Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
The Heir of LinnePercys Reliques
L
To sing a song I will beginne:
It is of a lord of faire Scotlánd,
Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.
His mother a lady of high degree;
But they, alas! were dead him froe,
And he lov’d keeping companie.
To drink and revell every night,
To card and dice from eve to morn,
It was, I ween, his heart’s delight.
To alway spend and never spare,
I wott, an’ it were the king himself,
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.
Till all his gold is gone and spent:
And he maun sell his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent.
And John o’ the Scales was callèd he:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.
Let nought disturb thy merry cheer:
If thou wilt sell thy landes so broad,
Good store of gold I’ll give thee here.”
My lande nowe take it unto thee:
Give me the golde, good John o’ the Scales,
And thine for aye my lande shall be.”
And John he cast him a gods-pennie;
But for every pound that John agreed,
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.
He was right glad his land to winne;
“The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now I’ll be the lord of Linne.”
Both hill and holt, and moor and fen,
All but a poor and lonesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glen.
“My son, when I am gone,” said he,
“Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free.
That lonesome lodge thou’lt never spend;
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.”
“And come with me, my friends,” said he,
“Let’s drink, and rant, and merry make,
And he that spares, ne’er mote be thee.”
Till all his gold it waxèd thin;
And then his friends they slunk away;
They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.
Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,
And another it was white monéy.
“Now well-a-day, and woe is me,
For when I was the lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.
And why should I feel dole or care?
I’ll borrow of them all by turns,
So need I not be never bare.”
Another had paid his gold away;
Another called him thriftless loon,
And bade him sharply wend his way.
“Now well-a-day, and woe is me;
For when I had my landes so broad,
On me they lived right merrily.
I wis, it were a burning shame;
To rob and steal it were a sin;
To work, my limbs I cannot frame.
For there my father bade me wend:
When all the world should frown on me
I there should find a trusty friend.”
Away then hied the heir of Linne,
O’er hill and holt, and moor and fen,
Until he came to the lonesome lodge,
That stood so low in a lonely glen.
In hope some comfort for to win;
But bare and lothly were the walls;
“Here’s sorry cheer,” quo’ the heir of Linne.
Was hung with ivy, brere and yew;
No shimmering sun here ever shone,
No halesome breeze here ever blew.
No cheerful hearth, ne welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with renning noose,
That dangling hung up o’er his head.
These words were written so plain to see:
“Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,
And brought thyself to penurie?
I therefore left this trusty friend:
Let it now shield thy foul disgrace,
And all thy shame and sorrows end.”
Sorely shent was the heire of Linne:
His heart I wis, was near to brast
With guilt and sorrow, shame and sin.
Never a word he spake but three:
“This is a trusty friend indeed,
And is right welcome unto me.”
And sprang aloft with his bodie,
When lo! the ceiling burst in twain,
And to the ground came tumbling he.
He knew if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,
And in it a key of gold so red.
Straight good comfort found he there:
It told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests infere.
The third was full of white monéy;
And over them in broad lettérs
These words were written so plain to see.
Amend thy life and follies past;
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last.”
“And let it be, but if I amend:
For here I will make mine avow,
This reade shall guide me to the end.”
Away then went the heire of Linne;
I wis, he neither ceased ne blanne,
Till John o’ the Scales house he did winne.
Up at the speere then lookèd he:
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.
Because now lord of Linne was he;
“I pray thee,” he said, “good John o’ the Scales,
One forty pence for to lend me.”
Away, away, this may not be:
For Christ’s curse on my head,” he said,
“If ever I trust thee one pennie.”
To John o’ the Scales’ wife then spake he:
“Madame, some almes on me bestowe,
I pray for sweet saint Charitie.”
I sweare thou gettest no almes of me;
For if we should hang any losel here,
The first we wold begin with thee.”
Which sat at John o’ the Scales his bord;
Said, “Turn again, thou heir of Linne;
Some time thou wast a well good lord.
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore I’ll lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need be.
To let him sit in thy companie:
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.”
All wood he answered him againe:
“Now Christ’s curse on my head,” he said,
“But I did lose by that bargáine.
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape
By a hundred markes than I had it of thee.”
With that he cast him a gods-pennie:
“Now by my fay,” said the heire of Linne,
“And here, good John, is thy monéy.”
And laid them down upon the bord;
All woe begone was John o’ the Scales,
So shent he could say never a word.
He told it forth with mickle dinne.
“The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the lord of Linne.”
Forty pence thou didst lend me:
Now I am again the lord of Linne,
And forty pounds I will give thee.
Both of the wild deere and the tame;
For but I reward thy bounteous heart,
I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame.”
“Now welladay, and woe is my life!
Yesterday I was lady of Linne,
Now Ime but John o’ the Scales his wife.”
“Farewell now, John o’ the Scales,” said he:
“Christ’s curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.”