FOOTNOTES:

61, 3, 232, 243. 24.81. sist.111, 121. bookes man:cf.151.142. never dye.152.Cookeseems to be wrongly repeated.193. 5.203. first sleep.212. 13.253. 2.254.So Hales and Furnivall.261. ladie bright.Qyfayre?262. burning light.281. 2d.302. thee & and.323. sent him.Andalways for&.

61, 3, 232, 243. 24.

81. sist.

111, 121. bookes man:cf.151.

142. never dye.

152.Cookeseems to be wrongly repeated.

193. 5.

203. first sleep.

212. 13.

253. 2.

254.So Hales and Furnivall.

261. ladie bright.Qyfayre?

262. burning light.

281. 2d.

302. thee & and.

323. sent him.

Andalways for&.

FOOTNOTES:[135]As Sir Frederick Madden has observed, who cites some of the instances given.

[135]As Sir Frederick Madden has observed, who cites some of the instances given.

A.'Little Musgrave and the Lady Barnard.'a.Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint "Facetiæ," London, 1817, I, 293.b.Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.B.Percy MS., p. 53; Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.C. a.'Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet,' Pepys Ballads, I, 364.b.Pepys Ballads, III, 314.c.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146.d.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340.e.Bagford Ballads, I, 36.D.'Lord Barnard,' Kinloch MSS, I, 287.E.'Young Musgrave,' Campbell MSS, II, 43.F.'Lord Barnaby,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 170.G.'Wee Messgrove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 643.H.'Little Musgrave,' Motherwell's MS., p. 120.I.'Little Sir Grove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 305.J.'Lord Barnabas' Lady,' Motherwell's MS., p. 371.K.Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5.L.'Lord Barnett and Little Munsgrove,' Buchan's MSS, I, 27: Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.M.'Little Mushiegrove,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI, one stanza.N.'Little Massgrove,' communicated by Miss Reburn, as learned in County Meath, Ireland, two stanzas.

A.'Little Musgrave and the Lady Barnard.'a.Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint "Facetiæ," London, 1817, I, 293.b.Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.

B.Percy MS., p. 53; Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.

C. a.'Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet,' Pepys Ballads, I, 364.b.Pepys Ballads, III, 314.c.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146.d.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340.e.Bagford Ballads, I, 36.

D.'Lord Barnard,' Kinloch MSS, I, 287.

E.'Young Musgrave,' Campbell MSS, II, 43.

F.'Lord Barnaby,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 170.

G.'Wee Messgrove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 643.

H.'Little Musgrave,' Motherwell's MS., p. 120.

I.'Little Sir Grove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 305.

J.'Lord Barnabas' Lady,' Motherwell's MS., p. 371.

K.Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5.

L.'Lord Barnett and Little Munsgrove,' Buchan's MSS, I, 27: Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.

M.'Little Mushiegrove,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI, one stanza.

N.'Little Massgrove,' communicated by Miss Reburn, as learned in County Meath, Ireland, two stanzas.

A copy of this ballad in Dryden's Miscellany, III, 312, 1716, agrees with the one in Wit and Drollery. That in Ritson's Select Collection of English Songs, II, 215, 1783, agrees with Dryden's save in two or three words. The broadsideC awas printed forHenry Gosson, who is said by Chappell to have published from 1607 to 1641. If the lower limit be correct, this is the earliest impression known.[136]The other broadsides,C b-e, are later, but all of the seventeenth century. Percy inserted the ballad in his Reliques, III, 67, 1765, making a broadside in the British Museum his basis, and correcting as usual.

Percy remarks: This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. Cases cited by him are: Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle,v, 3, Dyce II, 223, of about 1611:

And some they whistled, and some they sung,Hey down, downAnd some did loudly say,Ever as the lord Barnet's horn blew,Away, Musgrave, away!

Again, Sir William Davenant's play 'The Wits,' where Sir Thwack boasts, "I sing Musgrove, and for the Chevy Chase no lark comes near me," ActIII, p. 194, of ed. 1672; and 'The Varietie,' a comedy, ActIV, 1649. In Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Bonduca,'V, 2, Dyce, V, 88, dating before March, 1619, we find this stanza, which is perhapsA26, loosely remembered:

She set the sword unto her breast,Great pity it was to seeThat three drops of her life-warm bloodRun trickling down her knee.

And two stanzas in Fletcher's 'Monsieur Thomas,'IV, 11, Dyce VII, 375, earlier than 1639, may well beA11, 12 parodied:

If this be true, thou little tiny page,This tale that thou tellst me,Then on thy back will I presently hangA handsome new livery.But if this be false, thou little tiny page,As false it well may be,Then with a cudgel of four foot longI'll beat thee from head to toe.

If this be true, thou little tiny page,This tale that thou tellst me,Then on thy back will I presently hangA handsome new livery.

But if this be false, thou little tiny page,As false it well may be,Then with a cudgel of four foot longI'll beat thee from head to toe.

Jamieson says, in a prefatory note toF, that he had heard 'Little Musgrave' repeated, with very little variation, both in Morayshire and the southern counties of Scotland. All the Scottish versions are late, and to all seeming derived, indirectly or immediately, from print.[137]As a recompense we have a fine ballad upon the same theme, 'The Bonny Birdy,' which is not represented in England.

In the English broadside and most of the northern versions the lovers try a bribe, a threat, or both, to make the page keep counsel. In some of these Musgrave, when detected, ejaculates a craven imprecation of woe to the fair woman that lies in his arms asleep,G23,H16,I14,J20,L37. InIthe men are brothers; inE,FMusgrave has a wife of his own; inC,GLord Barnard kills himself; inEhe is hanged! None of these divergences from the story as we have it inAare improvements, but it is an improvement that the lady should die by stroke of steel as inC,E,H,J,K,L, in exchange for the barbarity ofA. The penance inLis a natural and common way of ending such a tragedy. The collecting of the lady's heart's blood in a basin of pure silver,G28-30, is probably borrowed from 'Lammikin,' where this trait is very effective.

The heathen child,B131, is a child unchristened. An unbaptized child seems still to be called so in Norway, and so is a woman between childbirth and churching. In modern Icelandic usage a boy or girl before confirmation is called heathen, from confusion between baptism and confirmation: Ivar Aasen, at the word heiden; Vigfusson, at the word heiðinn.[138]

K12,

O he's taen out a lang, lang brand,And stripped it athwart the straw,

explains a corruption inE182, where the manuscript reads, He's struckherin the straw, and another inJ9. The sword iswiped or whetted on straw in 'Clerk Saunders,'A15,C13,D8,G17; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,'B19;'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,'B36; 'Lady Diamond,' Buchan, II, 206, st. 8. Child Maurice dries his sword on the grass, John Steward dries his on his sleeve,A27, 28; Glasgerion dries his sword on his sleeve,A22; Horn wipes his sword on his arm, King Horn, ed. Wissmann, 622 f.

a.Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint 'Facetiæ,' London, 1817, I, 293.b.Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.

1As it fell one holy-day,Hay downeAs many be in the yeare,When young men and maids together did goe,Their mattins and masse to heare,2Little Musgrave came to the church-dore;The preist was at private masse;But he had more minde of the faire womenThen he had of our lady['s] grace.3The one of them was clad in green,Another was clad in pall,And then came in my lord Bernard's wife,The fairest amonst them all.4She 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.5Quoth 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.'6'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.'7Quoth he, I thank yee, faire lady,This kindnes thou showest to me;But whether it be to my weal or woe,This night I will lig with thee.8With that he heard, a little tynë page,By his ladye's coach as he ran:'All though I am my ladye's foot-page,Yet I am Lord Barnard's man.9'My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,Whether I sink or swim;'And ever where the bridges were broakeHe laid him downe to swimme.10'A sleepe or wake, thou Lord Barnard,As thou art a man of life,For Little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,A bed with thy own wedded wife.'11'If this be true, thou little tinny page,This thing thou tellest to me,Then all the land in BucklesfordberyI freely will give to thee.12'But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page,This thing thou tellest to me,On the hyest tree in BucklesfordberyThen hanged shalt thou be.'13He called up his merry men all:'Come saddle me my steed;This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,For I never had greater need.'14And some of them whistld, and some of them sung,And some these words did say,And ever when my lord Barnard's horn blew,'Away, Musgrave, away!'15'Methinks I hear the thresel-cock,Methinks I hear the jaye;Methinks I hear my lord Barnard,And I would I were away.'16'Lye still, lye still, thou Little Musgrave,And huggell me from the cold;'Tis nothing but a shephard's boy,A driving his sheep to the fold.17'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?'18With that my lord Barnard came to the dore,And lit a stone upon;He plucked out three silver keys,And he opend the dores each one.19He lifted up the coverlett,He lifted up the sheet:'How now, how now, thou Littell Musgrave,Doest thou find my lady sweet?'20'I find her sweet,' quoth Little Musgrave,'The more 'tis to my paine;I would gladly give three hundred poundsThat I were on yonder plaine.'21'Arise, arise, thou Littell Musgrave,And put thy clothës on;It shall nere be said in my countryI have killed a naked man.22'I have two swords in one scabberd,Full deere they cost my purse;And thou shalt have the best of them,And I will have the worse.'23The first stroke that Little Musgrave stroke,He hurt Lord Barnard sore;The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,Little Musgrave nere struck more.24With that bespake this faire lady,In bed whereas she lay:'Although thou'rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,Yet I for thee will pray.25'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.'26He cut her paps from off her brest;Great pitty it was to seeThat some drops of this ladie's heart's bloodRan trickling downe her knee.27'Woe worth you, woe worth, my mery men allYou were nere borne for my good;Why did you not offer to stay my hand,When you see me wax so wood?28'For I have slaine the bravest sir knightThat ever rode on steed;So have I done the fairest ladyThat ever did woman's deed.29'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.'

1As it fell one holy-day,Hay downeAs many be in the yeare,When young men and maids together did goe,Their mattins and masse to heare,

2Little Musgrave came to the church-dore;The preist was at private masse;But he had more minde of the faire womenThen he had of our lady['s] grace.

3The one of them was clad in green,Another was clad in pall,And then came in my lord Bernard's wife,The fairest amonst them all.

4She 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.

5Quoth 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.'

6'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.'

7Quoth he, I thank yee, faire lady,This kindnes thou showest to me;But whether it be to my weal or woe,This night I will lig with thee.

8With that he heard, a little tynë page,By his ladye's coach as he ran:'All though I am my ladye's foot-page,Yet I am Lord Barnard's man.

9'My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,Whether I sink or swim;'And ever where the bridges were broakeHe laid him downe to swimme.

10'A sleepe or wake, thou Lord Barnard,As thou art a man of life,For Little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,A bed with thy own wedded wife.'

11'If this be true, thou little tinny page,This thing thou tellest to me,Then all the land in BucklesfordberyI freely will give to thee.

12'But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page,This thing thou tellest to me,On the hyest tree in BucklesfordberyThen hanged shalt thou be.'

13He called up his merry men all:'Come saddle me my steed;This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,For I never had greater need.'

14And some of them whistld, and some of them sung,And some these words did say,And ever when my lord Barnard's horn blew,'Away, Musgrave, away!'

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

16'Lye still, lye still, thou Little Musgrave,And huggell me from the cold;'Tis nothing but a shephard's boy,A driving his sheep to the fold.

17'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?'

18With that my lord Barnard came to the dore,And lit a stone upon;He plucked out three silver keys,And he opend the dores each one.

19He lifted up the coverlett,He lifted up the sheet:'How now, how now, thou Littell Musgrave,Doest thou find my lady sweet?'

20'I find her sweet,' quoth Little Musgrave,'The more 'tis to my paine;I would gladly give three hundred poundsThat I were on yonder plaine.'

21'Arise, arise, thou Littell Musgrave,And put thy clothës on;It shall nere be said in my countryI have killed a naked man.

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

23The first stroke that Little Musgrave stroke,He hurt Lord Barnard sore;The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,Little Musgrave nere struck more.

24With that bespake this faire lady,In bed whereas she lay:'Although thou'rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,Yet I for thee will pray.

25'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.'

26He cut her paps from off her brest;Great pitty it was to seeThat some drops of this ladie's heart's bloodRan trickling downe her knee.

27'Woe worth you, woe worth, my mery men allYou were nere borne for my good;Why did you not offer to stay my hand,When you see me wax so wood?

28'For I have slaine the bravest sir knightThat ever rode on steed;So have I done the fairest ladyThat ever did woman's deed.

29'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.'

Percy MS., p. 53, Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.

* * * * *1. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'Ffor this same night att [Bucklesfeildberry]Litle Musgreue is in bed with thy wife.'2'If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,This tale thou hast told to mee,Then all my lands in Buckle[s]feildberryI'le freely giue to thee.3'But if this be a lye, thou little foot-page,This tale thou hast told to mee,Then on the highest tree in BucklesfeildberryAll hanged that thou shalt bee.'4Saies, Vpp and rise, my merrymen all,And saddle me my good steede,For I must ride to Bucklesfeildberry;God wott I had neuer more need!5But some they whistled, and some thé sunge,And some they thus cold say,When euer as LordBarnetts horne blowes,'Away, Musgreue, away!'6'Mie thinkes I heare the throstlecocke,Me thinkes I heare the iay,Me thinkes I heare LordBarnetts horne,Away, Musgreue, away!'7'But lie still, lie still, Litle Musgreue,And huddle me from the cold,For it is but some sheaperds boy,Is whistling sheepe ore the mold.8'Is not thy hauke vpon a pearch,Thy horsse eating corne and hay?And thou, a gay lady in thine armes,And yett thou wold goe away!'9By this time LordBarnett was come to the dore,And light vpon a stone,And he pulled out three silver kayes,And opened the dores euery one.10And first he puld the couering downe,And then puld downe the sheete;Saies, How now? How now, Litle Musgreue?Dost find my gay lady sweet?11'I find her sweete,' saies Litle Musgreue,'The more is my greefe and paine;'. . . . . . .. . . . . . .* * * * *12. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'Soe haue I done the fairest ladyThat euer wore womans weede.13'Soe haue I done a heathen child,Which ffull sore greiueth mee,For which Ile repent all the dayes of my life,And god be with them all three!'

* * * * *

1. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'Ffor this same night att [Bucklesfeildberry]Litle Musgreue is in bed with thy wife.'

2'If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,This tale thou hast told to mee,Then all my lands in Buckle[s]feildberryI'le freely giue to thee.

3'But if this be a lye, thou little foot-page,This tale thou hast told to mee,Then on the highest tree in BucklesfeildberryAll hanged that thou shalt bee.'

4Saies, Vpp and rise, my merrymen all,And saddle me my good steede,For I must ride to Bucklesfeildberry;God wott I had neuer more need!

5But some they whistled, and some thé sunge,And some they thus cold say,When euer as LordBarnetts horne blowes,'Away, Musgreue, away!'

6'Mie thinkes I heare the throstlecocke,Me thinkes I heare the iay,Me thinkes I heare LordBarnetts horne,Away, Musgreue, away!'

7'But lie still, lie still, Litle Musgreue,And huddle me from the cold,For it is but some sheaperds boy,Is whistling sheepe ore the mold.

8'Is not thy hauke vpon a pearch,Thy horsse eating corne and hay?And thou, a gay lady in thine armes,And yett thou wold goe away!'

9By this time LordBarnett was come to the dore,And light vpon a stone,And he pulled out three silver kayes,And opened the dores euery one.

10And first he puld the couering downe,And then puld downe the sheete;Saies, How now? How now, Litle Musgreue?Dost find my gay lady sweet?

11'I find her sweete,' saies Litle Musgreue,'The more is my greefe and paine;'. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

* * * * *

12. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'Soe haue I done the fairest ladyThat euer wore womans weede.

13'Soe haue I done a heathen child,Which ffull sore greiueth mee,For which Ile repent all the dayes of my life,And god be with them all three!'

a.Pepys Ballads, I, 364, No 187.b.Pepys Ballads, III, 314, No 310.c.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146.d.Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340.e.Bagford Ballads, I, 36.

1As it fell on a light holyday,As many more does in the yeere,Little Mousgrove would to the church and pray,To see the faire ladyes there.2Gallants there were of good degree,For beauty exceeding faire,Most wonderous lovely to the eie,That did to that church repaire.3Some came downe in red velvet,And others came downe in pall,But next came downe my Lady Barnet,The fairest amongst them all.4She cast a looke upon Little Mousgrove,As bright as the summer's sunne;Full well perceived then Little MousgroveLady Barnet's love he had wonne.5Then Lady Barnet most meeke and mildSaluted this Little Mousgrove,Who did repay her kinde courtesieWith favour and gentle love.6'I have a bower in merry Barnet,Bestrowed with cowslips sweet;If that it please you, Little Mousgrove,In love me there to meete,7'Within mine armes one night to sleepe,For you my heart have wonne,You need not feare my suspicious lord,For he from home is gone.'8'Betide me life, betide me death,This night I will sleepe with thee,And for thy sake I'le hazzard my breath,So deare is thy love to me.'9'What shall wee doe with our little foot-page,Our counsell for to keepe,And watch for feare Lord Barnet comes,Whilest wee together doe sleepe?'10'Red gold shall be his hier,' quoth he,'And silver shall be his fee,If he our counsell safely doe keepe,That I may sleepe with thee.'11'I will have none of your gold,' said he,'Nor none of your silver fee;If I should keepe your counsell, sir,'Twere great disloyaltie.12'I will not be false unto my lord,For house nor yet for land;But if my lady doe prove untrue,Lord Barnet shall understand.'13Then swiftly runnes the little foot-page,Unto his lord with speed,Who then was feasting with his deare friends,Not dreaming of this ill deede.14Most speedily the page did haste,Most swiftly did he runne,And when he came to the broken bridgeHe lay on his brest and swumme.15The page did make no stay at all,But went to his lord with speed,That he the truth might say to himConcerning this wicked deed.16He found his lord at supper then,Great merriment there they did keepe:'My lord,' quoth he, 'this night, on my word,Mousgrove with your lady does sleepe.'17'If this be true, my little foot-page,And true as thou tellest to me,My eldest daughter I'le give to thee,And wedded thou shalt be.18'If this be a lye, my little foot-page,And a lye as thou tellest to mee,A new paire of gallowes shall straight be set,And hanged shalt thou be.'19'If this be a lye, my lord,' said he,'A lye that you heare from me,Then never stay a gallowes to make,But hang me up on the next tree.'20Lord Barnet then cald up his merry men,Away with speed he would goe;His heart was so perplext with griefe,The truth of this he must know.21'Saddle your horses with speed,' quoth he,'And saddle me my white steed;If this be true as the page hath said,Mousgrove shall repent this deed.'22He charg'd his men no noise to make,As they rode all along on the way;'Nor winde no hornes,' quoth he, 'on your life,Lest our comming it should betray.'23But one of the men, that Mousgrove did love,And respected his friendship most deare,To give him knowledge Lord Barnet was neere,Did winde his bugle most cleere.24And 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.'27Mousgrove did turne him round about,Sweete slumber his eyes did greet;When he did wake, he then espiedLord 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 EnglandI 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.'30The first good blow that Mousgrove did strike,He wounded Lord Barnet sore;The second blow that Lord Barnet gave,Mousgrove could strike no more.31He 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.'33Then suddenly he slue himselfe,Which grieves his friends full sore;The deaths of these thra worthy wightsWith teares they did deplore.34This sad mischance by lust was wrought;Then let us call for grace,That we may shun this wicked vice,And mend our lives apace.

1As it fell on a light holyday,As many more does in the yeere,Little Mousgrove would to the church and pray,To see the faire ladyes there.

2Gallants there were of good degree,For beauty exceeding faire,Most wonderous lovely to the eie,That did to that church repaire.

3Some came downe in red velvet,And others came downe in pall,But next came downe my Lady Barnet,The fairest amongst them all.

4She cast a looke upon Little Mousgrove,As bright as the summer's sunne;Full well perceived then Little MousgroveLady Barnet's love he had wonne.

5Then Lady Barnet most meeke and mildSaluted this Little Mousgrove,Who did repay her kinde courtesieWith favour and gentle love.

6'I have a bower in merry Barnet,Bestrowed with cowslips sweet;If that it please you, Little Mousgrove,In love me there to meete,

7'Within mine armes one night to sleepe,For you my heart have wonne,You need not feare my suspicious lord,For he from home is gone.'

8'Betide me life, betide me death,This night I will sleepe with thee,And for thy sake I'le hazzard my breath,So deare is thy love to me.'

9'What shall wee doe with our little foot-page,Our counsell for to keepe,And watch for feare Lord Barnet comes,Whilest wee together doe sleepe?'

10'Red gold shall be his hier,' quoth he,'And silver shall be his fee,If he our counsell safely doe keepe,That I may sleepe with thee.'

11'I will have none of your gold,' said he,'Nor none of your silver fee;If I should keepe your counsell, sir,'Twere great disloyaltie.

12'I will not be false unto my lord,For house nor yet for land;But if my lady doe prove untrue,Lord Barnet shall understand.'

13Then swiftly runnes the little foot-page,Unto his lord with speed,Who then was feasting with his deare friends,Not dreaming of this ill deede.

14Most speedily the page did haste,Most swiftly did he runne,And when he came to the broken bridgeHe lay on his brest and swumme.

15The page did make no stay at all,But went to his lord with speed,That he the truth might say to himConcerning this wicked deed.

16He found his lord at supper then,Great merriment there they did keepe:'My lord,' quoth he, 'this night, on my word,Mousgrove with your lady does sleepe.'

17'If this be true, my little foot-page,And true as thou tellest to me,My eldest daughter I'le give to thee,And wedded thou shalt be.

18'If this be a lye, my little foot-page,And a lye as thou tellest to mee,A new paire of gallowes shall straight be set,And hanged shalt thou be.'

19'If this be a lye, my lord,' said he,'A lye that you heare from me,Then never stay a gallowes to make,But hang me up on the next tree.'

20Lord Barnet then cald up his merry men,Away with speed he would goe;His heart was so perplext with griefe,The truth of this he must know.

21'Saddle your horses with speed,' quoth he,'And saddle me my white steed;If this be true as the page hath said,Mousgrove shall repent this deed.'

22He charg'd his men no noise to make,As they rode all along on the way;'Nor winde no hornes,' quoth he, 'on your life,Lest our comming it should betray.'

23But one of the men, that Mousgrove did love,And respected his friendship most deare,To give him knowledge Lord Barnet was neere,Did winde his bugle most cleere.

24And 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.'

27Mousgrove did turne him round about,Sweete slumber his eyes did greet;When he did wake, he then espiedLord 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 EnglandI 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.'

30The first good blow that Mousgrove did strike,He wounded Lord Barnet sore;The second blow that Lord Barnet gave,Mousgrove could strike no more.

31He 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.'

33Then suddenly he slue himselfe,Which grieves his friends full sore;The deaths of these thra worthy wightsWith teares they did deplore.

34This sad mischance by lust was wrought;Then let us call for grace,That we may shun this wicked vice,And mend our lives apace.

Kinloch MSS, I, 287.

1There were four and twenty gentlemenA playing at the ba,And lusty Lady LivingstoneCuist her ee out oure them a'.2She cuist her ee on Lord Barnard,He was baith black and broun;She cuist her ee on Little Musgrave,As bricht as the morning sun.3. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'What'll I gie ye, my Little Musgrave,Ae nicht wi me to sleep?'4'Ae nicht wi you to sleep,' he says,'O that wad breed meikle strife;For the ring on your white fingerShows you Lord Barnard's wife.'5'O Lord Barnard he is gane frae hame,He'll na return the day;He has tane wi him a purse o goud,For he's gane hind away.'6Up startit then the wylie foot-page,. . . . . . .'What will ye gie to me,' he said,'Your council for to keep?'7'O goud sall be my little boy's fee,And silver sall be his hire;But an I hear a word mair o this,He sall burn in charcoal fire.'8But the wylie foot-page to the stable went,Took out a milk-white steed,And away, away, and away he rade,Away wi meikle speed.9It's whan he cam to the water-side,He smoothd his breist and swam,And whan he cam to gerss growing,He set down his feet and ran.10'Whan he cam to Lord Barnard's towrLord Barnard was at meat;He said, 'If ye kend as meikle as me,It's little wad ye eat.'11'Are onie o my castles brunt?' he says,'Or onie my towrs won?Or is my gay ladie broucht to bed,Of a dochter or a son?'12'There is nane o your castles brunt,Nor nane o your towrs won;Nor is your gay ladie broucht to bed,Of a dochter or a son.13'But Little Musgrave, that gay young man,Is in bed wi your ladie,. . . . . . .. . . . . . .14'If this be true ye tell to me,It's goud sall be your fee;But if it be fause ye tell to me,I'se hang ye on a tree.'* * * * *15Whan they cam to yon water-side,They smoothd their breists and swam;And whan they cam to gerss growing,They set doun their feet and ran.* * * * *16'How do ye like my sheets?' he said,'How do ye like my bed?And how do ye like my gay ladie,Wha's lying at your side?'17'O I do like your sheets,' he said,'Sae do I like your bed;But mair do I like your gay ladie,Wha's lying at my side.'18'Get up, get up, young man,' he said,'Get up as swith 's ye can;Let it never be said that Lord BarnardSlew in bed a nakit man.'* * * * *19'How do ye like his bluidy cheeks?Or how do ye like me?''It's weill do I like his bluidy cheeks,Mair than your haill bodie.'20Then she has kissd his bluidy cheeks,It's oure and oure again.'. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

1There were four and twenty gentlemenA playing at the ba,And lusty Lady LivingstoneCuist her ee out oure them a'.

2She cuist her ee on Lord Barnard,He was baith black and broun;She cuist her ee on Little Musgrave,As bricht as the morning sun.

3. . . . . . .. . . . . . .'What'll I gie ye, my Little Musgrave,Ae nicht wi me to sleep?'

4'Ae nicht wi you to sleep,' he says,'O that wad breed meikle strife;For the ring on your white fingerShows you Lord Barnard's wife.'

5'O Lord Barnard he is gane frae hame,He'll na return the day;He has tane wi him a purse o goud,For he's gane hind away.'

6Up startit then the wylie foot-page,. . . . . . .'What will ye gie to me,' he said,'Your council for to keep?'

7'O goud sall be my little boy's fee,And silver sall be his hire;But an I hear a word mair o this,He sall burn in charcoal fire.'

8But the wylie foot-page to the stable went,Took out a milk-white steed,And away, away, and away he rade,Away wi meikle speed.

9It's whan he cam to the water-side,He smoothd his breist and swam,And whan he cam to gerss growing,He set down his feet and ran.

10'Whan he cam to Lord Barnard's towrLord Barnard was at meat;He said, 'If ye kend as meikle as me,It's little wad ye eat.'

11'Are onie o my castles brunt?' he says,'Or onie my towrs won?Or is my gay ladie broucht to bed,Of a dochter or a son?'

12'There is nane o your castles brunt,Nor nane o your towrs won;Nor is your gay ladie broucht to bed,Of a dochter or a son.

13'But Little Musgrave, that gay young man,Is in bed wi your ladie,. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

14'If this be true ye tell to me,It's goud sall be your fee;But if it be fause ye tell to me,I'se hang ye on a tree.'

* * * * *

15Whan they cam to yon water-side,They smoothd their breists and swam;And whan they cam to gerss growing,They set doun their feet and ran.

* * * * *

16'How do ye like my sheets?' he said,'How do ye like my bed?And how do ye like my gay ladie,Wha's lying at your side?'

17'O I do like your sheets,' he said,'Sae do I like your bed;But mair do I like your gay ladie,Wha's lying at my side.'

18'Get up, get up, young man,' he said,'Get up as swith 's ye can;Let it never be said that Lord BarnardSlew in bed a nakit man.'

* * * * *

19'How do ye like his bluidy cheeks?Or how do ye like me?''It's weill do I like his bluidy cheeks,Mair than your haill bodie.'

20Then she has kissd his bluidy cheeks,It's oure and oure again.'. . . . . . .. . . . . . .

Campbell MSS, II, 43.

1Four and twenty gay ladiesWere playing at the ba,And [out] came Lord Barnaby's lady,The fairest o them a'.2She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,And he on her again;She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,As they twa lovers had been.3'I have a hall in Mulberry,It stands baith strong and tight;If you will go to there with me,I'll lye with you all night.'4'To lye with you, madam,' he says,'Will breed both sturt and strife;I see by the rings on your fingersYou are Lord Barnaby's wife.'5'Lord Barnaby's to the hunting gone,And far out oer the hill,And he will not return againTill the evening tide untill.'6They were not well lain down,Nor yet well fallen asleep,Till up started Lord Barnaby's boy,Just up at their bed-feet.7She took out a little penknife,Which hung down low by her gair:'If you do not my secret keep,A word ye's neer speak mair.'8The laddie gae a blythe leer look,A blythe leer look gave he,And he's away to Lord Barnaby,As fast as he can hie.* * * * *9'If these tidings binna true,These tidings ye tell to me,A gallows-tree I'll gar be madeAnd hanged ye shall be.10'But if these tidings are true,These tidings ye tell me,The fairest lady in a' my courtI'll gar her marry thee.'11He's taen out a little horn,He blew baith loud and sma,And aye the turning o the tune'Away, Musgrave, awa!'12They were not well lain down,Nor yet well fallen asleep,Till up started Lord Barnaby,Just up at their bed-feet.13'O how like ye my blankets, Musgrave?And how like ye my sheets?And how like ye my gay lady,So sound in your arms that sleeps?'14'Weel I like your blankets, Sir,And far better yere sheets;And better far yere gay lady,So sound in my arms that sleeps.'15'Get up, get up, now, Little Musgrave,And draw to hose and sheen;It's neer be said in my countryI'd fight a naked man.16'There is two swords into my house,And they cost me right dear;Take you the best, and I the worst,I'll fight the battle here.'17The first stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,It was baith deep and sore;The next stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,A word he never spoke more.18He's taen out a rappier then,He's struck it in the straw,And thro and thro his lady's sidesHe gard the cauld steel gae.19'I am not sae wae for Little Musgrave,As he lys cauld and dead;But I'm right wae for his lady,For she'll gae witless wud.20'I'm not sae wae for my lady,For she lies cauld and dead;But I'm right wae for my young son,Lies sprawling in her blood.'21First crew the black cock,And next crew the sparrow;And what the better was Lord Barnaby?He was hanged on the morrow.

1Four and twenty gay ladiesWere playing at the ba,And [out] came Lord Barnaby's lady,The fairest o them a'.

2She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,And he on her again;She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,As they twa lovers had been.

3'I have a hall in Mulberry,It stands baith strong and tight;If you will go to there with me,I'll lye with you all night.'

4'To lye with you, madam,' he says,'Will breed both sturt and strife;I see by the rings on your fingersYou are Lord Barnaby's wife.'

5'Lord Barnaby's to the hunting gone,And far out oer the hill,And he will not return againTill the evening tide untill.'

6They were not well lain down,Nor yet well fallen asleep,Till up started Lord Barnaby's boy,Just up at their bed-feet.

7She took out a little penknife,Which hung down low by her gair:'If you do not my secret keep,A word ye's neer speak mair.'

8The laddie gae a blythe leer look,A blythe leer look gave he,And he's away to Lord Barnaby,As fast as he can hie.

* * * * *

9'If these tidings binna true,These tidings ye tell to me,A gallows-tree I'll gar be madeAnd hanged ye shall be.

10'But if these tidings are true,These tidings ye tell me,The fairest lady in a' my courtI'll gar her marry thee.'

11He's taen out a little horn,He blew baith loud and sma,And aye the turning o the tune'Away, Musgrave, awa!'

12They were not well lain down,Nor yet well fallen asleep,Till up started Lord Barnaby,Just up at their bed-feet.

13'O how like ye my blankets, Musgrave?And how like ye my sheets?And how like ye my gay lady,So sound in your arms that sleeps?'

14'Weel I like your blankets, Sir,And far better yere sheets;And better far yere gay lady,So sound in my arms that sleeps.'

15'Get up, get up, now, Little Musgrave,And draw to hose and sheen;It's neer be said in my countryI'd fight a naked man.

16'There is two swords into my house,And they cost me right dear;Take you the best, and I the worst,I'll fight the battle here.'

17The first stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,It was baith deep and sore;The next stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,A word he never spoke more.

18He's taen out a rappier then,He's struck it in the straw,And thro and thro his lady's sidesHe gard the cauld steel gae.

19'I am not sae wae for Little Musgrave,As he lys cauld and dead;But I'm right wae for his lady,For she'll gae witless wud.

20'I'm not sae wae for my lady,For she lies cauld and dead;But I'm right wae for my young son,Lies sprawling in her blood.'

21First crew the black cock,And next crew the sparrow;And what the better was Lord Barnaby?He was hanged on the morrow.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, I, 170.

1'I have a tower in Dalisberry,Which now is dearly dight,And I will gie it to Young Musgrave,To lodge wi me a' night.'2'To lodge wi thee a' night, fair lady,Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;For I see by the rings on your fingersYou're good Lord Barnaby's wife.'3'Lord Barnaby's wife although I be,Yet what is that to thee?For we'll beguile him for this ae night,He's on to fair Dundee.4'Come here, come here, my little foot-page,This gold I will give thee,If ye will keep thir secrets close'Tween Young Musgrave and me.5'But here I hae a little pen-knife,Hings low down by my gare;Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close,Ye'll find it wonder sair.'6Then she's taen him to her chamber,And down in her arms lay he;The boy coost aff his hose and shoon,And ran to fair Dundee.7When he cam to the wan water,He slackd his bow and swam,And when he cam to growin grass,Set down his feet and ran.8And when he cam to fair Dundee,Wad neither chap nor ca,But set his braid bow to his breast,And merrily jumpd the wa.9'O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,Waken, and come away!''What ails, what ails my wee foot-page,He cries sae lang ere day?10'O is my bowers brent, my boy?Or is my castle won?Or has the lady that I loe bestBrought me a daughter or son?'11'Your ha's are safe, your bowers are safe,And free frae all alarms,But, oh! the lady that ye loe bestLies sound in Musgrave's arms.'12'Gae saddle to me the black,' he cried,'Gae saddle to me the gray;Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,To hie me on my way.'13'O lady, I heard a wee horn toot,And it blew wonder clear;And ay the turning o the note,Was, Barnaby will be here!14'I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,And it blew loud and high;And ay at ilka turn it said,Away, Musgrave, away!'15'Lie still, my dear, lie still, my dear,Ye keep me frae the cold;For it is but my father's shepherds,Driving their flocks to the fold.'16Up they lookit, and down they lay,And they're fa'en sound asleep;Till up stood good Lord Barnaby,Just close at their bed-feet.17'How do you like my bed, Musgrave?And how like ye my sheets?And how like ye my fair lady,Lies in your arms and sleeps?'18'Weel like I your bed, my lord,And weel like I your sheets,But ill like I your fair lady,Lies in my arms and sleeps.19'You got your wale o se'en sisters,And I got mine o five;Sae tak ye mine, and I's tak thine,And we nae mair sall strive.'20'O my woman's the best womanThat ever brak world's bread,And your woman's the worst womanThat ever drew coat oer head.21'I hae twa swords in ae scabbert,They are baith sharp and clear;Tak ye the best, and I the warst,And we'll end the matter here.22'But up, and arm thee, Young Musgrave,We'll try it han to han;It's neer be said o Lord Barnaby,He strack at a naked man.'23The first straik that Young Musgrave got,It was baith deep and sair,And down he fell at Barnaby's feet,And word spak never mair.* * * * *24'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnaby cried,'A grave to lay them in;My lady shall lie on the sunny side,Because of her noble kin.'25But oh, how sorry was that good lord,For a' his angry mood,Whan he beheld his ain young sonAll weltring in his blood!

1'I have a tower in Dalisberry,Which now is dearly dight,And I will gie it to Young Musgrave,To lodge wi me a' night.'

2'To lodge wi thee a' night, fair lady,Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;For I see by the rings on your fingersYou're good Lord Barnaby's wife.'

3'Lord Barnaby's wife although I be,Yet what is that to thee?For we'll beguile him for this ae night,He's on to fair Dundee.

4'Come here, come here, my little foot-page,This gold I will give thee,If ye will keep thir secrets close'Tween Young Musgrave and me.

5'But here I hae a little pen-knife,Hings low down by my gare;Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close,Ye'll find it wonder sair.'

6Then she's taen him to her chamber,And down in her arms lay he;The boy coost aff his hose and shoon,And ran to fair Dundee.

7When he cam to the wan water,He slackd his bow and swam,And when he cam to growin grass,Set down his feet and ran.

8And when he cam to fair Dundee,Wad neither chap nor ca,But set his braid bow to his breast,And merrily jumpd the wa.

9'O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,Waken, and come away!''What ails, what ails my wee foot-page,He cries sae lang ere day?

10'O is my bowers brent, my boy?Or is my castle won?Or has the lady that I loe bestBrought me a daughter or son?'

11'Your ha's are safe, your bowers are safe,And free frae all alarms,But, oh! the lady that ye loe bestLies sound in Musgrave's arms.'

12'Gae saddle to me the black,' he cried,'Gae saddle to me the gray;Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,To hie me on my way.'

13'O lady, I heard a wee horn toot,And it blew wonder clear;And ay the turning o the note,Was, Barnaby will be here!

14'I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,And it blew loud and high;And ay at ilka turn it said,Away, Musgrave, away!'

15'Lie still, my dear, lie still, my dear,Ye keep me frae the cold;For it is but my father's shepherds,Driving their flocks to the fold.'

16Up they lookit, and down they lay,And they're fa'en sound asleep;Till up stood good Lord Barnaby,Just close at their bed-feet.

17'How do you like my bed, Musgrave?And how like ye my sheets?And how like ye my fair lady,Lies in your arms and sleeps?'

18'Weel like I your bed, my lord,And weel like I your sheets,But ill like I your fair lady,Lies in my arms and sleeps.

19'You got your wale o se'en sisters,And I got mine o five;Sae tak ye mine, and I's tak thine,And we nae mair sall strive.'

20'O my woman's the best womanThat ever brak world's bread,And your woman's the worst womanThat ever drew coat oer head.

21'I hae twa swords in ae scabbert,They are baith sharp and clear;Tak ye the best, and I the warst,And we'll end the matter here.

22'But up, and arm thee, Young Musgrave,We'll try it han to han;It's neer be said o Lord Barnaby,He strack at a naked man.'

23The first straik that Young Musgrave got,It was baith deep and sair,And down he fell at Barnaby's feet,And word spak never mair.

* * * * *

24'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnaby cried,'A grave to lay them in;My lady shall lie on the sunny side,Because of her noble kin.'

25But oh, how sorry was that good lord,For a' his angry mood,Whan he beheld his ain young sonAll weltring in his blood!

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