A Lamentable Ballad of Little Musgrove and the Lady Barnet (c. 1763–1775)

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.

As it fell out on a high holiday,
 As many there be in a year;
Musgrove he would to the church to pray,
 To see the ladies there.

Gallants they were of good degree,
 For beauty exceeding fair;
Most wonderous lovely to the eye,
 Which did to church repair.

Some came down in red velvet,
 And some came down in pall;
The next came down my Lady Barnet,
 The fairest amongst them all.

She cast a look at Little Musgrove,
 As bright as the summers sun,
Full right then perceiv’d Little Musgrove,
 Lady Barnet’s love he had won.

The Lady Barnet meek and mild,
 Saluted Little Musgrove;
Who did repay her courtesy
 With favor and gentle love.

I have a bower in merry Barnet,
 Bestrew’d with cowslips sweet,
If that you please my little Musgrove,
 In love me there to meet.

Within my arms one night to lie,
 For you my love have won;
You need not fear my suspicious Lord,
 For he from home is gone.

Betide me life, betide me death,
 This night I will lie with thee;
And for thy sake I will hazard my breath,
 So dear is my love to thee.

What shall we do with this little foot page?
 Our council for to keep,
And watch for fear Lord Barnet comes,
 While we together meet.

Rich gold shall be his hire, said she,
 And silver shall be his fee;
If he our council will but keep,
 That I may sleep with thee.

I will have none of your gold, said he,
 Nor none of your silver fee;
If I should keep your council madam,
 ’Twere great disloyalty.

I’ll not be false unto my Lord,
 For house, nor yet for land;
But if my Lady proves untrue,
 Lord Barnet shall understand.

Then swiftly ran this little foot-page,
 Unto his Lord with speed,
He then was feasting with his friends,
 Not dreaming of that deed.

Most speedily the page did haste,
 Most swiftly he did run;
And when he came to the broken bridge
 He bent his breast and swam.

The page did make no stay at all,
 But went to his Lord with speed;
That he the truth might tell to him,
 Concerning this wicked deed.

He found his Lord at supper then,
 Great metriment they did keep;
My Lord said she, this night on my word,
 Musgrove with my Lady doth sleep.

If this be true my little foot-page,
 And true which thou tellest to me;
My eldest daughter I will thee give,
 And wedded thou shalt be.

If this be a lie thou little foot-page,
 And a lie thou tellest me;
A new gallows shall be set up,
 And hanged thou shalt be.

If that be a lie, my Lord he said,
 And a lie which I tell unto thee,
Never stay a new gallows to make,
 But hang me upon the next tree.

Lord Barnet call’d his merry men all,
 Away with speed he would go;
His heart was sore perplex’d with grief,
 The truth of this he must know.

Saddle your horses with speed he said,
 And saddle my milk-white steed,
If this be true as the page hath said,
 Musgrove shall repent the deed.

He charged his men to make no noise,
 As they rode along the way;
Wind no horn, quoth he for your life,
 Lest our coming you betray.

But one of them that Musgrove did love,
 And respected his friendship dear;
To give him notice Lord Barnet was come,
 Did wind his bugle horn clear.

And evermore as he did sound,
 Away Musgrove, and away;
For if he take you with his Lady,
 Thou shalt be slain to-day.

O hark fair Lady, your Lord is near,
 I hear his little horn blow:
And if he find me in your arms,
 Then hang’d I shall be I know.

O lie still, lie still, my Little Musgrove,
 And keep my back from the cold;
I know it is my father’s shepherd,
 A driving sheep to fold.

Musgrove did turn himself about,
 Sweet slumber his eyes did greet,
And when he awoke there did he espy
 Lord Barnet at the bed’s feet.

Rise up, rise up, thou little Musgrove,
 And put thy cloathing on;
It ne’er shall be said in England fair,
 That I slew a naked man.

Here are two swords Lord Barnet said,
 Musgrove thy choice now make,
The best of them thyself shalt have,
 And I the worst shalt take.

The first blow Musgrove did strike,
 He wounded Lord Baroet 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 sort,
 He pierc’d her tender heart.

A grave, a grave, Lord Barnet said,
 Prepare us to lie in;
My Lady shall lie on the upper side,
 Because she has the better skin.

Then suddenly he slew himself,
 Which griev’d his friends full sore;
The death of these three lovely Wights,
 With tears they did deplore.

This sad mischief by lust was wrought,
 Then let us call for Grace:
That we may shun such wicked deeds,
 And fly from sin apace.

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Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church-Yard
Bow Lane, London.