Little Musgrave (Festival Folk, live from the National Stadium, 1982) Songtext
von Planxty

It fell upon a holy day,
As many in the year,
Musgrave to the church did go,
To see fine ladies there

And some were dressed in velvet red
And some in velvet pale
Then came Lord Barnard′s wife
The fairest 'mongst them all

She cast an eye on the Little Musgrave
As bright as summer′s sun
Said Musgrave unto himself
This lady's heart I've won

I have loved you, fair lady, full long and many′s the day.
And I have loved you, Little Musgrave, and never a word did say.

I′ve a bower in Bucklesfordbury, it's my heart′s delight.
I'll take you back there with me if you′ll lie in me arms tonight.

But standing by was a little footpage, from the lady's coach he ran,
Although I am a lady′s page, I am Lord Barnard's man.


And milord Barnard will hear of this, oh whether I sink or swim.
Everywhere the bridge was broke he'd enter the water and swim.

Oh milord Barnard, milord Barnard, you are a man of life,
But Musgrave, he′s at Bucklesfordbury, asleep with your wedded wife.

If this be true, me little footpage, this thing that you tell me,
All the gold in Bucklesfordbury I gladly will give to thee.

But if this be a lie, me little footpage, this thing that you tell me,
From the highest tree in Bucklesfordbury hanged you will be.

Go saddle me the black," he said, "go saddle me the gray.
And sound ye not your horns," he said, "lest our coming be betrayed.

But there was a man in Lord Barnard′s thrain, who loved the Little Musgrave,
He blew his horn both loud and shrill, Away, Musgrave, away.

I think I hear the morning cock, I think I hear the jay,
I think I hear Lord Barnard's men, I wish I was away.

Lie still, lie still, me Little Musgrave, hug me from the cold,
It′s nothing but a shepherd lad, a-bringing his flock to fold.

Is not your hawk upon it's perch, your steed eats oats and hay,
And you a lady in your arms, and yet you′d go away.

He's turned her around and he′s kissed her twice, and then they fell asleep,
When they awoke Lord Barnard's men were standing at their feet.


How do ye like me bed," he said, "and how do you like me sheets?
How do you like me fair lady, that lies in your arms asleep?

It's well I like your bed, he said, and great it gives me pain,
I′d gladly give a hundred pound to be on yonder plain.

Rise up, rise up, Little Musgrave, rise up and then put on.
It′ll not be said in this country I slayed a naked man.

So slowly, so slowly he got up, so slowly he put on.
Slowly down the stairs, thinking to be slain.

There are two swords down by my side, and dear they cost me purse.
You can have the best of them, and I will take the worst.

And the first stroke that Little Musgrave stroke, it hurt Lord Barnard sore,
But the next stroke Lord Barnard stroke, Little Musgrave ne'er stroke more.

And then up spoke the lady fair, from the bed whereon she lay,
Although you′re dead, me Little Musgrave, still for you I'll pray.

How do you like his cheeks, he said, How do you like his chin?
How do you like his dead body, now there′s no life within?

It's more I like his cheeks, she cried, and more I want his chin,
It′s more I love that dead body, than all your kith and kin.

He's taken out his long long sword, to strike the mortal blow,
Through and through the lady's heart, the cold steel it did go.

A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cried, to put these lovers in,
With me lady on the upper hand. She came from better kin.

For I′ve just killed the finest knight that ever rode a steed.
And I′ve just killed the finest lady that ever did a woman's deed.

It fell upon a holy day, as many′s in the year,
Musgrave to the church did go, to see fine ladies there.