Miscellany Poems (1716)/Volume 3/Little Musgrave and the Lady Bernard

For other versions of this work, see Little Musgrove and the Lady Barnet.

Little Musgrave and the Lady Bernard.

As it fell one Holy-Day, hey down, As many be in the Year,When Young Men and Maids together did go, Their Masses and Mattins to hear.

Little Musgrave came to the Church door, The Priest was at Mass,But he had more mind of the fair Women, Than he had of our Ladies Grace.

The one of them was clad in green, The other was clad in pale,And then came in my Lord Bernard’s Wife, The fairest among them all.

She cast an Eye on Little Musgrave, As bright as the Summer Sun,And then bethought this Little Musgrave, This Lady’s Heart I have won.

Quoth she, I have lov’d thee, little Musgrave, Full long and many a Day;So have I loved you fair Lady, Yet word I never durst say.

I have a Bower at Buckles-ford-Bury, Full daintily bedight,If thou wilt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave, Thou’st lig in mine Arms all Night.

Quoth he, I thank ye Lady fair, This kindness you show to me;But whether it be to my weal or was, This Night will I lig with thee.

All this was heard by a little tiney Page, By his Lady’s Coach as he ran.Quo he, though I am my Lady’s Page, Yet I am my Lord Bernard’s Man.

My Lord Bernard shall know of this, Although I lose a Limb;And ever whereas the Bridges were broke, He laid him down to swim.

Asleep or awake thou Lord Bernard, As thou art a Man of Life,For little Musgrave is at Buckles-ford-Bury, A Bed with thine own Wedded Wife.

If this be true, thou little tiney Page, This thing thou tell’st to me,Then all the Land in Buckles-ford-Bury I freely give to thee.

But if’t be a lie, thou little tiney Page, This thing thou tell’st to me,On the highest Tree in Buckles-ford-Bury Then hanged shalt thou be.

He called up his Merry Men all, Come Saddle me my Steed,This Night must I to Buckles-ford-Bury, For I never had greater need.

And some of them whistl’d, and some of them sung, And some these Words did say,And ever when as the Lord Bernard’s Horn blew, Away thou little Musgrave away.

Methinks I hear the Thressel Cock, Methinks I hear the Jay,Methinks I hear my Lord Bernard’s Horn, And I wou’d I were away.

Lie still, lie still thou little Musgrave, And huggle me srom the cold,’Tis nothing but a Shepherd’s Boy A driving his Sheep to Fold.

Is not thy Hawk upon the Pearch? Thy Steed eats Oats and Hay?And thy fair Lady in thine Arms? And woud’st thou be away?

With that my Lord Bernard came to the Door, And lighted upon a Stone;He plucked out three Silver Keys, And open’d the Doors each one.

He lifted up the Coverlet, He lifted up the Sheet;How now, now now; thou little Musgrave, Doest find my Lady so sweet?

I find her sweet, quoth Little Musgrave, The more ’tis to my pain,I would gladly give thee three hunderd Pound, That I were on yonder Plain.

Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, And put thy Cloathes on,It shall nere be said in my Countree, That I killed a Naked Mon.

I have two Swords in one Scabberd, Full dear they cost my Purse,And thou shalt have the best of them, And I will have the worse.

The first stroke that little Musgrave struck, He hurt Lord Bernard sore;The next stroke that Lord Bernard struck, Little Musgrave ne’er struck more.

With that bespake the Lady fair, In Bed whereas the lay,Although th’art dead, thou Little Musgrave, Yet I for thee will pray.

And wish well to thy Soul will I, So long as I have Life;So will I not do for thee Bernard, Though I am thy Wedded Wife.

He cut her Paps from off her Breasts, Great pity it was to see,Some drops of this fair Lady’s Heart Blood, Ran trickling down her knee.

Wo worth you, wo worth, my Merry Men all, You ne’re were born for my good;Why did you not offer to stay my Hand, When you see me wax so wood?

For I have Slain the bravest Sir Knight, That ever Rode on a Steed;So have I done the fairest Lady, That ever did Woman’s Deed.

A Grave, a Grave, Lord Bernard cry’d, To put these Lovers in,But lay my Lady o’ th’ upper hand, For she came o’ the better Kin.