FOOTNOTES:
[223] [England's Helicon (Brydges' British Bibliographer, vol. iii.)]
[224] Ver. 4. the wode, MS.
XI.
LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.
This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to. 1613, act v. sc. iii. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo. 1649, act iv. &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, a. iii. a gallant thus boasts of himself:
"Limber and sound! besides I sing Musgrave,
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me."
In the Pepys Collection, vol. iii. p. 314, is an imitation of this old song, in 33 stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.
This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with corrections; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous Poems.
[The copy of this ballad in the Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i. p. 119) is a mutilated fragment consisting of only ten complete stanzas and three half ones. The oldest entire copy is to be found in Wit Restor'd, 1658, where it is called the old ballad of little Musgrave, which is given by Professor Child (English and Scottish Ballads, vol. ii. p. 15) in preference to Percy's. This version, not very exactly transcribed, is printed in Dryden's Miscellany Poems (1716, vol. iii. 312), and Ritson (Ancient Songs and Ballads, vol. ii. p. 116) copied it from thence. Ritson writes of one of Percy's statements above: "Dr. Percy indeed, by some mistake, gives it as from an old printed copy in the British Museum; observing that 'In the Pepys collection is an imitation of this old song in a different measure, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.' It is very true, and not less so that the only copies in the museum (for there are two) are more recent impressions of this identical imitation."
It is the 14th stanza slightly altered which is quoted in the Knight of the Burning Pestle.
"And some they whistled, and some they sung,
Hey down down!
And some did loudly say
Ever as Lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away Musgrave, away."
There are several Scottish versions, in which the reciters have altered the locality. Jamieson has printed one which he calls Lord Barnaby (Popular Ballads and Songs, i. 170). He states that he had heard it repeated both in Morayshire and in the southern counties.
Motherwell gives the air in his Minstrelsy which he noted down from oral communication, and this verse—
"It fell upon a Martinmas time
When the nobles were a drinking wine,
That little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go
For to see the ladies come in."
Mr. J. H. Dixon includes a version entitled Lord Burnett and Little Munsgrove in his Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads (Percy Society, vol. xvii.)
Home adopted the name of Lady Barnard in his Douglas before he took that of Lady Randolph, see No. 18, Gil Morrice.
There is another ballad called The Bonny Birdy, with a similar story. Jamieson (i. 162) prints it and alters the title to Lord Randal.]
As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,
When yong men and maides together do goe
Their masses and mattins to heare,
Little Musgràve came to the church door, 5
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine womèn,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.
And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall; 10
And then came in my lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.
Shee cast an eye on little Musgràve
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little Musgràve, 15
This ladyes heart I have wonne.
Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgràve,
Fulle long and manye a daye.
So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye. 20
I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,[225]
Full daintilye bedight,
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgràve,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.
Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.
All this beheard a litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne: 30
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.
My lord Barnàrd shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35
He layd him downe to swimme.
Asleep or awake, thou lord Barnàrd,
As thou art a man of life,
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. 40
If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.
But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.
Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede; 50
This night must I to Bucklesford-bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.
Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe, 55
Awaye, Musgràve, away.
Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jay,
Methinkes I heare lord Barnards home;
I would I were awaye. 60
Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgràve,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.[226]
Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 65
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gay lady within thine armes:
And wouldst thou be awaye?
By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone: 70
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
How now, how now, thou little Musgràve, 75
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?
I find her sweete, quoth little Musgràve,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine. 80
Arise, arise, thou little Musgràve,
And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.
I have two swordes in one scabbàrde, 85
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.
The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard sore; 90
The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.
With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgràve, 95
Yet for thee I will praye:
And wishe well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnàrd,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100
He cut her pappes from off her brest;
Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.
Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105
You never were borne for my goode:
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you sawe me wax so woode?[227]
For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte,
That ever rode on a steede; 110
So have I done the fairest lady,
That ever ware womans weede.[228]
A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde,
To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 115
For she comes o' the better kin.
†‡† That the more modern copy is to be dated about the middle of the last century, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, viz.
"This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought;
Then let us call for Grace,
That we may shun the wicked vice,
And fly from Sin a-pace."