She's the eponymous heroine of a ballad of which I am rather fond; Touchwood does a very nice version, as do Martin Carthy and Dave Swarbrick. (I never really imprinted on Pentangle's version the same way, although I think it's somewhere on my computer.) Dressed as a highwayman, she meets her true love on the road and sticks him up: demands of him all the valuables he carries, including a diamond ring that she herself has given him. He hands over his watch and his gold, but refuses her the ring. It's a token from his true love, he won't part with it, shoot and be damned: and so she rides away. Next morning in her garden green / Young Sovay and her true love were seen / He spied his watch hanging from her clothes / Which made him blush, lads, which made him blush just like any rose . . . So she gives him back all that she took from him in her man's guise, and adds that it's a good thing he was so true to her, because if he'd given her the ring—I'd have pulled the trigger, I'd have pulled the trigger and shot you dead.

The name "Sovay" is also a variant form of Sophie, and "Sonya" is originally a Russian diminutive of Sophia. So it bears some genetic relationship to my own name. And it all goes back to Greek in the end.