“The editor can trace the air and ballad here given as far back as 1775, through an aged relative who died in 1842 in her eightieth year, and who had it from her mother.” _Christie neither professed nor practised a rigid fidelity to texts, and this copy, at best not a valuable one, is given for the little it may be worth._ 1 O yonder he stands, and there he gangs, The weary heir o Linne, Yonder he stands on the cauld causey, And nane bids him come in. 2 But it fell ance upon a day The sheets were laid in fauld, And poor Willie found he had nae friends, And it was wondrous cauld. 3 ‘Oh, one sheave o your bread, nourice, And one glass o your wine, And I will pay you oer again When I am laird o Linne.’ 4 ‘Oh, one sheave o my bread, Willie, And one glass o my wine, But the seas will be dry ere ye pay me again, For ye’ll never be laird o Linne.’ 5 But he mind’t him up, and he mind’t him down, And he mind’t him oer again, And he mind’t him on a little wee key That his mother gae to him. 6 He did him to the house o Linne, He sought it up and down, And there he found a little wee door, And the key gaed slippin in. 7 And he got gowd, and he got gear, He got gowd stord within, And he got gowd, and he got gear, Thrice worth the lands o Linne. 8 He did him to the tavern straight, Where nobles were drinking therein; The greatest noble among them a’ Was near to Willie o kin. 9 And some of them bade him fish to eat, And some of them bade him a fin, And some of them bade him nothing at a’, For he’d never be father’s son. 10 But out it spake an aged knicht, And vow but he spake slie! ‘I’ll sell you your father’s land back again All for the third pennie.’ 11 ‘I take witness upon you here,’ he says, ‘I take witness upon thee, That you will sell me my father’s land again All for the third pennie.’ 12 Then he took out a little wee coffer, And he set it on his knee, And he told the goud down on the table roun, Says, Tak up your third pennie. 13 ‘Come ben, come ben, my good nourice, I’ll pay you when you come ben; For the seas are not dry, and I’ll pay you back again, For I’m again the laird o Linne.’ 14 Poor Willie that night at eight o’clock Had his stockings abeen his sheen, But ere the morrow at twelve o’clock He was convoyd by lords sixteen. APPENDIX (From a Broadside among Percy’s Papers.) THE DRUNKARD’S LEGACY IN THREE PARTS Part I 1 Young people all I pray draw near, And listen to my ditty here, Which subject shews that drunkenness Brings many mortals to distress.