A Lamentable Ballad of Little Musgrove, and the Lady Barnet.
To an Excellent New Tune.
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As it fell out on a Holy day
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as many more be in the year,
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Little Musgrove would to the Church & pray
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to see the fair Ladies there:
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Gallants there were of good degree,
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for beauty exceeding fair,
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Most wonderous lovely to the eye,
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which did to the Church repair.
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Some came down in red velvet,
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and some came down in pall,
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The next came down the Lady Barnet,
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the fairest among them all:
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She cast a look on little Musgrove,
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as bright as the Summers Sun,
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Full well then perceived little Musgrove,
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Lady Barnets love he had won.
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The Lady Barnet meek and mild,
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saluted this little Musgrove,
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Who did reply her kind 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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bestrewed with cowslips sweet,
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If that you please little Musgrove,
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in love me there to meet.
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Within my arms one night to sleep,
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for you my love have won,
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You need not fear my suspitious Lord,
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for he from home is gone:
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Betide my life, betide my death,
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this Night I will lye with thee,
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And for thy sake i'le hazard my Breath,
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so dear is thy Love to me.
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What shall we do with our little Foot-page
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our counsel for to keep
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And watch for fear Lord Barnet come,
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while we together sleep:
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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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So he our councel safely keepe,
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that I may sleepe with thee.
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I will have none of your Gold, he said,
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nor none of your Silver fee,
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If I should keep your counsel Sir,
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'twere great Disloyalty.
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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 prove untrue,
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Lord Barnet shall understand.
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Then swiftly ran this little Foot-page,
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unto his Lord with speed,
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He then was feasting with his own friends
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not dreaming of this ill deed:
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Most speedily the page did hast,
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most swiftly he did run,
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And when he came to the broken bridge,
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he bent his breast and swum.
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The Page did make no stay at all,
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but went to the Lord with speed,
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That he the truth my say 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 they did keep,
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My Lord, quod he this night upon my word
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Musgrove with you Lady doth sleep.
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IF this be true my little Foot-page,
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and true that thou tel'st to me,
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My eldest daughter I'le give thee,
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and wedded thou shalt be:
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If this be a lye my little Foot-Page,
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and a lye thou tellest me,
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A new pair of Gallows shall be set up,
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and hanged thou shalt be.
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If this be a lye my Lord (said he)
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and a lye that thou hearest of me
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Never [st]ay a pair of Gallows make,
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but hang me on the next tree.
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Lord Barnet call'd his merry men all,
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away with speed he would go,
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His heart was so perlext with grief,
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the truth of this he must know.
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Saddle your horses with speed, he said,
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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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Musgrove shall repent his deed:
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He charged his men to make no noise,
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as they rode along the way,
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Nor wind no horn (quoth he) on your life,
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least our coming it should betray.
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But one of them that Musgrove did love,
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and respected his friendship most dear,
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To give notice Lord Barnet was come,
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did wind the Bugle most clear:
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And evermore as he did sound,
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away musgrove and away,
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For if he take thee with my Lady,
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then slain thou shalt be this day.
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O hark fair Lady, your Lord is near,
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I hear his little horn blow,
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And if he find me in your arms thus,
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then slain I shall be I know:
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O lye still, lye still little Musgrove,
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and keep my back from the cold,
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I know it is my Fathers Shepherd,
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driving Sheep into the Pinfold.
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Musgrove did turn him pound about,
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sweet slumber his eyes did greet,
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When he did awake then he did espy
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Lord Barnet at the beds feet,
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O rise up, rise up, little Musgrove,
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and put thy cloathing on,
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It never shall be said in England fair
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that I slew a naked man.
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Here is two Swords, Lord Barnet said,
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thy choice Musgrove shall make,
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The best of them thy self shall have,
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and I the worst will take:
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The first blow Musgrove did strike,
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he wounded Lord Burnet sore,
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The second blow Lord Barnet gave,
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Musgrove could strike no more.
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He took his Lady by the white hand,
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all love to rage convert,
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And with his sword in furious wise,
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he pierc'd her tender heart,
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A Grave, a Grave, Lord Barnet cry'd
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prepare to lay us in,
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My Lady shall lye on the upper side,
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'cause she's the better skin.
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Then suddenly he slew himself,
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which grieved his friends full sore.
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The death of these three worthy wights,
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with tears they did deplore.
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This sad mischief by lust was wrought,
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then let us call for grace,
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That we may shun the wicked vice,
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and flye from sin apace.
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