I see the hall now, Child Waters, Of redd gold shines the towre: God give you good now of yourselfe, And of your paramoure. There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playing att the ball: And Ellen the fairest ladye there, Must bring his steed to the stall. There twenty four fayre ladyes were A playinge at the chesse; And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, Must bring his horse to gresse. And then bespake Childe Waters sister, These were the wordes said shee: You have the prettyest foot-page, brother, That ever I saw with mine ee. But that his bellye it is soe bigg, His girdle goes wonderous hie: And let him, I pray you, Childe Watères, Goe into the chamber with mee. It is not fit for a little foot-page, That has run throughe mosse and myre, To go into the chamber with any ladye, That weares soe riche attyre. It is more meete for a litle foot-page, That has run throughe mosse and myre, To take his supper upon his knee, And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer. But when they had supped every one, To bedd they tooke theyr waye: He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page, And hearken what I saye. Goe thee downe into yonder towne, And low into the street; The fayrest ladye that thou can finde, Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, And take her up in thine armes twaine, For filinge of her feete. Ellen is gone into the towne, And low into the streete: The fairest ladye that she cold find, Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe; And tooke her up in her armes twayne, For filing of her feete. I pray you nowe, good Child Watèrs, Let mee lye at your bedds feete: For there is noe place about this house, Where I may 'saye a sleepe. 'He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn 'Down at his beds feet laye:' This done the nighte drove on apace, And when it was neare the daye, Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page, Give my steede corne and haye; And soe doe thou the good black oats, To carry mee better awaye. Up then rose the faire Ellèn, And gave his steede corne and hay: And soe shee did the good blacke oats, To carry him the better away. Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, And grievouslye did groane: Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, And there shee made her moane. And that beheard his mother deere, Shee heard her there monand. Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs, I think thee a cursed man. For in thy stable is a ghost, That grievouslye doth grone: Or else some woman laboures of childe, She is soe woe-begone. Up then rose Childe Waters soon, And did on his shirte of silke; And then he put on his other clothes, On his body as white as milke. And when he came to the stable dore, Full still there he did stand, That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellèn Howe shee made her monànd.