She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child,
Lullabye, dere child, dere;

I wold thy father were a king,
Thy mother layd on a biere.

Peace now, hee said, good faire Ellèn,
Be of good cheere, I praye;.

And the bridal and the churching both
Shall bee upon one day.

verses.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON,

By Nicholas Breton [b. 1555, d. 1624], a musical writer of pastoral This song won the honour of being commanded a second time, and "highly graced with cheerful acceptance and commendation," by Elizabeth, at an entertainment given to her by the Earl of Hertford.

IN the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe 'I yode' forsooth a-Maying:

When anon by a wood side,
Where as Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.

Much adoe there was, god wot;
He wold love, and she wold not.
She sayde, never man was trewe;
He sayes, none was false to you.

He sayde, hee had lovde her longe:
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then :

She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,

Tyll they doe for good and all
When she made the shepperde 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 seelie shepperdes use
When they will not love abuse;

Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.

LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD;

FROM an old printed copy, with corrections, in the British Museum. Ritson declared the only genuine copy to be in Dryden's" Collection of Miscellaneous Poems." The Ballad is quoted in many old plays; and it exists, according to Motherwell, under many forms in Scotland.

As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,

When yong 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 Ladye's grace.

And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;

And then came in my lord Barnarde's wife,
The fairest among them all.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgràve
As bright as the summer sunne :
O then bethought him little Musgrave,
This ladye's heart I have wonne.

Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgrave,

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 ladye's coach as he ranne :
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladye's page,
Yet I'me my lord Barnarde's manne.

My lord Barnàrd 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 Barnard,
As thou art a man of life,

Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Litle Musgrave's in bed 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.

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

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,

Whenever lord Barnarde's horne it blewe,
Awaye, Musgràve, away.

Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,

Methinkes I heare the jay,

Methinkes I heare lord Barnard's horne;
I would I were awaye.

Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shepharde's boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gay lady within thine armes :
And wouldst thou be awaye ?

By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone:

And he pulled out three silver keyes,

And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,

He lifted up the sheete;

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

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

Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave,
And put thy cloathes nowe on ;
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

I have two swordes in one scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard sore;

The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.

With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,

Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgràve,

Yet for thee I will praye:

And wishe well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;

So will I not do for thee, Barnard,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.

EE

He cut her pappes from off her brest;
Great pitye it was to see

The drops of this fair ladye's bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.

Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all,
You never were borne for my goode :
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you sawe me wax so woode ?1

For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte,
That ever rode on a steede ;

So have I done the fairest lady,
That ever ware woman's weede.

A grave, a grave, lord Barnard cryde,
To putt these lovers in;

But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.

THE EW-BUGHTS, MARION.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

The writer of this simple Song is unknown.

WILL ze gae to the ew-bughts,2 Marion,
And wear in the sheip wi' mee ?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweit as thee.

O Marion's a bonnie lass;

And the blyth3 blinks in her ee:
And fain wad I marrie Marion,

Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion;
And siller on zour white hauss-bane:4
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.

1 Woode-frantic.

2 Small enclosures, or pens, into which farmers drive their milch ewes Lorning and evening to milk them.

3 Blyth-joy.

4 Hauss-bane-i, e. the neck-bone. Marion had probably a silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a riband, an usual ornament in Scotland, where a sore throat is called "a sair hause," properly halse.