12 They dealt weel, dealt weel at Isabell's burial The white bread an the wine, An gainst the morn at that same time They dealt the same again. H #a.# London broadside of 1846, in Dixon's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 78, Percy Society, vol. XIX. #b.# Davidson's Universal Melodist, I, 148. 1 Lord Lovel he stood at his castle-gate, Combing his milk-white steed, When up came Lady Nancy Belle, To wish her lover good speed, speed, To wish her lover good speed. 2 'Where are you going, Lord Lovel?' she said, 'Oh where are you going?' said she; 'I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle, Strange countries for to see.' 3 'When will you be back, Lord Lovel?' she said, '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.' 4 But he had not been gone a year and a day, Strange countries for to see, When languishing thoughts came into his head, Lady Nancy Belle he would go see. 5 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. 6 '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.' 7 So he ordered the grave to be opened wide, And the shroud he turned down, And there he kissed her clay-cold lips, Till the tears came trickling down. 8 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. 9 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. 10 They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple too, And then they could grow no higher; So there they entwined in a true-lover's knot, For all lovers true to admire. I Percy Papers, communicated by Principal Robertson, the historian. 1 There came a ghost to Helen's bower, Wi monny a sigh and groan: 'O make yourself ready, at Wednesday at een, Fair Helen, you must be gone.' 2 'O gay Death, O gallant Death, Will you spare my life sae lang Untill I send to merry Primrose, Bid my dear lord come hame?' 3 'O gay Helen, O galant Helen, I winna spare you sae lang; But make yoursell ready, again Wednesday at een, Fair Helen, you must be gane.' 4 'O where will I get a bonny boy, That would win hose and shoon, That will rin fast to merry Primrose, Bid my dear lord come soon?'