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

PART THE SECOND.

Away then hyed the heire of Linne
O'er hill and holt, and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to lonesome lodge,

That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked downe,

In hope some comfort for to winne: But bare and lothly were the walles.

"Here's sorry cheare," quo' the heire of Linne.

The little windowe dim and darke
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe;
No shimmering sunn here ever shone ;
No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, ne table he mote spye,

No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed, Nought save a rope with renning noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it in broad letters,

These words were written so plain to see : "Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all, And brought thyselfe to penurie?

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

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,

Sorely shent was the heire of Linne; His heart, I wis, was near to brast

With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne

Never a word spake the heire of Linne,
Never a word he spake but three:

"This is a trusty friend indeed,

Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodìe:
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,
And to the ground came tumbling hee.

Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,

Ne knewe if he were live or dead: At length he looked, and sawe a bille, And in it a key of gold so redd.

He took the bill and lookt it on,

Strait good comfort found he there :

Itt told him of a hole in the wall,

In which there stood three chests in-fere.

Two were full of the beaten golde,

The third was full of white money;

And over them in broad letters

These words were written so plaine to see :

"Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere ;
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 bee," sayd the heire of Linne;
"And let it bee, but if I amend :

For here I will make mine avow,

This reade shall guide me to the end."

Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne;

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,

Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.

And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Upp at the speere then looked hee;
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.

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

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

"Away, away, thou thriftless loone; Away, away, this may not bee:

For Christs curse on my head," he sayd,

Then bespake the heire of Linne,

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he: "Madame, some almes on me bestowe, I pray for sweet saint Charitie."

Away, away, thou thriftless loone,

I swear thou gettest no almes of mee; For if we shold hang any losel heere, The first we wold begin with thee."

Then bespake a good fellowe,

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;
Sayd, "Turn againe, thou heire 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 Ile lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need bee.

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 wood he answer'd him againe :
"Now Christs curse on my head," he sayd,
"But I did lose by that bargàine.

And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape,
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee."

"I drawe you to record, lords," he said.
With that he cast him a gods pennie :
"Now by my fay," sayd the heire of Linne,
"And here, good John, is thy money."

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold,
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth mickle dinne.
"The gold is thine, the land is mine,

And now Ime againe the lord of Linne,"

Sayes, "Have thou here, thou good fellowe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the lord of Linne,
And forty pounds I will give thee.

Ile make the keeper of my forrest,

Both of the wild deere and the tame; For but I reward thy bounteous heart,

I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame."

"Now welladay!" sayth Joan o' the Scales: "Now welladay! and woe is my life! Yesterday I was lady of Linne,

Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife."

"Now fare thee well," sayd the heire of Linne "Farewell now, John o' the Scales," said hee: "Christs curse light on me, if ever again

I bring my lands in jeopardy."

Captain Car.

[From Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads."]

[This Ballad, the learned antiquary Ritson imagines to be the original of the following piece-Edom o'Gordon; it is founded on an historical fact which happened in 1571, the particulars of which are given both in Archbishop Spotswood's History of the Church of Scotland,' p. 259, and in the 'Memoirs published by Crawford of Drumsoy.']

IT befell at Martynmas

When wether waxed colde,
Captain Care said to his men,
We must go take a holde.

Haille, master, and wither you will,
And wither ye like it best.'
To the castle of Crecrynbroghe;
And there we will take our reste.'

'I knowe wher is a gay castle,
Is build of lyme and stone,
Within there is a gay ladie,

Her lord is ryd from hom.'

The ladie lend on her castle-walle,
She loked upp and downe,

There was she ware of an host of men,

Come riding to the towne.

'Come yow hither, my

meri men all.

And look what I do see;

Yonder is there a host of men,

I musen who they bee.'

She thought he had been her own wed lord,
That had come riding home;
Then was it traitour captaine Care,

The lord of Easter towne.

They were no sooner at supper sett,
Than after said the grace,
Or captaine Care and all his men
Were lighte aboute the place.

"Gyve over thi howsse, thou lady gay,
And I will make the a bande,
To-nighte thoust ly within my arm,