C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Author Unknown
Lord Lovel
L
Combing his milk-white steed;
When up came Lady Nancy Belle,
To wish her lover good speed, speed,
To wish her lover good speed.
“Oh! where are you going?” said she.—
“I’m going, my Lady Nancy Belle,
Strange countries for to see, to see,
Strange countries for to see.”
“Oh! when will you come back?” said she,—
“In a year or two—or three, at the most,
I’ll return to my fair Nancy-cy,
I’ll return to my fair Nancy.”
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see, see,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.
Till he came to London town;
And there he heard St. Pancras’s bells,
And the people all mourning round, round,
And the people all mourning round.
“Oh! what is the matter?” said he.—
“A lord’s lady is dead,” a woman replied,
“And some call her Lady Nancy-cy,
And some call her Lady Nancy.”
And the shroud he turnèd down;
And there he kissed her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down, down,
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow;
Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, sorrow,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover’s a brier, brier,
And out of her lover’s a brier.
And then they could grow no higher:
So there they entwined in a true-lovers’ knot,
For all lovers true to admire-mire,
For all lovers true to admire.