Away then hyed the heire of Linne
O'er hill and holt,[544] and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to lonesome lodge,
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.
He looked up, he looked downe, 5
In hope some comfort for to winne:
But bare and lothly[545] 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; 10
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, 15
That dangling hung up o'er his head.
And over it in broad lettèrs,
These words were written so plain to see:
"Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyselfe to penurìe? 20
"And 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[546] wi' this rebuke, 25
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: 30
"This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto mee."
Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodìe:[556]
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine, 35
And to the ground came tumbling hee.