THE LAKE OF WINE
BY
BERNARD CAPES
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1898
COPYRIGHT.
Copyright, 1898,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
EPIGRAPH
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XL
CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XLII
CHAPTER XLIII
CHAPTER XLIV
CHAPTER XLV
CHAPTER XLVI
CHAPTER XLVII
CHAPTER XLVIII
CHAPTER XLIX
CHAPTER L
CHAPTER LI
CHAPTER LII
CHAPTER LIII
CHAPTER LIV
CHAPTER LV
EPIGRAPH.
_“So fares the unthrifty lord of Linne_
_Till all his gold is gone and spent:_
_And he maun sell his lands so broad,_
_His house and landes and all his rent._
. . . . . . .
_Thus he hath sold his land so 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 lande 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.’_
. . . . . . .
_Away then hyed the heire of Linne_
_O’er hill and holt, and moore and fenne,_
_Untill he came to the lonesome lodge,_
_That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne._
. . . . . . .
_Then round his necke the corde he drewe,_
_And sprang aloft with his bodie:_
_When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,_
_And to the ground came tumbling hee._
_Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,_
_Ne knewe if he were live or dead:_
_At length he looked, and sawe a bille,_
_And in it a key of gold so redd._
_He took the bill, and lookt it on,_
_Strait good comfort found he there:_
_Itt told him of a hole in the wall,_
_In which there stood three chests in-fere._
_Two were full of the beaten golde,_
_The third was full of white monèy;_
_And over them in broad lettèrs_
_These words were written so plaine to see:_
_‘Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;_
_Amend thy life and follies past;_
_For but thou amend thee of thy life,_
_That rope must be thy end at last.’”_
THE LAKE OF WINE.
CHAPTER I.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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