ds 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 brass, 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;
Anther 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 stud 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 penurie?

'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 Lime;
His heart, I wis, was near to burst
With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.

Never a word spake the heir of Lime,
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 bodie:
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,
And to the ground came tumbing he.

Astonished lay the heir of Linne
Nor knewe if he were live or dead:
At length he looked