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.
Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,
Now well-aday, and woe is me;
For when I had my landes so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrilee.
To beg my bread from door to door
I wis, it were a brenning shame:
To rob and steale it were a sinne:
To worke my limbs I cannot frame.
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
Oer 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.