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 money;

And over them in broad letters

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."

"And let it bee," sayd the heire of Linne;
"And let it bee, but if I amend :

For here I will make mine avow,

This reade shall guide me to the end."

Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne;

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,

Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.

And when he came to John o' the Scales,
Upp at the speere then looked hee;
There sate three lords upon a rowe,
Were drinking of the wine so free.

And John himself sate at the bord-head,
Because now lord of Linne was hee.

"I

pray thee," he said, "good John o' the Scales, One forty pence for to lend mee."

"Away, away, thou thriftless loone; Away, away, this may not bee:

For Christs curse on my head," he sayd,

Then bespake the heire of Linne,

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:
"Madame, some almes on me bestowe,
I pray for sweet saint Charitie."

"Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we shold hang any losel heere,
The first we wold begin with thee."

Then bespake a good fellowe,

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;
Sayd, "Turn againe, thou heire 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 Ile lend thee forty pence,
And other forty if need bee.

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 answer'd him againe :
"Now Christs curse on my head," he sayd,
"But I did lose by that bargàine.

And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,
Before these lords so faire and free,
Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape,
By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee."

"I drawe you to record, lords," he said.
With that he cast him a gods pennie :
"Now by my fay," sayd the heire of Linne,
"And here, good John, is thy money."

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold,
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth mickle dinne.
"The gold is thine, the land is mine,

Sayes, "Have thou here, thou good fellowe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the lord of Linne,
And forty pounds I will give thee.

Ile make the 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 life!
my
Yesterday I was lady of Linne,

Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife."

"Now fare thee well," sayd the heire of Linne; "Farewell now, John o' the Scales," said hee: "Christs curse light on me, if ever again I bring my lands in jeopardy."

Captain Car.

[From Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads.']

[This Ballad, the learned antiquary Ritson imagines to be the original of the following piece-Edom o'Gordon; it is founded on an historical fact which happened in 1571, the particulars of which are given both in Archbishop Spotswood's History of the Church of Scotland,' p. 259, and in the Memoirs published by Crawford of Drumsoy.']

IT befell at Martynmas

When wether waxed colde,
Captain Care said to his men,
We must go take a holde.

Haille, master, and wither you will,
And wither ye like it best.'
To the castle of Crecrynbroghe;
And there we will take our reste.

'I knowe wher is a gay castle,
Is build of lyme and stone,
Within there is a gay ladie,

Her lord is ryd from hom.'

The ladie lend on her castle-walle,
She loked upp and downe,

There was she ware of an host of men,

Come riding to the towne.

'Come yow hither, my

meri men all.

And look what I do see;

Yonder is there a host of men,

I musen who they bee.'

She thought he had been her own wed lord,
That had come riding home;
Then was it traitour captaine Care,

The lord of Easter towne.

They were no sooner at supper sett,
Than after said the grace,
Or captaine Care and all his men
Were lighte aboute the place.

Gyve over thi howsse, thou lady gay,
And I will make the a bande,
To-nighte thoust ly within my arm,
To-morrowe thou shall ere my

lan.'

Then bespack the eldest sonne,
That was both whitt and redde,
O mother dere, geve over your howsse
Or elles we shal be deade.

I will not geve over my hous, she saithe,
Not for feare of my lyffe,

It shal be talked throughout the land
The slaughter of a wyffe.

Fetch me my pestilett,

And charge me my goune,

Then I may shott at the bloddy butcher,

The lord of Easter-towne.

She styfly stod on her castle-wall,
And let the pellettes flee,

She myst the blody bucher,

And slew other three.

I will not give over my hous, she saithe,
Nether for lord nor lowne,
Nor yet for traitour captaine Care,
The lord of Easter-towne.

I desire of captaine Care,

And all his bloddye bande,

That he would save my eldest sonne,
The eare of all my lande.

'Lap him in a sheet,' he sayth,

And let him downe to me,

And I shall take him in my armes,
His waran wyll I be.'

The captayne said unto himselfe,
Wyth sped before the rest;
He cut his tonge out of his head,
His hart out of his brest.

He lapt them in a handerchef,
And knet it of knottes three,

And cast them over the castell-wall
At that gay ladye.

Fye upon thee, captaine Care,

And all thy bloddy band,

For thou hast slayne my eldest sonne,