He that maketh a grave for me Himself may lie therein.

Thou speakest proudly, said the justice, I will thee hang with my hand.

Full well heard this his brethren two, There still as they did stand.

Then Cloudesly cast his eyes aside, And saw his brethren twain At a corner of the market place, Ready the justice for to slain.

I see comfort, said Cloudesly, Yet hope I well to fare, If I might have my hands at will Right little would I care.

Then spake good Adam Bell To Clym of the Clough so free, Brother, see you mark the justice well; Lo! yonder you may him see:

And at the sheriff shoot I will Strongly with arrow keen; A better shot in merry Carlisle This seven year was not seen.

They loosed their arrows both at once, Of no man had they dread; The one hit the justice, the other the sheriff, That both their sides 'gan bleed.

All men 'voided, that them stood nigh, When the justice fell to the ground, And the sheriff nigh him by; Either had his death's wound.

All the citizens fast began to fly, They durst no longer abide: There lightly they loosed Cloudesly, Where he with ropes lay tied.

William start to an officer of the town, His axe from his hand he wrung, On each side he smote them down, He thought he tarried too long.

William said to his brethren two, This day let us live and die, If ever you have need, as I have now, The same shall you find by me.

They shot so well in that tide, Their strings were of silk full sure, That they kept the streets on every side; That battle did long endure.

They fought together as brethren true, Like hardy men and bold, Many a man to the ground they threw, And many a heart made cold.

But when their arrows were all gone, Men pressed to them full fast, They drew their swords then anon, And their bows from them cast.

They went lightly on their way, With swords and bucklers round; By that it was mid of the day, They made many a wound.

There was many an out-horn[54] in Carlisle blown, And the bells backward did ring, Many a woman said, Alas!

And many their hands did wring.

The mayor of Carlisle forth was come, With him a full great rout: These yeomen dreaded him full sore, Of their lives they stood in doubt.

The mayor came armed at full great pace, With a pollaxe in his hand; Many a strong man with him was, There in that stowre[55] to stand.

The mayor smote at Cloudesly with his bill, His buckler he burst in two, Full many a yeoman with great evil, Alas! Treason they cried for woe.

Keep well the gates fast, they bade, That these traitors thereout not go.

But all for nought was that they wrought, For so fast they down were laid, Till they all three, that so manfully fought, Were gotten without, abroad.

Have here your keys, said Adam Bell, Mine office I here forsake, And if you do by my counsel A new porter do ye make.

He threw their keys at their heads, And bade them well to thrive, And all that letteth[56] any good yeoman To come and comfort his wife.

Thus be these good yeomen gone to the wood, And lightly, as leaf on lynde;[57]

To laugh and be merry in their mood, Their enemies were far behind.

And when they came to English wood, Under the trusty tree, There they found bows full good, And arrows full great plenty.

So G.o.d me help, said Adam Bell, And Clym of the Clough so free, I would we were in merry Carlisle, Before that fair meynye.[58]

They sate them down, and made good cheer, And ate and drank full well.

A second FYT of the wighty yeomen, Another I will you tell.

PART THE THIRD.

As they sat in the merry green wood, Under the green-wood tree, They thought they heard a woman weep, But her they mought[59] not see.

Sore then sighed the fair Alice: That ever I saw this day!

For now is my dear husband slain: Alas! and well-a-way!

Might I have spoken to his dear brethren, Or with either of them twain, To show to them what him befell, My heart were out of pain.

Cloudesly walked a little beside, He looked under the green-wood lynde; He was aware of his wife, and children three, Full woe in heart and mind.

Welcome, wife, then said William, Under this trusty tree: I had ween'd yesterday, by sweet saint John, Thou shouldst me never have see.

Now well is me that ye be here, My heart is out of woe; Dame, he said, be merry and glad, And thank my brethren two.

Hereof to speak, said Adam Bell, I think it is no boot: The meat, that we must sup withal, It runneth yet fast on foot.

Then went they down into a lawn, These n.o.ble archers all three; Each of them slew a hart of grease,[60]

The best that they could see.

Have here the best, Alice my wife, Said William of Cloudesly; Because ye so boldly stood by me When I was slain full nigh.

Then went they all into supper With such meat as they had; And thanked G.o.d of their fortune: They were both merry and glad.

And when they all had supped well, Certainly without lease,[61]

Cloudesly said, We will to our king, To get us a charter of peace.

Alice shall be at our sojourning In a nunnery here beside; My two sons shall with her go, And there they shall abide.

Mine eldest son shall go with me; For him have you no care: And he shall bring you word again, How that we do fare.

Thus be these yeomen to London gone, As fast as they might hie, Till they came to the king's palace, Where they would needs be.

And when they came to the king's court, Unto the palace gate, Of no man would they ask no leave, But boldly went in thereat.

They pressed prestly[62] into the hall, Of no man had they dread: The porter came after, and did them call, And with them began to chide.

The usher said, Yeoman, what would ye have?

I pray you tell to me: You might thus make officers shent:[63]

Good sirs, of whence be ye?

Sir, we be outlaws of the forest Certainly without lease; And hither we be come to our king, To get us a charter of peace.