IX.

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

It is owing to an oversight that this old ballad is not placed higher in the volume. It is given from a copy in the editor's folio MS ; fome breaches and defects in which, rendered the insertion of a few supplemental fanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon.

From the Scottish phrases here and there discernable in this poem, it should seem to have been originally composed beyond the Tweed.

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

PART THE FIRST.

ITHE and liften, gentlemen,

To fing a song 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,

His mother a lady of high degree ;
But they, alas ! were dead, him froe,

And he lov'd keeping companie.

Vol. II.

U 3

То 310

ANCIENT SON Ġ S

To spend the daye with merry cheare,

To drinke and revell every night,
To card and dice from eve tò morne,

It was, I ween, his hearts delighte.

To ride, to runnes tö rant, to roáře,

To alwaye spend and never spare,
I wott, an' it were, the king himselfe,

Of gold and fee he mote be bare.

15

Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne

Till all his gold is gone and spent ;
And he mun sell his landes fo broad,

His house, and landes, and all his rent.

His father had a keen stewarde,

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 sell thy landes soe broad,

Good store of gold Ile give thee heere.

My gold is gonė, 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 shall bee.

3

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,

35

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.

40

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 farr off in a lonely glenne.

45

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 so free.

50

But sweare me nowe upon the roode,

That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; For when all the world doth frown on thee,

Thou there shalt find a faithful friend,

55

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. VOL. II. * 1, 6. carneft-money : from the French Denier à Dieu.

U 4

They

ANCIENT SONGS

They ranted, drank, and merry made;

Till all his gold it waxed thinne ;
And then his friendes they llunk away ;
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.'

He had never a penny left in his purses

Never a penny left bat three,
The tone was

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

60

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..

But many a trustie friend have I,

And why shold I feel dole or care ?
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 thriftless loone,
And bade him farpely wend his way.

70

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.

75

To beg my bread from door to door.

I wis, it were a brenning lhame: To rob and fteal it were a finne : To worke

my

limbs I cannot frame.

85

Now Ile away to lonefome lodge,

For there my father bade me wend; When all the world should frown on mee,

I there shold find a trusty friend.

A

WAY then hyed the heire of Linne

O'er hill and holt, and moor and fenne, Untill he came to lonesome lodge,

That food so 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 sorry cheare, quo’ the heire of Linne.

10

The little windowe dim and darke

Was hung with ivy, brere and yewe ; No shimmering funn here ever shone;

No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No