V.

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

This old ballad is given from a copy in the editor's folio MS; fome breaches and defects in which, rendered the infertion of a few fupplemental ftanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon.

From the Scottish phrafes here and there difcernable in this poem, it should feem to have been originally compofed beyond the Tweed.

The Heir of Linne feems not to have been a Lord of Parliament, but a LAIRD, whofe title went along with his eftate.

To fing a fong I will beginne:

It is of a lord of faire Scotland,

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,

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His mother a lady of high degree;

But they, alas were dead, him froe,

And he lov'd keeping companie.

Το

To spend the daye with merry cheare,

To drinke and revell every night, To card and dice from eve to morne, It was, I ween, his hearts delighte.

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,
To alwaye spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were the king himselfe,
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.

Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent ;
And he mun fell his landes fo broad,

His houfe, and landes, and all his rent.

His father had a keen ftewàrde,

And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.

Sayes, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne,
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere,
Iff thou wilt fell thy landes foe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere.

My gold is gone, my money is spent ;
My lande nowe take it unto thee:
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande fhall bee.

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Then

Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he gave him a gods-pennie * ;
But for every pounde that John agreed,

The lande, I wis, was well worth three.

He told him the gold upon the board,

He was right glad his land to winne : The land is mine, the gold is thine,

And now Ile be the lord of Linne.

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Thus he hath fold his land foe broad,

Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne,

All but a poore and lonesome lodge,

That stood far off in a lonely glenne.

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For foe he to his father hight:

My fonne, when I am gonne, fayd hee, Then thou wilt spend thy lande fo broad, And thou wilt spend thy gold fo free:

But fweare me nowe upon the roode,

That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; For when all the world doth frown on thee, Thou there fhalt find a faithful friend.

The heire of Linne is full of golde:

And come with me, my friends, fayd hee, Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make,

And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.

* i. e. earnest-money; from the French Denier à Dieu.'

They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thinne;
And then his friendes they flunk away;

They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,

The tone was brafs, and the tone was lead,
And tother it was white money.

Nowe well-away, fayd the heire of Linne,
Nowe well-away, and woe is mee,

For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold or fee.

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But many a truftye friend have I,

And why fhold I feel dole or care?

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Ile borrow of them all by turnes,

Soe need I not be never bare.

But one, I wis, was not at home,
Another had payd his gold away;
Another call'd him thriftlefs loone,

And bade him fharpely wend his way.

Now well-away, fayd the heire of Linne,
Now well-away, and woe is me!
For when I had my landes fo broad,
On me they liv'd right merrilee.

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To beg my bread from door to door
I wis, it were a brenning fhame :
To rob and fteal it were a finne:

To worke my limbs I cannot frame.

Now Ile away to lonesome lodge,

For there my father bade me wend;
When all the world fhould frown on mee,
I there shold find a trufty friend.

PART THE SECOND.

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WAY then hyed the heire of Linne

AW

O'er hill and holt, and moor and fenne,'

Untill he came to lonesome lodge,

That flood fo lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked downe,

In hope fome comfort for to winne,

But bare and lothly were the walles :

Here's forry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne.

The little windowe dim and darke

Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe;
No fhimmering funn here ever fhone;

No halefome breeze here ever blew.

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No