The following is the first physical proof of Child ballad 75: Lord Lovel. It is actually a comic version that was enclosed with a letter from Horace Walpole to Thomas Percy dated February 1765. It was first published in 1904 in a volume of Walpole's letters, soon after being obtained at auction by the British Museum. It had remained among Percy's papers until then. Not that Francis Child would have considered it as several comic versions of Lord Lovel had been brought to his attention and he chose to ignore them. He thought them vulgar. Instead, Percy received credit for the first published version of a "Northumbrian ballad" (c. 1770) which appears to be nothing more than a sanitized reissue of Walpole's text below:

I fare you well, Lady Hounsibelle , 
For I must needs be gone ; 
And this time two year I'll meet you again, 
To end the true love we begun. 

That's a long time, Lord Lovel, she said, 
To dwell in fair Scotland : 
And so it is, Lady Hounsibelle, 
And to leave a fair lady alone. 

He called unto his stable-groom 
To saddle his milk-white steed. 
Hey down, Hey down, Hey, hey dery down, 
I wish my Lord Lovel good speed

He had not been in fair Scotland 
Above half a year, 
But a longing mind came over his head 
Lady Hounsibelle he would go see her. 

He had not been in fair London 
Above half a day, 
But he heard the bells of the high chapel ring ; 
They rung with a Sesora. 

He asked of a gentleman 
That stood there all alone, 
What made the bells of the high chapel ring, 
And the ladies to make such a moan. 

The King's fair daughter is dead, he said, 
Whose name 's Lady Hounsibelle ; 
She died for love of a courteous young knight,
Whose name it is Lord Lovel. 

Lady Hounsibelle died on the Easter Day, 
Lord Lovel on the morrow ; 
Lady Hounsibelle died for pure true love,
Lord Lovel he died for sorrow. 

Lady Hounsibelle 's buried in the chancel, 
Lord Lovel in the choir; 
Lady Hounsibelle's breast sprung up a rose, 
Lord Level's a branch of sweetbriar. 

They grew till they grew to the top of the church, 
And when they could grow no higher
They grew till they grew to a true lover's knot, 
And they both were tied together.

Compare with the following, Percy's version, Child ballad 75A:

'AND I fare you well, Lady Ouncebell,
For I must needs be gone,         
And this time two year I'll meet you again,
To finish the loves we begun.'

'That is a long time, Lord Lovill,' said she,
'To live in fair Scotland;'
And so it is, Lady Ouncebell,
To leave a fair lady alone.'

He had not been in fair Scotland
Not half above half a year,         
But a longin mind came into his head,
Lady Ouncebell he woud go see her.

He called up his stable-groom,
To sadle his milk-white stead;
Dey down, dey down, dey down dery down,
I wish Lord Lovill good speed.

He had not been in fair London
Not half above half a day,
But he heard the bells of the high chapel ring,
They rang with a ceserera.

He asked of a gentleman,
That set there all alone,
What made the bells of the high chapel ring,
The ladys make all their moan.

'One of the king's daughters are dead,' said he,
Lady Ouncebell was her name;         
She died for love of a courtous young night,
Lord Lovill he was the same.'

He caused her corps to be set down,
And her winding sheet undone,
And he made a vow before them all
He'd never kiss wowman again.

Lady Ouncebell died on the yesterday,
Lord Lovill on the morrow;
Lady Ouncebell died for pure true love,
Lord Lovill died for sorrow.

Lady Ouncebell was buried in the high chancel,
Lord Lovill in the choir;
Lady Ouncebell's breast sprung out a sweet rose,
Lord Lovill's a bunch of sweet brier.

They grew till they grew to the top of the church,         
And then they could grow no higher;
They grew till they grew to a true-lover's not,
And then they tyed both together.

An old wowman coming by that way,
And a blessing she did crave,
To cut of a bunch of that true-lover's not,
And buried them both in one grave.

So my first question to any interested party would be:

Do you really believe that Reverend Percy's associate Reverend Parsons really took that "Northumbrian ballad" down from the singing of his poor parishioners as they sat at their spinning wheels in Wye, Kent?