Thus he hath sold his land so broad,
Both hill and holt,[100] and moor and fen,
All but a poor and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glen.
For so he to his father hight,[101]
My son, when I am gone, said he,
Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
But swear me now upon the cross,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend;
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.
The heir of Linne is full of gold:
And come with me, my friends, said he,
Let's drink, and rant, and merry make,
And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.[102]
They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thin;
And then his friends they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heir 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 monèy.
Now well-a-day, said the heir of Linne,
Now well-a-day, and woe is me,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.
But many a trusty friend have I,
And why should I feel grief or care?
I'll borrow of them all by turns,
So need I not be never bare.
But one, I wis, was not at home;
Another had paid his gold away;
Another called him thriftless loon,
And bade him sharply wend his way.
Now well-a-day, said the heir of Linne,
Now well-a-day, and woe is me;
For when I had my lands so broad,
On me they liv'd right merrily.