Corydon wold kiffe her then:
She fayes, maydes must kiffe no men,

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

Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;
Suche as feelie fhepperdes use
When they doe 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.

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XII.

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

Fa

of

of the Burning Peftle. 4°. 1613. At 5. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo. 1649. A& 4. &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, A. 3, a gallant thus boafts 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 mode rnpen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.

This is given from an old printed copy 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,
Α

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 mafs,

But he had more mind of the fine womèn
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 faireft among them all.

Shee caft an eye on little Mufgràve,

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

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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 faye.

I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,

Full daintilye bedight,

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

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee shew 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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By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.

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My lord Barnard shall knowe of this

Although I lose a limbe.

And ever whereas the bridges were broke
He layd him downe to fwimme.

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Afleep or awake, thou lord Barnàrd,

As thou art a man of life,

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

F 3

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,

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

Rife up, rise up, my merry men all,
And faddle me my steede,

This night muft I to Bucklesford-Bury;

God wott, I had never more neede.

Then fome they whiftled, and fome they fang,

And fome did loudlye faye,

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Lye still, lye ftill, thou little Mufgràve,

And huggle me from the cold,

For it is but fome shephardes boye

A whistling his fheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horfe eating corne and haye?

And thou a gaye ladye within thine armes :
And wouldst thou be awaye?

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How now, how now, thou little Mufgràve,
Doft find my gaye ladye sweete?

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I find her fweete, quoth little Musgràve,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.

Arife, arife, thou little Mufgràve,

And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be faid in my countree,

That I killed a naked man.

I have two fwordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they coft my purse;
And thou fhalt have the beft of them,

And I will have the worse.

F 4

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85

The