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THE HEIR OF LINNE.
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DRAW near and listen, gentlemen.
To sing a song I will begin.
About a Lord in fair Scotland,
Who was the thriftless Heir of Linne.
His father was a right good lord.
His mother was of high degree;
But they, alas were dead, him,true.
And he lov’d keeping companie.
To spend the day wi’ merry cheer.
To drink and revel every night,
To cards and dice from e’en to morn.
It was, I ween, his heart's delight.
To ride, to run, to rant, to roar.
To always spend and never spare;
I wot, an’t were the king himself,
Of gold and fee he might be bare.
Sae fares the thriftless Lord of Linne,
Till all his gold is gone and spent;
And he maun sell his lands sae broad,
His house, and lands, and all his rent.
His father had a keen steward,
John o’ the Scales was called he;
But John’s become a gentleman,
And John has got baith gold and fee,
