea. The sea wis aye still sair mirk an stieve, an begoud tae hotter up sae as tae thraw up bubbles, an thare blew sic a snell wind ower it that it breinged up, an the man wis richt feart. He gaed an stuid thare an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och rodden fleuk" says the man "ma wife wants tae be the keeng."
"gang back man" says the rodden fleuk "she's hit awreadies."
Syne the man gaed back, an as he gat thare, the hail castle wis happit wi polisht merble an alabastrine feegurs, an gowden whigmaleeries. Afore the door, mairchit the sodgers blawin the pipes an dingin the drums. But in the hoose the lairds an yerls wis gaun aboot lik servands. Thay appent the doors o pure gowd, an as he gaed in, he sees his wife sittin on a throne wrocht fae the ae daud gowd twa mile heich, She haed a muckle gowden croun on, that wis three ell heich, an plaistert wi diamonts an carbuncle stanes. In the ae haund she haed a sceptre an in the tither a glentin orb, an at baith her sides stuid the bairns in twa raws, ane wee-er nor the neist ane, fae the maist muckle ettin that wis twa mile heich, til the smawest droich that wis sae wee as ma pinkie. Afore her stuid sae mony princes an dukes. The man gaed an stuid atween thaim an says,
"Wife, are ye the keeng nou?"
"Ay!" she says, "A'm the keeng."
Syne he gaed an stuid thare an haed a richt guid leuk at her, an efter he'd leukit a whilie he says,
"Och wife, lat it be nou, nou that ye're the keeng."
"Guidman", she says, "whit ye daein staundin thare? A'm the keeng nou, but nou A want tae be the Pape, gang til the rodden fleuk."
"Och wife," says the man, "whit dae ye no want? Ye canna be the Pape, Thare's juist the ae Pape in Christendie, he canna dae thon."
"Guidman", she says, "A want tae be the Pape, gang straucht thare, A maun be the Pape the day."
"Na wife", says the man, "A daena want tae tell him thon, thon winna gang weel, thon's ower coorse, the rodden fleuk canna mak ye the Pape."
"Guidman whit blethers!" says the wife, "Gin he can mak a keeng, he can mak a Pape an aw. Gang awa thare, A'm the keeng an ye're ma guidman will ye get on wi't?"
He wis sair feart an gaed thare, but he felt gey wammle an grue, an his knees an shanks wis tremmlin. An sic a wind blew ower the laund, an the cloods flew. As the gloamin cam agin the forenicht, the blads wis jachelt aff the trees, an the watter breinged up agin the lip o the sea, an hyne awa he seen ships that wis thrawn in an ill wey, dancin an lowpin in the swaw. The mids o the lift wis aye still a bittie blue, but at the sides it wis gaun richt reid, lik a sair storm. He gaed an stuid thare richt jaskit an feart, an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och", says the man, "She wants tae be the Pape."
"Gang back man, she's hit awreadies", says the rodden fleuk.
Syne he gaed back an whan he gat thare, thare stuid a muckle kirk surroondit wi mony palaces. He oxtert his wey throu the fowk. Inby awthing wis lichtit wi thoosands an thoosands o lamps, an his wife wis cleidit in pure gowd, an sat on an e'en mair muckle throne, an haed three muckle gowden crouns on, an aboot her wis sae mony meenisters, an at baith her sides stuid twa raws o lichts, fae the maist muckle, sae muckle an braid as the muckle maist lichthoose, til the wee-est cruisie. An aw the keengs an queens boud doun ontil thair knees afore her an kisst her baffies.
"Wife", says the man, giein her a guid leuk ower, "Are ye the Pape nou?"
"Ay!", she says, "A'm the Pape."
Syne he gaed an stuid an haed a guid leuk, an it wis lik he wis leukin at the bricht sun. Efter he'd leukit a whilie, he says,
"Och wife, lat it be nou, nou that ye're the Pape!"
But she sat sae stieve as a tree, an didna tremmle or muive.
"You", he says, "wife be contentit, nou that ye're the Pape, ye canna be onything mair nou."
"A'll think on thon", says the wife.

Wi thon the baith o thaim gaed til thair beds, but she wisna contentit, an greed wadna lat her sleep, she aye thocht on whit she micht coud become. The man sleepit richt guid an deep, he'd traivelt a guid bit thon day, but the wife coudna faw aff at aw, an threw hersel fae the ae side til the tither the hail nicht, an aye thocht on whit she coud aye still become, an she coudna think on ocht forby. Wi thon the sun hove, an as she seen the dawin reid, she richtit hersel up in her bed an leukit ootby, an as she seen the sun risin ower the windae,
"Ha", she thocht, "can A no gar the sun an the muin hove an aw?"
"Guidman", she says, an duntit her elbucks intil his kist-banes,
"wauken, an gang til the rodden fleuk, A want tae be lik God awmichty."
The man wis aye still maistlins asleep, an he gied hissel sic a fricht that he fell oot the bed. He thocht that he haed mishaurd, dichtit his een an says,
"Och wife, whit did ye say?"
"Guidman" she says, "gin A canna gar the sun an the muin hove, an maun watch the sun an muin gaun up A coudna thole it, an wadna hae a quate meenit ony mair gin A coudna gar thaim hove masel."
Syne she glowert at him, awfu uggsome, sae that it gart him grue.
"Gang straucht thare, A want tae be lik God awmichty.
"Och wife" says the man, an gaed doun ontil his knees afore her, "the rodden fleuk canna dae siclike. He can mak ye the keeng an the Pape, A bid ye, be mensefu, bide the Pape."
Syne she gaed gyte, her hair flew wild-like aboot her heid, she heezed up her bouk an gied him a dunt wi her fit an screicht,
"A canna thole thon, A canna thole it ony langer, will ye gang thare?"
Syne he hault on his breeks an rin aff lik he wis begowkit. But ootby the storm gaed on, an bluffert siclike that he coud haurdly staund on his feet. The hooses an trees wis dingit doun an the bens dinnelt, an the craigs rowt intil the sea, an the lift wis pick-mirk, an it thunnert an flauchtert, an the sea rowed wi black swaws sae heich as kirk touers an the bens, an upon thaim thay haed white crouns o faem. Syne he screicht, an he coudna hear his ain wirds,

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the see,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och" says the man, "she wants tae be lik God awmichty."
"Gang back, she's sittin ablo a chantie ance mae."
Thare thay aye still sit, till this verra day.

The Maukin An The Hurcheon
(De Has un de Swinegel)

This auld sang is sweir tae tell, laddies, but it's suithfast aw the same, acause ma guid-sir, wha A hae it fae, wis aye myndit, whan he telt it me, tae say,
"Suithfast it maun be, ma son, acause ye canna tell it ony ither wey."
The story happent lik sae. It wis on a Saubath morn juist afore the hairst, juist as the buckwheat wis flouerin. The sun haed hoven bricht in the heivens, the mornin wind blew wairm oot ower the stibble, the laverocks singit in the lift, the bumbees bummed in the buckwheat an the fowk gaed til the kirk in thair Sunday braws, an aw craiturs wis canty. The hurcheon an aw. The hurcheon stuid afore his door, plettit his airms, keekit oot intil the mornin wind an liltit a wee sang intil hissel, sae guid an sae ill as a hurcheon coud sing on a braw Saubath morn. An as he wis liltin hauf souch intil hissel, he myndit his wife haed sin syne wuishen an dried the bairns, an thay coud gang daunder in the pairk an see hou his neeps wis daein. The neeps wis the neist anes til his hoose an he wis aye o a mynd tae eat thaim wi his faimly, that's hou he seen thaim as his ain. Said an duin. The hurcheon steekit the hoose door ahint him an strack his gate intil the pairk. He wisna gey an faur fae his hoose an wis juist aboot tae gang aboot the slaebuss that grew afore the pairk for tae turn up til the neep field, whan he comes ower the maukin, wha wis oot an aboot wi seemilar ploy, that wis, for tae see his kail. Whan the hurcheon coud see the maukin he bid him a freendly guid morn, but the maukin, wha wis a bien chield in his ain wey, an gruesome heich-heidit wi't, didna repone til the hurcheon's goamin, but said til the hurcheon, pittin on a mauchty murgeon.
"Hou come ye're awreadies daunderin aboot the pairk on sic a canty morn?"
"A'm awa for a daunder", said the hurcheon.
"Daunder?" leuch the maukin, "A thocht ye coud uise yer shanks for mair better things."
Thon repone fasht the hurcheon a fair bit, for he can thole awthing, but he winna tak ocht anent his shanks, acause by naitur thay war camshauchelt.
"Ye hae a guid conceit o yersel", said the hurcheon tae the maukin,
"Lik ye coud dae mair wi yer shanks?"
"A think that", said the maukin.
"A s' warrand on thon" thocht the hurcheon.
"A wad, gin we rin a kemp A s' rin past ye."
"thon gars me lauch, ye wi yer camshauchelt shanks", said the maukin.
"For ma sakes mak it yer ain gin ye're sae keen on't. Whit's the wad?"
"A gowden louis-d'or an a bottle o whisky", said the hurcheon.
"It's a deal", spak the maukin, "crack luifs, an we can stairt straucht awa."
"Nae, A'm no needin sic a breeshle", thocht the hurcheon.
"Ma kyte is aye still tuim; first A want tae gang hame for tae hae a bit brakfast, in a hauf oor A'll be back here on ma steid."
Wi thon the hurcheon gaed, for he wis pleased wi the maukin.

Unnerwey the hurcheon thocht til hissel,
"The maukin is lippnin on his lang shanks, but A'll lat him see. Deed ay, he's a bien chield, still an on a dunder-heid an aw, an he'll hae tae pey."
As the hurcheon gat hame, he spak til his wife,
"wife cleid yersel fast, ye maun gang oot the pairk wi me."
"Whit's gaun on?" said his wife.
"A'v a wad agin the maukin for a gowden louis-d'or an bottle o whisky, A want tae rin a kemp wi him an ye're gaun tae be alang wi's."
"By crivens man" screicht the hurcheon's wife, "hiv ye tint aw yer mense? Hou can ye want tae rin a kemp wi the maukin?"
"Haud yer tongue wife" said the hurcheon, "Thon's ma maiter. Daena pit yer spuin in men's dealins. Mairch, cleid yersel an come wi us."
Whit shoud the hurcheon's wife dae? She buid follae, gin she wantit tae or no. As thay wis unnerwey thegither, the hurcheon spak til his wife,
"Nou tak tent tae whit A hae tae say. D'ye see, up thare? Thon lang field's waur we're gaun tae rin wir kemp. The maukin rins in the ae furr an me in anither, an we stairt tae rin fae up thare. Nou ye daena hae tae dae ocht ither but tae stell yersel doun here in the furr, an whan the maukin comes up the tither side, sae ye cry til him - 'A'm here awreadies!' "

Wi thon thay haed wun til the field, the hurcheon shawed his wife her steid an syne gaed up the field. As he gat til the tap the maukin wis thare awreadies.
"Can it stairt?" said the maukin.
"Ay!" said the hurcheon. "On wi't!"
An wi thon ilk ane stellt thairsels in thair furr. The maukin coontit,
"ane, twa, three"
An aff he gaed doun the field lik a storm wind. But the hurcheon ran aboot three staps, syne he joukit hissel doun in the furr an bade sittin quate. As the maukin wun doun the field, the hurcheon's wife cried til him,
" A'm here awreadies!"
The maukin stappit deid an wis a bittie stamagastert. He thocht it wis nane ither nor the hurcheon hissel that wis rinnin til him, as is weel kent, the hurcheon's wife is the marrae o her guidman. But the maukin thocht,
"Thare's something joukerie-pawkerie wi thon."
He cried,
"rin again, the tither airt!"
An awa he gaed again, lik a storm wind, sae that his lugs flew aboot his heid. The hurcheon's wife bade quate in her steid. As the maukin gat til the tap, the hurcheon cried til him,
"A'm here awreadies!"
The maukin wis reid wuid an screicht,
"rin again, the tither airt!"
"Thon's no ower waur for me." answert the hurcheon, "for ma sakes sae aft as ye want."
Sae the maukin ran anither three an seiventy times, an the hurcheon coud aye haud wi him. Ilka time the maukin wan up or doun the field, the hurcheon or his wife said,
"A'm here awreadies!"
But the maukin didna end the fower an seiventiet rin, in the mids o the field he fell til the grund, the bluid flew oot his hause an he bade liggin thare. The hurcheon teuk the gowden louis-d'or an his bottle o whisky he'd wun, cried til his wife for tae get oot the furr an baith gaed blythly hame thegither, an gin thay'v no dee'd, thay're aye til the fore.

Sae it happent up on thon muirland. The hurcheon that ran thare wi the maukin, an sin syne nae maukin haes thocht on rinnin a wad agin a muirland hurcheon. But firstlins, this tale lears us , that nae body, e'en gin thay think thairsel sae bien, sall lat thairsel be learnt no tae miscaw a wee-er man, e'en gin he wis a hurcheon. An seicontly, it's wice whan a body's wooin that he taks a wife fae his ain ilk, an ane that leuks juist like hissel. Sae wha's a hurcheon, shoud see til it that his wife's a hurcheon an aw, an sae on.

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