And soe faste shee wrang her lilly handes,
Alle woo'd with sad despayre.
"The Englishe keepe the bloodye fielde,
Fulle manye a Scott is slayne,
But lyves prynce Henrye?" the ladye cry'd,
"Alle else to mee is vayne.—
"Oh lives the prynce? I praye thee tell,"
Fayre Alice still dyd calle:
"These eyes dyd see a keen arrowe flye,
Dyd see prynce Henrye falle."