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And fome of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall,

And then came in my lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.

Shee caft an eye on little Musgrave,
As bright as the fummer funne:
O then bethought him little Mufgrave,
This ladyes heart I have wonne.

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,
Full daintilye bedight,

If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,
Thouft lig in mine armes all night.

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee fhew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.

All this beheard a tiney foot-page,

By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.

My lord Barnard fhall knowe of this
Although I lofe a limbe.

And ever whereas the bridges were broke
He layd him downe to fwimme.

Afleep or awake, thou lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life,

Lo! this fame night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgraves abed with thy wife.

If it be trewe, thou tiney foot-page,
This tale thou haft told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.

But and it be a lye, thou tiney foot-page,
This tale thou haft told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged fhalt thou bee.

Rife up, rife up, my merry men all,
And faddle me my steede,

This night muft I to Bucklesford-Bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.

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,
And huggle me from the cold,
For it is but fome fhephardes boye
A whistling his fheeepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horfe eating corne and haye?
And thou a gaye layde within thine arms:
And wouldst thou be awaye?

With that lord Bernard came to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone;

And he pulled out three filver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,

He lifted up the sheete;

How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
Doft find my gaye ladye sweete?

I find her fweete, quoth little Musgrave,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.

Arife, arife, thou little Mufgrave,

And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be faid in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

I have two swordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou fhalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard fore;

The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Mufgrave never strucke more.

With that befpake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,

Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave,
Yet for thee I will praye:

And wishe well to thy foule will I,

So long as I have life;

So will I not do for thee, Barnard,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.

He cut her pappes from off her breft;
Great pitye it was to fee

Some drops of this faire ladyes bloode
Run trickling down her knee.

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Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all,

You never were borne for my goode:
Why did you not offer to flay my hande,
When you fee me wax fo woode?

For I have flaine the fairest fir knighte,
That ever rode on a fleede;

So have I done the faireft lady'e,
That ever ware womans weede.

A grave, a grave, lord Barnard cryde,
To putt thefe lovers in,

But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For fhee comes o' the better kin.

THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD's

THE

DAUGHTER.

HERE was a fhepherds daughter
Came tripping on the

waye,

And there by chance a knighte fhee mett,

Which caufed her to staye.

Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,
Thefe words pronounced hee:
I fhall dye this daye, he fayd,
If Ive not my wille of thee.

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