Then John he did him to record draw,
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;[1]
But for every pounde that John agreed,
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.
He told him the gold upon the borde,
He was right glad his land to winne;
"The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ile be the lord of Linne."
Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,
Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne,
All but a poore and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glenne.
For soe he to his father hight.
"My sonne, when I am gonne," sayd hee,
"Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
"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."
The heire of Linne is full of golde:
"And come with me, my friends," sayd hee,
"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 thinne;
And then his friendes they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.
He had never a penny in his purse,
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,
And another it was white money.
"Nowe well-aday," sayd the heire of Linne,
"Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee."
"But many a trustye 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 sharpely wend his way.