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THE HEIR OF LINNE. |
65 |
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PART THE SECOND.
Aw at then hyed the heire of Linne, Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne,
Untill he came to [the] lonesome lodge, That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.
He looked up, he looked downe, s
In hope some comfort for to winne;
But bare and lothly were the walles ;
" Here's sorry cheare," quo' the heire of Linne.
The little windowe, dim and darke,
Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe; w
No shimmering sunn here ever shone,
No halesome breeze here ever blew.
No chair, ne table he mote spye,
No chearful 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 thyselfe to penurie ? 20
" All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend:
VOL. VIII. 5 |
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