The English and Scottish Popular Ballads/Part 3/Chapter 81

The Old ballad of Little Musgrave and the Lady Barnard
Child took this version from Wit Restor'd (published 1658)


 * Asit fell one holy-day, hay downe,
 * As manybe in the yeare,
 * When young men and maids together did goe,
 * Their mattins and masse to heare,


 * Little Musgrave came to the church dore,
 * The preist was at private masse;
 * But he had more minde of the faire women
 * Then he had of our ladys grace.


 * The one of them was clad in green,
 * Another was clad in pall;
 * And then came in my lord Bernards wife,
 * The fairest amonst them all.


 * She cast an eye on Little Musgrave,
 * As bright as the summer sun,
 * And then bethought this Little Musgrave,
 * "This lady’s heart have I woonn."


 * Quoth she, "I have loved thee, Little Musgrave,
 * Full long and many a day:"
 * "So have I loved you, fair lady,
 * Yet never word durst I say."


 * "I have a bower at Buckelsfordbery,
 * Full daintyly it is deight;
 * If thou wilt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave,
 * Thou’s lig in mine armes all night."


 * Quoth he, "I thank yee, faire lady,
 * But whether it be to my weal or woe,
 * This night I will lig with thee."


 * All that heard, a little tinny page,
 * By his ladyes coach as he ran:
 * [Quoth he,] "Allthough I am my ladyes foot-page,
 * Yet I am Lord Barnards man.


 * "My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
 * Whether I sink or swimm:"
 * And ever where the bridges were broake
 * He laid him downe to swimme.


 * "Asleepe, awake! thou Lord Barnard,
 * As thou art a man of life;
 * For Little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,
 * Abed with thy own wedded wife."


 * "If this be true, thou little tinny page,
 * This thing thou tellest to mee,
 * Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery
 * I freely will give to thee.


 * "But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page,
 * This thing thou tellest to me,
 * On the hyest tree in Bucklesfordbery
 * There hanged shalt thou be."


 * He called up his merry men all:-
 * "Come saddle me my steed;
 * This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,
 * For I never had greater need."


 * And some of them whistl'd, and some of them sung,
 * And some these words did say,
 * Ever when my lord Barnards horn blew,
 * "Away, Musgrave, away!"


 * "Methinks I hear the thresel-cock,
 * Methinks I hear the jaye;
 * Methinks I hear my lord Barnard,-
 * And I would I were away."


 * "Lye still, lye still, thou Little Musgrave,
 * And huggell me from the cold;
 * Tis nothing but a shephards boy,
 * A driving his sheep to the fold.


 * "Is not thy hawke upon a perch?
 * Thy steed eats oats and hay,
 * And thou [a] fair lady in thine armes,-
 * And wouldst thou bee away?"


 * With that my lord Barnard came to the dore,
 * And lit a stone upon;
 * He plucked out three silver keys,
 * And he open'd the dores each one.


 * He lifted up the coverlett,
 * He lifted up the sheet;
 * "How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
 * Doest thou find my lady sweet?"


 * "I find her sweet," quoth Little Musgrave,
 * "The more ’tis to my paine;
 * I would gladly give three hundred pounds
 * That I were on yonder plaine."


 * "Arise, arise, thou Littell Musgrave,
 * And put thy clothes on;
 * It shall ne'er be said in my country
 * I have killed a naked man.


 * "I have two swords in one scabberd,
 * Full deere they cost my purse;
 * And thou shalt have the better of them,
 * And I will have the worse."


 * The first stroke that Little Musgrave stroke,
 * He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
 * The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,
 * Little Musgrave ne're struck more.


 * With that bespake this faire lady,
 * In bed whereas she lay;
 * "Although thou’rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,
 * Yet I for thee will pray.


 * "And wish well to thy soule will I,
 * So long as I have life;
 * So will I not for thee, Barnard,
 * Although I am thy wedded wife."


 * He cut her paps from off her brest;
 * (Great pity it was to see,)
 * That some drops of this ladies heart’s blood
 * Ran trickling downe her knee.


 * "Woe worth you, woe worth [you], my mery men all
 * You were ne're borne for my good;
 * Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
 * When ye see me wax so wood!


 * "For I have slaine the bravest sir knight
 * That ever rode on steed;
 * So have I done the fairest lady
 * That ever did womans deed.


 * "A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cryd,
 * To put these lovers in;
 * But lay my lady on [the] upper hand,
 * For she came of the better kin."