226 Old Songs
He rode and he rode his milk-white steed,
Till he came to fair London town,
And there he heard St. Varney’s bell,
And the people mourning round.
“Ts there any one dead?” Lord Lovell he said;
“Is there any one dead?” said he.
“The Lord’s daughter is dead,” the lady replied;
“And some call her the Lady Nancee.”
He ordered the grave to be opened forthwith,
And the shroud to be folded down;
And then he kissed her clay-cold cheeks
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lady Nancy she died, as it might be to-day,
Lord Lovell he died to-morrow;
And out of her grave there grew a red rose,
And out of Lord Lovell’s a brier.
They grew and they grew, till they reached the church top,
And so they could grow no higher;
And there they twined in a truelover’s knot,
