A Lamentable Ballad of Little Musgrove, and the Lady Barnet (J. Clark, W. Thackeray, and T. Passinger)

by anon

For other versions of this work, see Little Musgrove and the Lady Barnet.

A Lamentable Ballad of Little Musgrove, and the Lady Barnet.
To an Excellent New Tune.

As it fell out on a Holy day
 as many more be in the year,
Little Musgrove would to the Church & pray
 to see the fair Ladies there:
Gallants there were of good degree,
 for beauty exceeding fair,
Most wonderous lovely to the eye,
 which did to the Church repair.

Some came down in red velvet,
 and some came down in pall,
The next came down the Lady Barnet,
 the fairest among them all:
She cast a look on little Musgrove,
 as bright as the Summers Sun,
Full well then perceived little Musgrove,
 Lady Barnets love he had won.

The Lady Barnet meek and mild,
 saluted this little Musgrove,
Who did reply her kind Courtesie,
 with Favour and gentle Love:
I have a Bower in merry Barnet,
 bestrewed with cowslips sweet,
If that you please little Musgrove,
 in love me there to meet.

Within my arms one night to sleep,
 for you my love have won,
You need not fear my suspitious Lord,
 for he from home is gone:
Betide my life, betide my death,
 this Night I will lye with thee,
And for thy sake i’le hazard my Breath,
 so dear is thy Love to me.

What shall we do with our little Foot-page
 our counsel for to keep
And watch for fear Lord Barnet come,
 while we together sleep:
Red Gold shall be his hier, quoth he,
 and Silver shall be his fee,
So he our councel safely keepe,
 that I may sleepe with thee.

I will have none of your Gold, he said,
 nor none of your Silver fee,
If I should keep your counsel Sir,
 ’twere great Disloyalty.
I will not be false unto my Lord,
 for house nor yet for Land
But if my Lady prove untrue,
 Lord Barnet shall understand.

Then swiftly ran this little Foot-page,
 unto his Lord with speed,
He then was feasting with his own friends
 not dreaming of this ill deed:
Most speedily the page did hast,
 most swiftly he did run,
And when he came to the broken bridge,
 he bent his breast and swum.

The Page did make no stay at all,
 but went to the Lord with speed,
That he the truth my say to him,
 concerning this wicked deed,
He found his Lord at supper then,
 great merriment they did keep,
My Lord, qd. he this night upon my word
 Musgrove with your Lady doth sleep.

If this be true my little Foot-page,
 and true that thou tel’st to me,
My eldest daughter I’le give thee,
 and wedded thou shalt be:
If this be a lye my little Foot-Page,
 and a lye thou tellest me,
A new pair of Gallows shall be set up,
 and hanged thou shalt be.

If this be a lye my Lord (said he)
 and a lye that thou hearest of me
Never stay a pair of Gallows make,
 but hang me on the next tree.
Lord Barnet call’d his merry men all,
 away with speed he would go,
His heart was so perlext with grief,
 the truth of this he must know.

Saddle your horses with speed, he said,
 and saddle me my white Steed;
If this be true as the Page hath said,
 Musgrove shall repent his deed:
He charged his men to make no noise,
 as they rode along the way,
Nor wind no horn (quoth he) on your life,
 least our coming it should betray.

But one of them that Musgrove did love,
 and respected his friendship most dear,
To give notice Lord Barnet was come,
 did wind the Bugle most clear:
And evermore as he did sound,
 away musgrove and away,
For if he take thee with my Lady,
 then slain thou shalt be this day.

O hark fair Lady, your Lord is near,
 I hear his little horn blow,
And if he find me in your arms thus,
 then slain I shall be I know:
O lye still, lye still little Musgrove,
 and keep my back from the cold,
I know it is my Fathers Shepherd,
 driving Sheep into the Pinfold.

Musgrove did turn him pound about,
 sweet slumber his eyes did greet,
When he did awake then he did espy
 Lord Barnet at the beds feet,
O rise up, rise up, little Musgrove,
 and put thy cloathing on,
It never shall be said in England fair
 that I slew a naked man.

Here is two Swords, Lord Barnet said,
 thy choice Musgrove shall make,
The best of them thy self shall have,
 and I the worst will take:
The first blow Musgrove did strike,
 he wounded Lord Burnet sore,
The second blow Lord Barnet gave,
 Musgrove could strike no more.

He took his Lady by the white hand,
 all love to rage convert,
And with his sword in furious wise,
 he pierc’d her tender heart,
A Grave, a Grave, Lord Barnet cry’d
 prepare to lay us in,
My Lady shall lye on the upper side,
 ’cause she’s the better skin.

Then suddenly he slew himself,
 which grieved his friends full sore.
The death of these three worthy wights,
 with tears they did deplore.
This sad mischief by lust was wrought,
 then let us call for grace,
That we may shun the wicked vice,
 and flye from sin apace.

Printed for J. Clark, W. Thackeray, and T. Passinger.