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Here cometh none in, sayd the porter,

Then Cloudeslè cast his eyen asyde,

Be hym that dyed on a tre,

Tyll a false thefe be hanged up Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

And saw hys brethren twaine At a corner of the market-place, Redy the justice for to slaine.

Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough, I se comfort, sayd Cloudesle,

And swore by Mary fre:

An if that we stande long without,
Lyk a thefe honge thou shalt be.
Lo! here we have the kyngès seale :
What, lurden, art thou wode?
The porter went it had been so,

And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

Welcome be my lordes seale, he sayde ;
For that ye shall come in.
He opened the gate full shortlye;
An euyl openyng for him.

Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell,
Therof we are full faine;

But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we shall com out agayne..

Had we the keys, sayd Clim of the Clough,
Ryght wel then should we spede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede.
They called the porter to counsell,
And wrange hys necke in two,
And cast him in a depe dongeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.
Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bell,
Se, brother, the keys are here,
The worst porter to merry Carleile

They have had thys hundred yere.
And now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyuer our dere brother,

That lyeth in care and wo.

Then they bent theyr good yewe bowes,
And loked theyr stringes were sound,
The markett place in mery Carleile
They beset that stound.

And, as they loked them besyde,

A pair of new galowes thei see,
And the justice, with a quest of squyers,
Had judged theyr fere to de:

And Cloudeslè himselfe lay in a carte,
Fast bound both fote and hand;
And a stronge rope about hys necke,
All readye for to hange.

The justice called to hym a ladde,
Cloudeslès clothes should he have,
To take the measure of that yeman,
Therafter to make hys grave.

I have sene as great marveile, sayde Cloudesle,
As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh thys grave for me
Hymselfe may lye therin.

Thou speakest proudli, sayd the justice,
I shall the hange with my hande.
Full well herd this his bretheren two,
There styll as they did stande.

Yet hope I well to fare, If I might have my hands at wyll Ryght lytle wolde I care.

Then bespake good Adam Bell

To Clym of the Clough so free:
Brother, se ye marke the justice wel;
Lo! yonder ye may him see:
And at the sherife shote I wyll
Strongly wyth arrowe kene;
A better shote in mery Carleile
Thys seven yere was not sene.
They loosed their arrowes both at once,
Of no man had thei dread;

The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe,
That both theyr sides gan blede.

All men voyded, that them stode nye,
When the justice fell to the grounde,
And the sheryf fell hym by;

Eyther had his deathes wounde.
All the citizens fast gan Aye,

They durst no lenger abyde:
There lyghtly they loosed Cloudeslè,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.
Wyllyam sterte to an officer of the towne,
His axe fro hys hand he wronge,
On eche syde he smote them downe,
Hym thought he taryed to long.
Wyllyam saide to his brethren two;
Thys daye let us lyve and de;
If ever you have nede as I have now,
The same shall you finde by me.
They shot so well in that tyde,

Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure,
That they kept the stretes on every side;
That batayle did long endure.
The fought together as brethren tru,
Lyke hardy men and bolde,
Many a man to the ground they thrue,
And many a herte made colde.
But when their arrowes were all gon,

Men preced to them full fast,
They drew their swordes then anone,
And theyr bowes from them cast.

They wenten lyghtlye on theyr way,
With swords and bucklers round:
By that it was myd of the day,
They made mani a wound.

There was many a nout-horne in Carleile blowen,

And the belles backward did ryng, Many a woman sayde, Alas!

And many theyr handes did wryng.

The mayre of Carleile forth was com,
Wyth hym a full great route:
These yemen dred him full sore,

Of their lyves they stode in doute.

The mayre came armed a full great pace,
With a pollaxe in hys hande;
Many a strong man wyth him was,
There in that stowre to stande.

The mayre smot at Cloudeslè with his bil,
Hys bucler he brast in two,
Full many a yeman with great evyll,
Alas! they cryed for wo.
Keepe we the gates fast, they bad,
That these traytours thereout not go.
But al for nought was that the wrought,
For so faste they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,
Were gotten without, abraide.
Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel,
Myne office I here forsake,
And yf you do by my counsell,
A new porter do ye make.
He threw theyr keys at theyre heads,
And bade them well to thryve,
And all that letteth any good yeman
To com and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be these good yemen gon to the wod,
And lyghtly, as lefe on lynde;
The lough and be mery in theyre mode,
Theyr foes wer ferr behind.

And when they came to the old Englishe wode,
Under the trusty tre,
There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes full great plentyè.
So God me help, sayd Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough so fre,
I would we were in mery Carleile,
Before that fayre meynè.

They set them downe, and made good chere,
And eate and dranke full well.

A Second Fyt of the wighty yeomen:
Another I wyll you

tell.

Part the Third.

As they sat in Englyshe wood,
Under the green-wode tre,

They thought they heard a woman wepe,
But her they mought not se.
Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce :
That ever I sawe thys daye!
For nowe is my dere husband slayne:

Alas! and well-a-day!

Might I have spoke with his dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,
To shew them what him befell,

My heart were out of payne.
Cloudeslè walk'd a little beside,
Lookt under the green-wood linde,

He was ware of his wife, and children thre,
Full wo in harte and mynde.
Welcome, wyfe, then sayd Wyllyam,
Under this trusti tre:

I wende yesterday, by sweete saynt John,
Thou shoulde me never have see.
"Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo."

Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.

Herof to speake, said Adam Bell,
Iwis it is no bote:

The meate that we must supp withall,

It runneth yet fast on fote.

Then went they downe into a launde,
These noble archares thre;
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,

The best that they could se.
Have here the best, Alyce my wyfe,

Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye;
By cause ye so bouldly stode by me,
When I was slayne full nye.
Then went they to theyr suppère
Wyth suche meate as they had;
And thanked God of their fortune,
They were both mery and glad.
And when thei had supped well,
Certain wythouten lease,
Cloudeslè sayd, We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
Alyce shal be at our sojournyng,
In a nunnery here besyde;
My tow sons shall wyth her go,
And there they shall abyde.

Myne eldest son shall go wyth me;
For hym have you no care;
And he shall breng you worde agayn,
How that we all do fare.

Thus be these yemen to London gone,
As fast as they might he*,

Tyll they came to the kyng's pallàce,
Where they would nedes be.

And whan they came to the kyngès courte,
Unto the pallace-gate,

Of no man wold they ask no leave,
But boldly went in therat.

The preced prestly, went into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade:

The porter came after, and dyd them call,
And with them gan to chyde.

The usher sayde, Yemen, what would ye have?
I pray you tell to me:

You myght thus make offycers shent :
Good syrs, of whence be ye?
Syr, we be outlawes of the forest,
Certayne withouten lease:
And hether we be come to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
They kneied downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.

ye

The sayed, Lord, we beche the here,
That will graunt us grace:
For we have slayne your fat falow-dere
In many a sondry place.

What be your nams, then said our kyng,
Anone that tell me?

you

They said, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

* Hie, hasten.

Be those theves, then sayd our kyng, ye

That men have tolde of to me?

Here to God I make an avowe,
Ye shall be hanged all thre.
Ye shal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande.
He commandeth his officers every one,
Fast on them to lay hande.

There they toke these good yemen,
And arrested them all thre:
So may I thryve, said Adam Bell,
Thys game lyketh not me.

But, good lorde, we beseche you now,
That yee graunt us grace,
Insomuche as frelè to you we comen,
As frelè fro you to passe,
With such weapons as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundreth
We wyll aske you no grace.
Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge;
Ye shall be hanged all thre.

yere,

That were great pity, then said the quene,
If any grace myght be.

My lorde, when I came fyrst into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe,

The fyrst boone that I wold aske,

Ye wold graunt it me belyfe :

And I never asked none tyll now;

Then, good lorde, graunt it me. Now ask it, madam, said the kynge, And graunted it shall be.

Then, good my lord, I you beseche,

These yemen graunt ye me.
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone
That should have been worth them all three.

Ye myght have asked towres and townes,
Parkes and forests plentè;

But none soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd;
Nor none so lefe to me.

Madame, sith it is your desire,

Your asking graunted shal be; But I had lever have geven you Good market townes thre. The quene was a glad woman, And sayde, Lord, gramarcyè; I dare undertake for them

That true men they shal be.

But, good my lord, speke some mery word,
That comfort they may se.

I graunt you grace, then sayd our kyng,
Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.
They had not setten but a whyle

Certayne without lesynge,
There came messengers out of the north
With letters to our kyng.

And whan they came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne;
Sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntrè.

How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng,

And my sherife also?

Syr, they be slayne, without leasynge,
And many an officer mo.

Who hath them slayne? sayd the kyng:
Anone thou tell to me.

Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough,

And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

Alas for rewth! then sayd our kynge,
My hart is wonderous sore;

I had lever than a thousande pounde,
I had known of thys before;
For I have graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me:
But had I knowen all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre.
The kyng he opened the letter anone,
Himselfe he read it thro',

And founde how these outlawes had slaine
Thre hundred men and mo:

Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe,

And the mayre of Carleile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles,
Alyve were scant left one.

The baylyes and the bedyls both,
And the sergeaunte of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe,

These outlawes had yslaw.

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere ;
Of all they chose the best;
So perelous outlawes as they were,
Walked not by easte or west.
When the kyng this letter had red,
In harte he syghed sore:
Take up the tables anone, he bad,
For I may eat no more.

The kyng called hys best archars,

To the buttes with him to go:
I wyl see these felowes shote, he sayd,
In the north have wrought this wo.
The kynges bowmen busket them blyre,
And the quenes archers also:
So dyd these thre wyghtye yemen;
With them they thought to go.

There twise or thryse they shote about,
For to assay theyr hande;
There was no shote those yemen shot
That any prycke* myght stand.
Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudeslè ·
By him that for me dyed,

I hold him never no good archar,
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.
"At what a butte now wold ye shote,
I pray thee tell to me?"
At such a but, syr, he sayd,

As men use in my countrè.
Wyllyam went into a fyeld,

With his two bretherène :
There they set up two hasell roddes,
Full twenty score betwene.

• Mark.

I hold him an archar, said Cloudeslè,
That yonder wand cleveth in two.
Here is none suche, sayd the kyng,
Nor none that can so do.

I shall assaye, sir, sayd Cloudesly,
Or that I farther go.
Cloudesly with a bearying arowe
Clave the wand in two.

Thou art the best archer, then said the king,
For sothe, that ever I see.
And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam,
I wyll do more mastery.

I have a sonne is seven yeare olde,
He is to me full deare;

I wyll hym tye to a stake;

All shall se, that be here;
And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score hym fro,
And I my selfe with a broad arow
Shall cleave the apple in two.
Now haste the, then said the king;
By hym that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not as thou hast sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.

An thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayr.tes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.
That I have promised, said Wyllyam,
That wyll I never forsake.
And there even before the kynge
In the earth he drove a stake:

And bound thereto his eldest sonne,

And bad hym stand styll thereat; And turned the childes face him fro, Because he should not sterte.

An apple upon his head he set,

And then his bowe he bent; Syxe score paces they were out mete, And thether Cloudeslè went.

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,

Hys bowe was great and longe;
He set that arrowe in his bowe,

That was both styffe and stronge.
He prayed the people that wer there,
That they all still wold stand,
For he that shoteth for such a wager
Behoveth a stedfast hand.
Much people prayed for Cloudeslè,
That his lyfe saved myght be;
And whan he made him redy to shote,
There was many a weeping ee.
But Cloudeslè cleft the apple in twaine,
His sonne he did not nee.
Over Gods forebode, sayde the kynge,
That thou shold shote at me.

I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countrè,
I make the chyfe rydère.

And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene,
By God and by my fay;

Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.

Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman
Of clothyng, and of fe:

And thy two breathren, yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to se.

Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,

Of my wyne-seller he shall be:
And when he cometh to man's estate,
Shall better avaunced be.

And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife,
Me longeth her sore to se;
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To govern my nurserye.

The yemen thanketh them courteously:
To some bishop wyl we wend,
Of all the synnes that we have done,
To be assoyl'd at his hand.

So forth be gone these good yemen,
As fast as they might be;

And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all three.

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen,
God send them eternal blysse;

And all that with a hand-bowe shoteth,
That of heaven they never mysse.

Amen.

§ 106. Song. Willow, willow, willow. It is from the following stanzas that Shakspeare has taken his song of the Willow in his Othello, A. 4. s. 3. though somewhat varied, and applied by him to a female character. He makes Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner:

66

My mother had a maid call'd Barbarie ;

She was in love; and he she lov'd forsook her,
And she prov'd mad. She had a song of Willow;
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune:
And she dyed singing it."

A POOR Soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree,
O willow, willow, willow!

With his hand on his bosom, his head on his
knee;

O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
He sighed in his singing, and after each grone,
O willow, &c.

I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone,
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

My love is turned; untrue she doth prove:
O willow, &c.
my love.

She renders me nothing but hate for
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

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pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one ;

willow, &c.

Her heart's hard as marble,she rues not my mone.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c,

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept | O willow, willow, willow! the willow garland,

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O willow, &c.

A signe of her falsenesse, before me doth stand:
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As here it doth bid to despaire and to dye,
O willow, &c.

The mute birds sat by him, made tame by his So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye.

mones:

O willow, &c.

O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The salt tears fell from him, which softened In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view,

the stones.

O willow, &c.

Sing, Ọ the greene willow, &c.

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove:
O willow, &c.

She was borne, to be faire; I to die for her
love.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Ŏ willow, &c.

Of all that doe know her, to blaze her untrue.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,
O willow, &c.

"Here lyes one drank poyson for potion most
sweet."
O willow, &c.

O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

hard!

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Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,
O willow, &c.

And carelessly smiles at the sorrowes I prove:
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let Love no more boast him in palace or I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,

bower;

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Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O willow, &c.

Cause once well I lov'd her, and honour'd her

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Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The willow wreath weare I, since my love did Farewell, faire false-hearted: plaints end with

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