Page:A Lamentable Ballad of the Little Musgrove, and the Lady Barnet (F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke).jpg

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

As it fell out on a Holly-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 wondrous lovely to the eye,
 which did to the Church repair.

Some came down in red velvet,
 and ſome came down in Pale:
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 repay her kind courteſie,
 with favour and gentle love:
I have a Bower in merry Barnet,
 beſtrewed with Couſlips ſweet,
If that you pleaſe Little Muſgrove,
 in Love me there to meet.

Within mine 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 me life, betide me death,
 this night I will lye with thee,
And for thy ſake I’le hazard my breath,
 ſo dear is my love to thee.

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 hire, quoth he,
 and ſilver ſhall be his Fee;
So he our counſel ſafely keep,
 that I may ſleep 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,
Who 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 may ſay to him,
 concerning this wicked deed:
He found his Lord at Supper then,
 great merriment they did make,
My Lord, quoth he, this night upon my word,
 Muſgrove with your Lady doth ſleep.

If this be true my little Foot-Page,
 and true that thou telleſt 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 to 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 to 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 perplex’d 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 this deed:
He charged his men to make no noiſe,
 as they rode along the way,
Nor wind no horn (quoth he) on your Life,
 leſt our coming it ſhould betray.

But one of them that Muſgrove did love,
 and reſpected his friendſhip moſt dear,
To give him 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 unto the Pinfold.

Muſgrove did turn him round about,
 ſweet ſlumber his eyes did greet,
When he did awake, he then 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’s two good ſwords, Lord Barnet ſaid,
 the 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 Barnet 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 moſt 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 is the better Skin.

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

London, Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.