English Songs and Ballads Part 10

The heir of Linne is full of gold: And come with me, my friends, said he, Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.

They ranted, drank, and merry made, Till all his gold it waxed thin; And then his friends they slunk away; They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse, Never a penny left but three, And one was bra.s.s, another was lead, And another it was white money.

Now well-aday, said the heir of Linne, Now well-aday, and woe is me, For when I was the lord of Linne, I never wanted gold nor fee.

But many a trusty friend have I, And why should I feel dole or care?

I'll borrow of them all by turns, So 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 loon, And bade him sharply wend his way.

Now well-aday, said the heir of Linne, Now well-aday, and woe is me!

For when I had my lands so broad, On me they liv'd right merrilee.

To beg my bread from door to door I wis, it were a burning shame: To rob and steal it were a sin: To work my limbs I cannot frame.

Now I'll away to that lonesome lodge, For there my father bade me wend; When all the world should frown on me, I there shold find a trusty friend.

PART II

Away then hied the heir of Linne O'er hill and holt and moor and fen, Untill he came to the lonesome lodge, That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked down, In hope some comfort for to win: But bare and lothly were the walls.

Here's sorry cheer, quo' the heir of Linne.

The little window dim and dark Was hung with ivy, brere, and yew; No shimmering sun here ever shone; No wholesome breeze here ever blew.

Nor chair, nor table he mote spy, No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed, Nought save a rope with a running noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it in broad letters, These words were written so plain to see: 'Ah! graceless wretch, hast spent thine all, And brought thyself to penure?

'And this my boding mind misgave I therefore left this trusty friend: Let it now shield thy foule disgrace, And all thy shame and sorrows end.'

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke, Sorely shent was the heir of Linne; His heart, I wis, was near to burst With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.

Never a word spake the heir of Linne, Never a word he spake but three: 'This is a trusty friend indeed, And is right welcome unto me.'

Then round his neck the cord he drew, And sprang aloft with his bode: When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, And to the ground came tumbling he.

Astonished lay the heir of Linne, Nor knewe if he were live or dead: At length he looked, and saw a bill, And in it a key of gold so redd.

He took the bill, and lookt it on, Strait good comfort found he there: It told him of a hole in the wall, In which there stood three chests in-fere.

Two were full of the beaten gold, The third was full of white money; And over them in broad letters These words were written so plain to see:

'Once more, my son, I set thee clear; Amend thy life and follies past; For but thou amend thee of thy life, That rope must be thy end at last.'

'And let it be,' said the heir of Linne; 'And let it be, but if I amend: For here I will make mine avow, This read shall guide me to the end.'

Away then went with a merry cheer, Away then went the heir of Linne; I wis, he neither ceas'd nor stayed, Till John o' the Scales' house he did win.

And when he came to John o' the Scales, Up at the window then looked he: There sate three lords upon a row, Were drinking of the wine so free.

And John himself sate at the bord-head, Because now lord of Linne was he.

I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales, One forty pence for to lend me.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone; Away, away, this may not be: For a curse upon my head he said, If ever I trust thee one penne.

Then bespake the heir of Linne, To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he: Madame, some alms on me bestow, I pray for sweet saint Charite.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone, I swear thou gettest no alms of me; For if we shold hang any losel here, The first we would begin with thee.

Then bespake a good fellwe, Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord; Sayd, Turn again, thou heir of Linne; Some time thou wast a well good Lord:

Some time a good fellow thou hast been, And sparedst not thy gold and fee: Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence, And other forty if need be.

And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales, To let him sit in thy companie: For well I wot thou hadst his land, And a good bargain it was to thee.

Up then spake him John o' the Scales, All hot he answered him againe: Now a curse upon my head, he said, But I did lose by that bargaine.

And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, Before these lords so fair and free, Thou shalt have it back again better cheap, By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee.

I draw you to record, lords, he said.

With that he cast him a G.o.d's pennie: Now by my fay, sayd the heir of Linne, And here, good John, is thy money.

And he pull'd forth three bags of gold, And layd them down upon the board: All woebegone was John o' the Scales, Soe shent he could say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold, He told it forth with mickle dinne, The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now I'm again the lord of Linne.

Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellwe, Forty pence thou didst lend me: Now I am again the lord of Linne, And forty pounds I will give thee.

I'll make thee keeper of my forest, Both of the wild deere and the tame; For unless I reward thy bounteous heart, I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame.

Now well-aday! sayth John o' the Scales: Now well-aday! and woe is my life!

Yesterday I was lady of Linne, Now I'm but John o' the Scales his wife.

Now fare thee well, said the heir of Linne; Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said he.

A curse light on me, if ever again I bring my lands in jeopardy.

THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER

An old song made by an aged old pate, Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate estate, That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate; Like an old courtier of the queen's And the queen's old courtier.