The lamentable Ditty of Little Mousgrove,
and the Lady Barnet.
To an excellent tune.
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AS it fell on a light Holyday,
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as many more does in the yeere,
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Little Mousgrove would to the Church and pray
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to see the faire Ladyes there,
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Gallants there were of good degree,
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for beauty exceeding faire,
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Most wonderous lovely to the eie,
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that did to that Church repaire.
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Some came downe in red Velvet,
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and others came downe in Pall,
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But next came downe my Lady Barnet,
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the fairest amongst them all,
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She cast a looke upon Little Mousgrove,
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as bright as the Summers Sunne,
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Full well perceived then Little Mousgrove,
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Lady Barnets Love he had wonne.
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Then Lady Barnet most meeke and mild,
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saluted this Little Mousgrove,
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Who did repay her kinde courtesie,
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with favour, and Gentle Love,
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I have a bower in merry Barnet,
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bestrowed with Cowslips sweet,
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If that it please you, Little Mousgrove,
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in love me there to meete,
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Within my Armes one night to sleepe,
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for you my heart have wonne,
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You need not feare my suspicious Lord,
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for he from home is gone.
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Betide me life, betide me death,
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this night I will sleepe with thee,
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And for thy sake Ile hazzard my breath,
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so deare is my love to thee.
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What shall wee doe with our little Foot-Page,
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our Counsell for to keepe,
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And watch for feare Lord Barnet comes,
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whilest wee together doe sleepe?
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Red Gold shall be his hier, quoth he,
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and Silver shall be his fee,
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If he our Counsell safely doe keepe,
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that I may sleepe with thee.
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I will have none of your Gold, said he,
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nor none of your Silver fee,
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If I should keepe your Counsell, sir,
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twere great disloyaltie.
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I will not be false unto my Lord,
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for house nor yet for land,
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But if my Lady doe prove untrue,
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Lord Barnet shall understand.
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Then swiftly runnes the little Foot-Page,
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unto his Lord with speed,
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Who then was feasting with his deare friends,
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not dreaming of this ill deede:
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Most speedily the Page did haste,
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most swiftly did he runne,
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And when he came to the broken Bridge,
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he lay on his brest and swumme.
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The Page did make no stay at all,
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but went to his Lord with speed,
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That he the truth might lay to him,
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concerning this wicked deed.
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He found his Lord at supper then,
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great merriment there they did keepe.
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My Lord, quoth he, this night on my word
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Mousgrove with your Lady does sleepe.
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The second part; To the same tune.
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IF this be true, my little Foot-Page.
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and true as thou tellest to me,
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My eldest daughter Ile give to thee,
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and wedded shalt thou be.
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If this be a lye, my little Foot-Page,
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and a lye as thou tellest to mee:
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A new paire of Gallowes shall straight be set,
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and hanged shalt thou be.
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If this be a lye, my Lord, said he,
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a lye that you heare from me,
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Then never stay a Gallowes to make,
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but hang me upon the next tree.
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Lord Barnet then cald up his merry men,
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away with speed he would goe,
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His heart was sore perplext with griefe,
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the truth of this he must know.
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Saddle your horses with speed, quoth he,
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and saddle me my white Steed,
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If this be true as the Page hath said,
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Mousgrove shall repent this deed.
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He charg'd his men no noise to make,
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as they rode all along on the way,
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Nor winde no hornes, quoth he, on your life,
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lest our comming it should betray.
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But one of the men that Mousgrove did love,
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and respected his friendship most deare,
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To give him knowledge Lord Barnet was neere,
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did winde his Bugle most cleere,
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And evermore as he did blow,
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away Mousgrove and away:
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For if I take thee with my lady,
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then slaine thou shalt be this day.
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O harke, faire Lady, your Lord is neere,
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I heare his little horne blow,
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And if he finde me in your Armes thus,
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then slaine I shall be, I know.
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O lye still, lye still, little Mousgrove,
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and keepe my backe from the cold.
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I know it is my Fathers shepheard,
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driving sheepe to the Pinfold.
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Mousgrove did turne him round about,
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sweete slumber his eyes did greet.
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When he did wake, he then espied
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Lord Barnet at his beds feete.
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O rise up, rise up, little Mousgrove,
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and put thy Clothes on,
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It shall never be said in faire England,
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I slew a naked man.
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Here's two good swords, Lord Barnet said,
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thy choice Mousgrove thou shalt make,
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The best of them thy selfe shalt have,
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and I the worst will take;
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The first good blow that Mousgrove did strike,
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he wounded Lord Barnet sore,
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The second blow that Lord Barnet gave,
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Mousgrove could strike no more.
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He tooke his Lady by the white hand,
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all love to rage did convert,
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That with his sword in most furious sort,
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he pierst her tender heart,
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A grave, a grave, Lord Barnet cryde,
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prepare to lay us in,
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My Lady shall lie on the upper side,
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'cause she's of the better kin.
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Then suddenly he slue himselfe,
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which grieves his friends full sore:
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The deaths of these three worthy wights,
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with teares they did deplore.
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This sad mischance by lust was wrought.
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Then let us call for grace,
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That we may shun this wicked vice,
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and mend our lives apace.
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