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

by anon

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

⟨A Lamentable⟩ Ballad of the 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 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 both 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, Ile 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 haste,
 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 Ile 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, he said,
 and a lye that thou hearest of me,
Then never stay a Gallows to make,
 but hang me upon the next tree.
Lord Barnet then cal’d up his merry men,
 away with speed he would go,
His heart was so perplexed 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 no noise to make
 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 espye,
 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 curious 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 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 this wicked vice,
 and flye from sin apace.

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