Page:A Lamentable Ballad of Little Musgrove, and the Lady Barnet (Aldermary Church-Yard, Bow Lane, London).jpg

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.