Miscellany Poems.
313
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.
