1591," 4to. [Printed by Wolfe. No name of author.] See in that pamphlet,

"The thirde daies Entertainment.

"On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musicians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corydon and Phillida, made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the note therto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefull acceptance and commendation. "THE PLOWMAN'S SONG.

"In the merrie month of May," &c.

The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is no where more strongly painted than in these little diaries of some of her summer excursions to the houses of her nobility; nor could a more acceptable present be given to the world, than a republication of a select number of such details as this of the entertainment at Elvetham, that at Killingworth, &c. &c. which so strongly mark the spirit of the times, and present us with scenes so very remote from modern manners.

Since the above was written, the public hath been gratified with a most complete work on the foregoing subject, entitled The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By John Nichols, F.A.S. Edinb. and Perth, 1788, 2 vols. 4to.

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 the Burning Pestle, 4to. 1613. act. v. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo. 1649, act iv., &c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, act iii,, a gallant thus boasts of himself:

"Limber and sound! besides I sing Musgrave,

And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.'

In the Pepys Collection, vol. iii. p. 314., is an imitation of this old song, in thirty-three stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.

This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with corrections; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous Poems.

As it fell out on a highe holye daye,

As many bee in the yeare,

When young men and maides together do goe,
Their masses and mattins to heare,

Little Musgrave came to the church door,

The priest was at the mass;

But he had more mind of the fine womèn,

Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

5

And some 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 cast an eye on little Musgràve

As bright as the summer sunne :

O then bethought him little Musgràve,
This ladyes heart I have wonne.

Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgràve,
Fulle long and manye a daye.
So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.

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

If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,
Thoust 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 litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne :

* Bucklefield-berry, fol, MS.

335

Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,

Yet Ime

my lord Barnardes manne.

My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.

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

Asleep or awake, thou lord Barnàrd,
As thou art a man of life,

Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgrave's abed with thy wife..

If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,

This tale thou hast told to mee,

Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury

I freelye will give to thee.

40

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

45

50

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

Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede ;

This night must I to Bucklesford-bury;

God wott, I had never more neede.

Then some they whistled, and some they sang, And some did loudlye saye,

Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye

A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,

Thy horse eating corne and haye?

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

65

By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,

How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?

75

V. 64, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold. fol. MS.