And to fayre Carlile hym bore;
And there that brave young prynce dyd lyve,
Tho' wounded sad and sore.
Fayre Alice the wond'rous tydings hearde,
And thrice for joye shee sigh'd:
That haplesse fayre, when shee hearde the newes
She rose—she smiled—and dy'd.
The teares that her fayre maydens shed,
Ran free from their brighte eyes;
The ecchoing wynde that then dyd blowe,