24 And evermore as he did blow,
'Away, Mousgrove, and away;
For if I take thee with my lady,
Then slaine thou shalt be this day.'
25 'O harke, fair lady, your lord is neere,
I heare his little horne blow;
And if he finde me in your armes thus,
Then slaine I shall be, I know.'
26 'O lye still, lye still, Little Mousgrove,
And keepe my backe from the cold;
I know it is my father's shepheard,
Driving sheepe to the pinfold.'
27 Mousgrove did turne him round about,
Sweete slumber his eyes did greet;
When he did wake, he then espied
Lord Barnet at his bed's feete.
28 'O rise up, rise up, Little Mousgrove,
And put thy clothës on;
It shall never be said in faire England
I slew a naked man.
29 'Here's two good swords,' Lord Barnet said,
'Thy choice, Mousgrove, thou shalt make;
The best of them thy selfe shalt have,
And I the worst will take.'
30 The first good blow that Mousgrove did strike,
He wounded Lord Barnet sore;
The second blow that Lord Barnet gave,
Mousgrove could strike no more.
31 He tooke his lady by the white hand,
All love to rage did convert,
That with his sword, in most furious sort,
He pierst her tender heart.
32 'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnet cryde,
'Prepare to lay us in;
My lady shall lie on the upper side,
Cause she's of the better kin.'
33 Then suddenly he slue himselfe,
Which grieves his friends full sore;
The deaths of these thra worthy wights
With teares they did deplore.