A Pleasant BALLAD shewing how two Valliant KNIGHTS, Sir John Armstrong,
and Sir Michael Musgrave, fell in Love with the Beautiful Daughter of the Lady Dacres, in the
North; and of the great Strife that happend between them for Her, and how they wrought the
Death of one hundred Men. To an excellent new Northern Tune, etc.
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AS it fell out one Whitsunday,
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the blith time of the Year,
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When every tree was clad with green,
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and pretty birds sing clear;
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The Lady Dacres took her way
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Unto the Church that pleasant day,
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With her fair Daughter fresh and gay,
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a bright and bonny Lass,
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Fa la tre dang de do;
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trang trole lo trang de do;
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With hey trang trole lo lye,
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she was a bonny Lass.
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Sir Michael Musgrave in like sort,
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to Church repaired then,
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And so did Sir John Armstrong too,
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with all his merry Men,
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Two greater friends there could not be,
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Nor braver Knights for Chivalry,
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Both Batchelors of high degree,
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fit for a bonny Lass.
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They sat them down upon one seat,
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like loving Brethren dear,
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With hearts and minds devoutly bent
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Gods service for to hear;
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But rising from their prayers tho,
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Their eyes a ranging straight did go,
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Which wrought their utter overthrow,
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all for one bonny Lass.
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Quod Musgrave unto Armstrong then,
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yon sits the sweetest Dame,
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That ever for her fair beauty,
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within this Country came.
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Insooth, quoth Armstrong presennly,
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Your judgment I must verifie,
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There never came unto my eye,
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a braver bonny Lass.
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I swear, said Musgrave, by this sword,
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which did my Knight-hood win,
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To steal away so sweet a Dame,
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could be no ghostly sin.
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That deed, quod Armstrong, would be ill,
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Except he had her right good will,
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That your desire she would fulfil,
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and be thy bonny Lass.
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By this the service quite was done,
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and home the People past:
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They wisht a blister on his tongue,
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that made thereof such hast.
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At the Church-door the Knights did meet,
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The Lady Dacres for to greet,
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But most of all her Daughter sweet,
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that beautious bonny Lass.
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Said Armstrong, to the Lady fair,
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we both have made a vow,
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At dinner for to be your Guests,
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if you will it allow.
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With that bespoke the Lady free,
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Sir Knights, right welcome shall you be.
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The happier Men therefore are we,
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for love of this bonny Lass.
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Thus was the Knights both prickt in love,
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both in one moment thralld,
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And both with one fair Lady gay,
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thus blind in Cupid calld.
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With humble thanks they went away,
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Like wounded harts chast all the day.
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One would not to the other say,
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they lovd this bonny Lass.
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Fair Isabel on the other side,
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as far in love was found,
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So long brave Armstrong she had eyd,
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till love her heart did wound:
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Brave Armstrong is my Joy, quoth she,
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Would Christ he were alone with me.
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To talk an hour two or three;
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with his fair bonny Lass.
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But as these Knights together rode,
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and homeward did repair,
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Their talk & eke their countenance shewd,
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their hearts were clogd with care;
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Fair Isabel, the one did say,
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Thou hast subdud my heart this day.
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But shes my Joy, did Musgrave say,
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my bright and bonny Lass.
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With that these friends incontinent,
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became most deadly foes,
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For love of beautious Isabel,
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great strife betwixt them rose:
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Quoth Armstrong, She shall be my Wife,
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Although for her I lose my life;
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And thus began a deadly strife,
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and for one bonny Lass.
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Thus two years long this grudge did grow,
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these gallant Knights between,
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While they a wooing both did go,
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unto this beautious Queen:
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And she who did their furies prove,
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To neither would bewray her love,
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The deadly quarrel to remove,
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about this bonny Lass.
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But neither of her fair intreats,
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nor yet her sharp dispute,
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Would they appease their raging ire,
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nor yet give ore their suit.
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The Gentlemen of the North Country,
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At last did make this good decree,
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All for a perfect unity,
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about this bonny Lass,
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The Love-sick Knights should both be set
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within one hall so wide,
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Each of them in a gallant sort,
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even at a several tide;
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And twixt them both for certainty,
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Fair Isabel should placed be
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Of them to take her choice full free,
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most like a bonny Lass.
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And as she like an Angel bright,
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betwixt them mildly stood,
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She turned unto each several Knight;
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with pale and changed blood:
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Now am I at liberty,
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To make and take my choice, quoth she.
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Yea, quoth the Knights, we do agree,
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then chuse thou bonny Lass.
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O Musgrave, thou art all too hot,
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to be a Ladys Love.
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Quoth she, And Armstrong seems a Sot,
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where love binds him to prove;
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Of courage great is Musgrave still;
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And sith to chuse I have my will,
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Sweet Armstrong shall my joys fulfil,
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and I his bonny Lass.
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The Nobles and the Gentiles both,
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that were in present place,
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Rejoyced at this sweet record:
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but Musgrave in disgrace,
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Out of the hall did take his way,
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And Armstrong married was next day,
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With Isabel his Lady gay,
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a bright and bonny Lass.
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But Musgrave on the wedding-day,
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like to a Scotch-man dight,
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In secret sort allured out
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the Bridegroom for to fight;
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And he that will not out-bravd be,
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Unto his challenge did agree,
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Where he was slain most suddenly,
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for his fair bonny Lass.
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The news hereof was quickly brought
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unto the lovely Bride:
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And many of young Armstrongs Kin,
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did after Musgrave ride;
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They hewd him when they had him got,
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As small as flesh into the pot;
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Lo thus befel a heavy lot,
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about this bonny Lass.
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The Lady young which did lament
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this cruel cursed strife,
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For very grief died that day,
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a Maiden and a Wife:
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An hundred Men that hapless day,
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Did loose their lives in that same fray;
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And twixt those Names as many say,
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is deadly Hate still biding.
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