And that beheard his deare master
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, "Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,35
What causes thee to wail?
"Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?40
"Or, if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee:
For no man here within my howse
Shall doe wrong unto thee."
"O it is not your head bookes-man,45
Nor none of his degree:
But, [on to-morrow] ere it be noone
All deemed to die are yee:
"And of that bethank your head steward,
And thank your gay ladye."50
"If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee:"
"If it be not true, my dear master,
No good death let me die:"
"If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,55
A dead corse shalt thou bee.
"O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee;
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee."60
Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingers,
Cast light thorrow the hall.
"What is your will, my own wed-lord?65
"What is your will with mee?"
"O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee."