X.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

This Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS in the editor's poffeffion, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. Another Copy of it, containing fome variations, is reprinted in the MUSES LIBRARY p. 295. from an ancient mifcellany, intitled ENGLAND'S HELICON 1600. 4to. The author was NICHOLAS BRETON, a writer of fome fame in the reign of Elizabeth; who alfo published an interlude intitled" An old man's leffon and a young man's love.” 1605. 4to. and many other little pieces in profe and verfe, the titles of which may be feen in Winftanley, Ames' Typog. and Osborne's Harl. catalog. c.He is mentioned with great refpect by MERES, in his ad pt of Wit's Common-wealth. 1598. f. 283. and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's SCORNFUL LADY, Act. 2. and again in WIT WITHOUT MONEY, A. 3.— See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. 3. p. 193.

N the merrie moneth of Maye,

IN1t

In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damfelles playing
Forthe I yode' forfooth a maying:

She fayde, never man was trewe;

He fayes, never false to you.

He fayde, hee had lovde her longe :
She fayes, love fhould have no wronge.
Corydon wold kiffe her then :

She fayes, maydes must kiffe no men,

Tyll they doe for good and all:
When the made the fhepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.

Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;
Suche as feelie shepperdes use
When they would not love abuse;

Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kiffes fweete concluded;
And the mayde with garlands gaye
'Crownde' the lady of the Maye.

Ver. 28. Was the. MS.

15

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25

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

of the Burning Peftle. 4. 1613. At 5. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo. 1649. Act 4. &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, A. 3, a gallant thus boasts of himself,

Limber and found! befides I fing Musgrave, "And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.

In the Pepys Collection is an imitation of this old fong, in a different measure, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse..

This is given from an old printed copy in the British Mufeum, corrected in part by the Editor's folio manufcript.

S it fell out on a highe holye daye,

A$

As many bee in the yeare,

When yong men and maides together do goe

Their maffes and mattins to heare,

Little Mufgràve came to the church door,

The priest was at the mass

s;

But he had more mind of the fine women,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

And fome of them were clad in greene,

And others were clad in pall;

And then came in my lord Barnardes wife,

The fairest among them all.

Shee caft an eye on little Musgràve,

5

10

As bright as the fummer funne:
O then bethought him little Mufgràve,

15

This ladyes heart I have wonne

Quoth

Quoth fhe, I have loved thee, little Mufgràve,

Fulle long and manye a daye.

So have I loved you, ladye faire,

Yet word I never durft saye.

I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,
Full daintilye bedight,

If thoult wend thither, my little Musgràvè,
Thouft lig in mine armes all night.

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee fhew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.

All this beheard a tiney foot-page,'

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25

By his ladyes coach as he ranne :

30

Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,

As thou art a man of life,

Lo! this fame night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Mufgraves abed with thy wife.

40

If

If it be trewe, thou tiney foot-page,
This tale thou haft told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury

I freelye will give to thee.

But and it be a lye, thou tiney foot-page,
This tale thou haft told to mee,

45

On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged fhalt thou bee.

Rife up, rife up, my merry men all,
And faddle to me my fteede ;

This night muft I to Bucklesford-Bury;

God wott, I had never more neede.

Then fome they whistled, and fome they fang,

And fome did loudlye faye,

Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe

Awaye, Mufgràve, away.

Methinkes I hear the throftle cocke,

Methinkes I heare the jaye,

Methinkes I heare lord Barnardes horne ;

I would I were awaye.

Lye still, lye still, thou little Mufgràve,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but fome fhephardes boye

A whistling his fheepe to the fold.