5 'But I am waking, sweete,' he said,
'Lady, what is your will?'
'I haue vnbethought me of a wile,
How my wed lord we shall spill.
6 'Four and twenty knights,' she sayes,
'That dwells about this towne,
Eene four and twenty of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.'
7 With that beheard his litle foote-page,
As he was watering his masters steed;
Soe s ...
His verry heart did bleed.
8 He mourned, sikt, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
The teares he for his master wept
Were blend water and bloude.
9 With that beheard his deare master,
As [he] in his garden sate;
Says, Euer alacke, my litle page,
What causes thee to weepe?
10 'Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
Which makes thee shed such teares?
11 'Or if it be my head-kookes-man,
Greiued againe he shalbe,
Nor noe man within my howse
Shall doe wrong vnto thee.'
12 'But it is not your head-kookes-man,
Nor none of his degree;
But [f]or to morrow, ere it be noone,
You are deemed to die.
13 'And of that thanke your head-steward,
And after, your gay ladie:'
'If it be true, my litle foote-page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land.'
14 'If it be not true, my deare master,
God let me neuer thye:'
'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou be.'