"Let's drink, and rant, and merry make,

And he that spares, ne'er mote be thee."

They ranted, drank, and merry made,

Till all his gold it waxèd thin; And then his friends they slunk away;

They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse,

Never a penny left but three,
And one was brass, another was lead,
And another it was white monéy.

"Now_well-a-day" said the heir of Linne,

"Now well-a-day, and woe is me, For when I was the lord of Linne, I never wanted gold nor fee.

"But many a trusty friend have I,
And why should I feel dole or care?
I'll borrow of them all by turns,
So need I not be never bare."

But one I wis, was not at home; Another had paid his gold away; Another called him thriftless loon, And bade him sharply wend his way.

"Now_well-a-day," said the heir of Linne,

"Now well-a-day, and woe is me; For when I had my landes so broad, On me they lived right merrily.

"To beg my bread from door to door,
I wis, it were a burning shame;
To rob and steal it were a sin;
To work, my limbs I cannot frame.

"Now I'll away to the lonesome lodge, For there my father bade me wend: When all the world should frown on

me

I there should find a trusty friend."

PART THE SECOND.

Away then hied the heir of Linne, O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen, Until he came to the lonesome lodge, That stood so low in a lonely glen.

He looked up, he looked down, In hope some comfort for to win; But bare and lothly were the walls; "Here's sorry cheer," quo' the heir of Linne.

The little window, dim and dark, Was hung with ivy, brere and yew; No shimmering sun here ever shone, No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, ne table he mote spy,
No cheerful hearth, ne welcome bed,
Nought save a rope with renning
noose,

That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it in broad letters These words were written so plain to see:

"Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,

And brought thyself to penurie?

"All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend: Let it now shield thy foul disgrace, And all thy shame and sorrows end."

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,
Sorely shent was the heire of Linne:
His heart I wis, was near to brast
With guilt and sorrow, shame and
sin.

Never a word spake the heir of Linne,

Never a word he spake but three: "This is a trusty friend indeed, And is right welcome unto me."

Then round his neck the cord he drew,

And sprang aloft with his bodie,
When lo! the ceiling burst in twain,
And to the ground came tumbling he.

Astonyed lay the heir of Linne,
He knew if he were live or dead:
At length he looked, and sawe a bille,
And in it a key of gold so red.

He took the bill, and lookt it on,
Straight good comfort found he

there:

It told him of a hole in the wall,
In which there stood three chests in-

fere.

Then bespake a good fellówe, Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;

Said, "Turn again, thou heir of Linne;

Some time thou wast a well good lord.

"Some time a good fellow thou hast been,

And sparedst not thy gold and fee; Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence, And other forty if need be.

"And ever I pray thee, John o' the Scales,

To let him sit in thy companie:
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee."

Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood he answered him againe :
"Now Christ's curse on my head"
he said,

"But I did lose by that bargaine.

And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne,

Before these lords so faire and free, Thou shalt have it backe again bet

ter cheape

By a hundred markes than I had it of thee."

"I draw you to record, lords," he said, With that he cast him a gods-pennie: "Now by my fay" said the heire of Linne,

"And here, good John, is thy monéy."

And he pulled forth three bagges of gold,

And laid them down upon the bord; All woe begone was John o' the Scales,

So shent he could say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold.
He told it forth with mickle dinne.
"The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the lord of
Linne."

Says, "Have thou here, thou good fellówe,

Forty pence thou didst lend me: Now I am again the lord of Linne, And forty pounds I will give thee.

"Ile make thee keeper of my forrest, Both of the wild deere and the tame; For but I reward thy bounteous heart, I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame."

"Now welladay!" sayth Joan o' the Scales;

"Now welladay, and woe is my life! Yesterday I was lady of Linne, Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife."

"Now fare thee well" said the heire of Linne,

"Farewell now, John o' the Scales," said he:

"Christ's curse light on me, if ever again

I bring my lands in jeopardy." PERCY'S RELIQUES.

SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF

ALHAMA.

THE Moorish king rides up and down

Through Granada's royal town;
From Elvira's gates to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.

Woe is me, Alhama!

Letters to the monarch tell
How Alhama's city fell;
In the fire the scroll he threw,
And the messenger he slew.
Woe is me, Alhama!

He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,

And through the street directs his course;

Through the street of Zacatin
To the Alhambra spurring in.
Woe is me, Alhama!

When the Alhambra walls he gained,
On the moment he ordained
That the trumpet straight should
sound,

With the silver clarion round.

Woe is me, Alhama!

Out then spake an aged Moor
In these words the king before,
"Wherefore call on us, O king?
What may mean this gathering?"
Woe is me, Alhama!

"Friends! ye have, alas! to know
Of a most disastrous blow,
That the Christians, stern and bold,
Have obtained Alhama's hold."
Woe is me, Alhama!

Out then spake old Alfaqui,
With his beard so white to see,
"Good king, thou art justly served,
Good king, this thou hast deserved.
Woe is me, Alhama!

"By thee were slain, in evil hour,
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
And strangers were received by thee
Of Cordova the chivalry.

Woe is me, Alhama!

"And for this, O king! is sent On thee a double chastisement, Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,

One last wreck shall overwhelm. Woe is me, Alhama!”

Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes,

The monarch's wrath began to rise, Because he answered, and because He spake exceeding well of laws. Woe is me, Alhama!

"There is no law to say such things
As may disgust the ear of kings:"
Thus, snorting with his choler, said
The Moorish king, and doomed him
dead.
Woe is me, Almaha!

Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
Though thy beard so hoary be,
The king hath sent to have thee
seized,

For Alhama's loss displeased.
Woe is me, Alhama!

And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
That this for thee should be the

law,

And others tremble when they saw.
Woe is me, Alhama!

"Cavalier! and man of worth!
Let these words of mine go forth;
Let the Moorish monarch know,
That to him I nothing owe.

Woe is me, Alhama!