"Nowe Christe thee save, thou sweete young page,
Nowe Christe thee save and see!
And howe dothe sweete prynce Henrye?
I praye thee telle to me."
The page he look'd at the fayre Alice,
And hys hearte was fulle of woe;
The page he look'd at the fayre Alice,
Tylle hys teares faste 'gan to flowe.
"Ah woe is me!" sad Alice cry'd,
And tore her golden hayre;