I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury, Full daintily bedight, If thou wilt wend thither, my little Musgràve, Quoth he, I thank ye, lady fair, All this was heard by a little tiny page, My lord Barnard fhall know of this, And ever whereas the bridges were broke, Afleep or awake, thou lord Barnàrd, For little Mufgrave is at Bucklesford-Bury, If this be true, thou little tiny page, Then all the land in Bucklesford-Bury, But But if't be a lye, thou little tiny page, This thing thou tell'st to me, He called up his merry men all, Come faddle me my steed; This night muft I to Bucklesford-Bury; For I never had greater need. And fome of them whistled, and fome of them fung, And ever when as the lord Barnards horn blew, Methinks I hear the throfile cock, Methinks I hear the jay, Methinks I hear my lord Barnards horn; Lie ftill, lie ftill, thou little Mufgrave, And huggle me from the cold ; 'Tis nothing but a fhepherds boy, A driving his fheep to fold. Is not thy hawk upon the perch? And thy fair lady in thine arms; And would'st thou be away? With With that my 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; How now, how now, thou little Musgràve, I find her sweet, quoth little Mufgràve, I would gladly give thee three hundred pounds Arife, arife, thou little Musgràve, It fhall never be faid in my country, I have two fwords in one fcabbàrd, And thou fhalt have the best of them, The firft ftroke that little Mufgrave ftruck, The next ftroke that lord Barnard ftruck, Little Mufgrave ne'er ftruck more. With that befpake the lady fair, In bed whereas fhe lay, Although th' art dead, thou little Musgràve, Yet I for thee will pray : And wish well to thy foul will I, So will not I do for thee, Barnàrd, He cut her paps from off her breasts; Great pity it was to fee, Some drops of this fair ladys heart blood Ran trickling down her knee. Woe worth you, woe worth, my merry men all, Why did you not offer to stay my hand, For I have flain the braveft fir knight, So have I done the fairest lady, A That ever did womans deed. grave, a grave, lord Barnard cried, But lay my lady o' th' upper hand, BALLAD BALLAD VIII. FAIR ROSA MON D. W1 HEN as king Henry rul'd this land, Befides the queen, he dearly lov'd, Moft peerless was her beauty found, Her crifped locks like threads of gold The blood within her crystal cheeks As if the lily and the rose Yea Rofamond, fair Rofamond, Her name was called so, To whom dame Eleanor, our queen, Was known a deadly foe. The |