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v So he rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed,
Till he came to London town, And there he heard St. Pancras' bells,
And the people all mourning round.
' Oh what is the matter ?' Lord Lovel he said,
' Oh what is the matter ?' said he ; ' A lord's lady is dead,' a woman replied,
' And some call her Lady Nancy.'
So he order'd the grave to be open'd wide.
And the shroud he turned down, And there he kiss'd her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lady Nancy she died, as it might be, today,
Lord Lovel he died as tomorrow; Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.
Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' Church,
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir; And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover's a briar.
They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top, And then they could grow no higher;
So there they entwined in a true-lovers' knot, For all lovers true to admire.