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THE HEIR OF LINNE
' Here 's gold enow,' saith the heir of Linne,
' For me and my companye.' He drank the wine that was so clear,
And with all he made merrye.
Within three quarters of a year
His gold it waxed thin; His merry men were from him gone,
Bade him, ' To the de'il ye'se gang !'
' Now well-a-day ! ' said the heir of Linne,
' I have left not one pennye. God be with my father ! ' he said,
' On his land he lived merrilye.'
His nourice at her window look'd,
Beholding dale and down, And she beheld this distress'd young man
Come walking to the town.
' O see for he gangs, and see for he stands,
The weary heir o' Linne ! O see for he stands on the cauld causey,
And nane bids him come in ! '—
' Sing owre again that sang, nourice, The sang ye sung just now,'—
' I never sung a sang i' my life But I would sing owre to you.