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I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,
Full daintily bedight,
Thouft lig in mine arms all night.
Quoth he, I thank ye, lady fair,
This kindness you show to me ; And whether it be to my weal or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.
All this was heard by a little tiny page,
By his ladys coach as he ran : Quoth he, though I am my ladys page,
Yet I am my lord Barnards man.
My lord Barnard shall know of this,
Although I lose a limb,
He laid him down to swim.
Asleep or awake, thou lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life,
A-bed with thine own wedded wife.
If this be true, thou little tiny page,
This thing thou tell’it to me,
I freely give to thee.
But if't be a lye, thou little tiny page,
This thing thou tell'it to me,
Then hanged shalt thou be.
He called up his merry men all,
Come saddle me my steed;
For I never had greater need.
And some of them whistled, and some of them sung,
And some these words did say,
Away, thou little Musgrave, away.
Methinks I hear the throftle cock,
Methinks I hear the jay,
And I would I were away.
Lie ftill, lie ftill, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle me from the cold ; 'Tis nothing but a shepherds boy,
A driving his sheep to fold.
lord Barnard came to the door, And lighted upon a stone ; He plucked out three filver keys,
And opened the doors each one.
He lifted up the coverlet,
He lifted up the sheet ;
Doft find my lady so sweet?
I find her sweet, quoth little Musgrave,
The more 'tis to my pain ;
That I were on yonder plain.
Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave,
And put thy clothes on,
'That I killed a naked man.
I have two swords in one scabbard,
Full dear they cost my purse,
And I will have the worfe.
The first stroke that little Musgrave struck,
He hurt lord Barnard fore ;
Little Musgrave ne'er ftruck more.
With that bespake the lady fair,
In bed whereas the lay,
Yet I for thee will pray :
And wish well to thy soul will I,
So long as I have life;
Though I am thy wedded wife.
He cut her paps from off her breasts ;
Great pity it was to see,
Ran trickling down her knee,
Woe worth you, woe worth, my merry men all,
You never were born for my good ; Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
When you · saw' me wax so wood ?
For I have slain the bravest fir knight,
That ever rode on a steed; So have I done the faireft lady,
That ever did womans deed.
A grave, a grave, lord Barnard cried,
these lovers in ;
For the came o' th' better kin,
FAIRRO SA MO N D.
HEN as king Henry rul'd this land,
The second of that name,
A fair and comely dame :
Her favour, and her face ;
Did never prince embrace.
Her crisped locks like threads of gold
Appear’d to each mans sight ;
Did cast a heavenly light :
Did such a coloar drive,
For maftership did strive.
Yea Rofamond, fair Rosamond,
Her name was called so,
Was known a deadly foe.