The book of British ballads . lodge thou It never spend; For when all the world doth frown on thee,Thou there shalt find a faithful friend. The heire of Linne is full of golde ; And come with me, my friends, sayd he, Lets drinke, and rant, and merry make, And he that spares, neer mote he thee. They ranted, drank, and merry made,Till all his golde it waxed thinne ; And then his friendes they slunk away ;They left the unthrifty heire 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. Nowe well-a-day,
The book of British ballads . lodge thou It never spend; For when all the world doth frown on thee,Thou there shalt find a faithful friend. The heire of Linne is full of golde ; And come with me, my friends, sayd he, Lets drinke, and rant, and merry make, And he that spares, neer mote he thee. They ranted, drank, and merry made,Till all his golde it waxed thinne ; And then his friendes they slunk away ;They left the unthrifty heire 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. Nowe well-a-day, sayd the heire of Linne, Nowe well-a-day, and woe is me, For when I was the Lord of Linne,I never wanted golde nor fee. But many a trustye friend have I,And why shold I feel dole or care 1 He 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 golde away ;Another calld him thriftless loone, And bade him sharpely wend his way. E. 11. Ward, 139 fflbt ffitixz of Nowe w^ll-a-day, sayd the heire of Linne, Nowe well-a-day, and woe is me! For when I had my landes soe broad,On me they livd right merrilee. To beg my bread from door to doorI wis, it were a brenning shame ; To rob and steal it were a sinne ; To worke my limbs I cannot frame. Nowe He away to lonesome lodge, For there my father bade me wend ; When all the world shold frown on me,I there shold find a trusty friend. PART THE SECOND. Away then hyed the heire of Linne Oer hill and holt, and moore and fenne, Untill he came to lonesome lodge That stood soe lowe in a lonely glenne. Hee looked up, hee looked downe, In hope some comfort for to winne ; But bare and lothly were the walles : Its sorry chear,quothe heire of Linne. The little windowe dim and darke Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe ; No shimmering sunne heere ever shone ;No halesome breeze heere ever blew. No chair, ne table he mote spye, No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed ; Nought save a rope with renn
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