Away, away, thou thriftless loon;
Away, away, this may not be;
For Christ's curse on my head, he said,
If ever I trust thee one pennie.
Then bespake the heir of Linne,
To John o' the Scales' wife then spake he:
Madame, some alms on me bestow,
I pray for sweet saint Charity.
Away, away, thou thriftless loon,
I swear thou gettest no alms of me;
For if we should hang any losel[110] here,
The first we would begin with thee.
Then bespake a good fellòw,
Which sat at John o' the Scales his board;
Said, Turn again, thou heir 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 I'll lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need be.
And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy company:
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[111] he answer'd him again:
Now Christ's curse on my head, he said,
But I did lose by that bargàin.
And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne,
Before these lords so fair and free,
Thou shalt have it back again better cheap,
By a hundred marks, than I had it of thee.
I draw you to record, lords, he said.
With that he cast him a gods-pennie:
Now by my fay, said the heir of Linne,
And here, good John, is thy monèy.
And he pull'd forth three bags of gold,
And laid them down upon the board:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
So shent[112] he could say never a word.