“So fares the unthrifty lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent:
And he maun sell his lands so broad,
His house and landes and all his rent.
. . . . . . .
Thus he hath sold his land so 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 lande 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.’
. . . . . . .
Away then hyed the heire of Linne
O’er hill and holt, and moore and fenne,
Untill he came to the lonesome lodge,
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.
. . . . . . .
Then round his necke the corde he drewe,
And sprang aloft with his bodie:
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,
And to the ground came tumbling hee.
Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,
Ne knewe if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,
And in it a key of gold so redd.
He took the bill, and lookt it on,
Strait good comfort found he there:
Itt told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-fere.
Two were full of the beaten golde,
The third was full of white monèy;
And over them in broad lettèrs
These words were written so plaine to see:
‘Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;
Amend thy life and follies past;
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last.’”