"Priests, clarkes, and wedded men, Have her lewd pillow prest: Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth Must beare from all the rest." Then bespake the little boy, Who had the same in hold: "Chastize thy wife, King Arthur, Of speech she is too bold: "Of speech she is too bold, Of carriage all too free; Sir King, she hath within thy hall A cuckold made of thee. "All frolick light and wanton She hath her carriage borne: And given thee for a kingly crown To wear a cuckold's horne." THE HEIR OF LINNE PART THE FIRST Lithe and listen, gentlemen, To sing a song I will beginne: It is of a lord of faire Scotland, Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne. His father was a right good lord, His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas! were dead, him froe, And he lov'd keeping companie. To spend the daye with merry cheare, To drinke and revell every night, To card and dice from eve to morne, It was, I ween, his hearts delighte. To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, To alwaye spend and never spare, I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, Of gold and fee he mote be bare. Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne Till all his gold is gone and spent; And he maun sell his landes so broad, His house, and landes, and all his rent. His father had a keen stewarde, And John o' the Scales was called hee: But John is become a gentel-man, And John has gott both gold and fee. Sayes, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, Let nought disturb thy merry cheere; Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad, Good store of gold Ile give thee heere, My gold is gone, my money is spent; My lande nowe take it unto thee: Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my lande shall bee. Then John he did him to record draw, And John he cast him a gods-pennie; But for every pounde that John agreed, The lande, I wis, was well worth three. He told him the gold upon the borde, He was right glad his land to winne; The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now Ile be the lord of Linne. Thus he hath sold his land soe 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 land 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. The heire of Linne is full of golde: And come with me, my friends, sayd hee, Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make, And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee. They ranted, drank, and merry made, Till all his gold it waxed thinne; And then his friendes they slunk away; They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.