The Scotts they fled; but stille their kynge, With hys brave sonne, foughte full welle, Till o'er the moore an arrowe yflewe-- And brave prynce Henrye felle. Alle thys espy'd his young foote page, From the hille whereon he stode; And soone hath hee mounted a swifte swifte steede, And soone from the moore hath rode. And hee hath cross'd the Tees fayre streame, Nowe swell'd with human bloode; Th' affrighted page he never stay'de, Tyll to Dumfries hee hath rode. Fayre Alice was gone to the holye kirke, With a sad hearte dyd shee goe; And ever soe faste dyd she crye to heav'n, "Prynce Henrye save from woe." Fayre Alice shee hied her to the choire, Where the priestes dyd chaunte soe slowe; And ever shee cry'd, "May the holye sayntes Prynce Henrye save from woe!" Fayre Alice, with manye a teare and sighe, To Mary's shrine dyd goe; And soe faste shee cry'de, "Sweete Mary mylde Prynce Henrye save from woe!" Fayre Alice she knelte bye the hallow'd roode, Whyle faste her teares dyd flowe; And ever shee cry'd, "Oh sweete sweete Savioure, Prynce Henrye save from woe!" Fayre Alice look'd oute at the kirke doore, And heavye her hearte dyd beate; For shee was aware of the prynce's page, Com galloping thro' the streete. Agayne fayre Alice look'd out to see, And well nighe did shee swoone; For nowe shee was sure it was that page Com galloping thro' the towne. "Nowe Christe thee save, thou sweete young page, Nowe Christe thee save and see! And howe dothe sweete prynce Henrye? I praye thee telle to me." The page he look'd at the fayre Alice, And hys hearte was fulle of woe; The page he look'd at the fayre Alice, Tylle hys teares faste 'gan to flowe. "Ah woe is me!" sad Alice cry'd, And tore her golden hayre; 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." 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."-- She answered not, but heav'd a sighe, That spoke her hearte felte woe. Her maydens came and strove to cheare, But in vaine was all their care; The townesfolke wept to see that ladye Soe 'whelm'd in dreade despare.