Lady Nancy was buried on one hill top;
Lord Lovell was buried on t’other;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover’s a brier-er-er,
And out of her lover’s a brier.
They grew and they grew, to the church steeple top,
And they couldn’t grow any higher;
And then they formed a true lover’s knot, knot,
Which all true lovers admire-er-er,
Which all true lovers admire.