A collection of ancient and modern Scottish ballads, etc

3^8
" To beg my bread from door to door,
I wis, it were a brenning* shame;.
To rob and steal it were a sinne;
To worke, my limbs I cannot frame,
'* Now I'll aw^ay to lonesome lodge.
For there my father bade me wend.
When all the world should frowne on meje^
I there shotdd find a trusty friend."
PART THE SECOND.
Away then hyed the Heire of Linne,
O'er hill, and holt, and moor,/ and fenne^
Until he came to lonesome lodge.
That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.
He looked up, he looked downe^
In hope some comfort for to winne^,
But bare and lothly were the walles :
" Here's sorry eheare," quo' the Heire of Linne.
The little windowe dim and darke
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe ;.
No shimmering t sun here ever shone;
No halesome breeze here ever blewe.
* Burning. -j- Shining by glances.