Lord Lovel- (NY) pre1939 Thompson
[No informants or date given. From Body, Boots and Britches by Harold Thompson; 1939. This is a composite of two Essex county versions. Some of his notes follow.
R. Matteson 2015]
. . . in some parts of the United States that collectors are said to groan when they hear the name. (I must add that I have never groaned for this reason.) The story is of a lover who casually left his sweetheart without declaring his affection, and upon his return found that the lover had died, presumably of sorrow at his laggard tactics. Here is a composite of two versions from Essex County:
Lord Lovell, he stood at the castle gate
A-combing his milky white steed,
When along came Lady Nancibel,
A-wishing her lover God-speed, speed, speed,
A-wishing her lover God-speed.
"Where are you going?" Lady Nancy she said,
"Where are you going?" said she.
"I'm going, my lady Nancibel,
Strange countries for to see, see, see,
Strange countries for to see."
"When will you be back?" Lady Nancy she said,
"When will you be back?" said she.
In a year or two or three at the most
I'll return to My Lady Nancy, -cy, -cy,
I'll return to My Lady Nancy."
He had not been gone but a year and one day,
Strange countries for to see,
When a languishing thought came into his mind,
Lady Nancibel he must go see, see, see,
Lady Nancibel he must go see.
So he rode and he rode with his milk-white steed
Till he reached fair London town,
And there he heard St. Barney's bell
And the people all mourning around, -round, -round,
And the people all mourning around.
"Is anybody dead?" Lord Lovell he said.
"Is anybody dead?" said he.
"A nobleman's daughter," a stranger replied.
"Some call her the Lady Nancy, -cy, -cy,
Some call her the Lady Nancy."
He ordered the coffin to be opened forthwith,
And the shroud to be folded down,
And he fell to kissing her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears they came trickling down, down, down,
Till the tears they came trickling down.
Lady Nancibel died as it might be today,
Lord Lovell he died on the morrer;[1]
Lady Nancibel died of pure, true love,
Lord Lovell he died of sorrer, -rer, -rer,
Lord Lovell he died of sorrer.
And over her grave they planted a rose,
And over hisen a briar,
And they climb till they reached the church-top,
Where they couldn't climb any higher, -igher, -igher,
Where they couldn't climb any higher.
They grew and they grew till they reached church-top,
And there they couldn't grow any higher,
And they both entwined in a true lover's knot
Of which all true lovers admire, -ire, -ire,
Of which all true lovers admire.
1. Normally morrow, usually rhymes with sorrow