Fayre Alice she sat her on the grounde,
And never a worde shee spake;
But like the pale image dyd shee looke,
For her hearte was nighe to breake.
The rose that once soe ting'd her cheeke,
Was nowe, alas! noe more;
But the whitenesse of her lillye skin
Was fayrer than before.
"Fayre ladye, rise," the page exclaym'de
"Nor laye thee here thus lowe."—