And fome of them were clad in greene, And then came in my lord Barnardes wife, Shee caft an eye on little Musgrave, Quoth fhe, I have loved thee, little Musgrave, Fulle long and manye a daye. So have I loved you, ladye faire, Yet word I never durft faye. I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury, If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave, Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, All this beheard a tiney foot-page, By his ladyes coach as he ranne: My lord Barnard fhall knowe of this And ever whereas the bridges were broke Afleep or awake, thou lord Barnard, Lo! this fame night at Bucklesford-Bury If it be trewe, thou tiney foot-page, But and it be a lye, thou tiney foot-page, Rife up, rife up, my merry men all, This night muft I to Bucklesford-Bury; Then fome they whiftled, and fome they fang, And fome did loudlye faye, Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe Awaye, Mufgrave, awaye. Methinkes I hear the throftle cocke, Methinkes I heare the jaye, Methinkes I heare lorde Barnardes horne, I would I were awaye. Lye flill, lye ftill, thou little Musgrave, Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, With that lord Bernard came to the dore, And he pulled out three filver keyes, He lifted up the coverlett, He lifted up the sheete; How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, I find her fweete, quoth little Musgrave, Arife, arife, thou little Mufgrave, And put thy cloathes nowe on, I have two swordes in one scabbarde, The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke, The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke, With that befpake the ladye faire, Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, And wishe well to thy foule will I, So long as I have life; So will I not do for thee, Barnard, He cut her pappes from off her breft; Some drops of this faire ladyes bloode C Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, You never were borne for my goode: For I have flaine the fairest fir knighte, So have I done the faireft lady'e, A grave, a grave, lord Barnard cryde, But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD's THE DAUGHTER. HERE was a fhepherds daughter waye, And there by chance a knighte fhee mett, Which caufed her to staye. Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, |