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Then fpake the good yeman Clym of the Clough,
And fwore by Mary fre,
And if that we ftande long without,
Lyk a thefe honge thou shalt be.
Lo! here we have the kyngès feale:
What, Lurden, art thou wode?
The porter went it had ben fo,

And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.
Welcome be my lordes feale, he faide;
For that ye fhail come in.
He opened the gate full fhortlye;
An euyl openyng for him.

Now are we in, fayde Adam Bell,

Therof we are full faine;

But Chrift he knowes, that harowed hell,

How we fhall com out agayne.

Had we the keys, faid Clim of the Clough,
Ryght wel then should we fpede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we fe tyme and nede.

They called the porter to counfell,
And wrange hys necke in two,
And caft him in a depe dongeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.
Now am I porter, fayd Adam Bell,
Sc, 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 delvuer our dere brother,
That lycth in care and wo.

Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes,
And loked theyr ftringes were round,
The markett place in mery Carleile
They befet that ftound."

And, as they loked them befyde,

A pair of new galowes thei fee,
And the juftice, with a queft of fquyers,
Had judged theyr fere to de.
And Cloudeflè hymfelfe lay in a carte,
Faft bound both fote and hand;
And a ftronge rop about hys necke,
All readye for to lange.

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

I have fene as great mervaile, fayde Cloudeflè,
As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh thys grave for me
Hymfelfe may lye therin.

Thou fpeakeft proudli, fayd the justice,
I fhall the hange with my hande.
Full well herd this his bretheren two,
There ftyll as they did ftande.
Then Cloudeflè caft hys eyen afyde,
And faw hys brethren twaine

At a corner of the market-place,
Redy the juftice for to flaine.
I fe comfort, fayd Cloudeflè,
Yet hope I well to fare,
If I might have iny handes at wyll
Ryght lytle wolde I care.

Then befpake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
Brother, fe ye marke the justice wel;
Lo! yonder ye may him fee:
And at the sherife fhote I wyll
Strongly wyth arrowe kene,
A better fhote in mery Carleile
Thys feven yere was not fene.
They loofed their arrowes both at once,
Of no man had the dread;

The one hyt the juftice, the other the shersfe,
That both theyr fides gan blede.
All men voyded, that them ftode nye,
When the juftice fell to the grounde,
And the therife fell hym by;

Eyther had his deathes wounde.
All the citezens fast gan flye,

They durft no lenger aby de:
There lyghtly they loofed Cloudeflè,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.
Wyllyam fterte to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe fro bys hand he wronge,
On eche fyde he fmote them downe,
Hym thought he taryed to long.
Wyllyam faide to his brethren two,
Thys daye let us lyve and de,

If ever you have nede, as I have now,
The fame fhall you finde by me.
They fhot fo well in that tyde,

Theyr ftringes were of filke ful fure,
That they kept the stretes on every

That batayle did long endure.

fide;

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 faft,
They drew their fwordes then anone,
And theyr bowes from them caft.
They wenten lyghtlye on theyr way,
With fwordes and bucklers round;

By that it was myd of the day,
They made mani a wound.

There was many an out-horne in Carleile blower,
And the belles backward did ryng,

Many a woman fayde, Alas!

And many theyr handes did wryng. The mayre of Carleile forth was com, Wyth hym a ful great route: Thefe yemen dred him full fore,

Of their lyves they ftode in doute,

The

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

The mayre fmot at Cloudflè with his bil,
Hys bucler he braft in two,
Full many a yeman with great evyll,
Alas! they cryed for wo.
Kepe we the gates faft, they bad,

That thefe traytours thereout not go.
But al for nought was that the wrought,
For fo faste they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that fo manfulli fought,
Were gotten without, abraide.

Have here your keys, fayd Adam Bel,
Myne office I here fortake,
And yf you do by my counfell

A new porter do ye make.

He threw theyr keys at theyre heads,
And bad them well to thryve,
And all that letteth any good yeman
To com and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be thefe 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 trufty tre,

There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes full great plentye.
So God me help, fayd Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough fo fre,
I would we were in mery Carleile,
Before that fayre meynè.

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

A fecond fyt of the wightye yeomen,
Another I wyll you tell.

Part the Third.

AS they fat in Englyfhe wood,

Under the green-wode tre,

They thought they heard a woman wepe,
But her they mought not fe,

Sore then fyghed the fayre Alyce ;
That ever I fawe thys day!

For nowe is my dere hufband flayne:
Alas! and well-a-way!

Might I have fpoke with his dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,

To fhew to them what him befell,
My heart were out of payne.

Cloudeflè walk'd a litle befide,
Lookt under the green-wood linde,

He was ware of his wife, and children thre,
Full wo in harte and mynde.

Welcome, wyfe, then fayd Wyllyam,

Under this trufti tre :

I wende yesterday, by fweete fayne John,
Thou thoulde me never have fee.

"Now well is me that ye be here,

My harte is out of wo."
Dame, he fayde, be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.

Herof to fpeake, faid Adam Bell,
I-wis it is no bote:

The meate, that we muft fupp withall,
It runneth yet faft on fote.

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

The beft that they cold fe.
Have here the beft, Alyce, my wyfe,
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudcilye;
By caufe ye fo bouldly ftode by me,
When I was flayne full nyc.
Then went they to fuppère

Wyth fuche meate as they had;
And thanked God of their fortune;
They were both mery and glad.
And when ther had fupped well,
Certaine wythouten leafe,
Cloudeflè fayd, We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
Alyce fhal be at our fojournying
In a nunnery here befyde';
My tow fons fhall wyth her go,
And there they fhall abyde.
Myne eldest fon fhall go wyth me;
For hym have you no care;
And he thall breng you worde agayn,
How that we do fare.

Thus be thefe yemen to London gone,
As faft as they might he,

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

And whan they came to the kyngès courte,

Unto the palace-gate,

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

They preced preftly into the hall,

Of no man had they dreade:

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

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And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
The kneled downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.

The fayed, Lord, we befeche the here,
That will
ye graunt us grace:
For we have flayne your fat falow-dere
In many a fondry place.

What be your nams, then faid our king,
Anone that you tell me?

They faid Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

Be ye those theves, then fayd our kyng,

That men have tolde of to me? Here to God I make an avowe, Ye shall be hanged all thre.

Ye fhal be dead withoute mercy,

As I am kynge of this lande.
He commandeth his officers every one,
Faft on thein to lay hande.
There they toke thefe good yemen,
And arcfted them all thre:
So may I thryve, fayd Adam Bell,
Thys game lyketh not me.

But, good lorde, we beseche you now,

That yee graunt us grace,
Infomuche as frele to you we comen,
As frele fro you to palle,
With fuch weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we love this hundreth yere,
We wyll atke you no grace.
Ye fpeake proudly, fayd the kynge;
Ye fhall be hanged all thre.

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

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My lorde, whan I came fyrft into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe,

The fyrst boone that I wold afke,
Ye wold graunt it me belyfe:
And I never afked none tyll now;

Then, good lorde, graunt it me.
Now afk it, madam, fayd the kynge,
And graunted it fhall be.

Then good my lord, I you befcche,
Thefe yemen graunt ye me.
Madame, ye myght have afked a boonc
That fhuld have been worth them all three.
Ye myght have afked towres and townes,
Parkes and forefts plentè.

But none foe pleasant to my pay, fhee fayd;
Nor none fo lefe to me.

Madame, fith it is your defyre,

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

That true men they shal be.

But good my lord, fpeke fome mery word,
That comfort they may fe.

I graunt you grace, then fayd our kyng.
Wafhe, felos, and to meate go ye.
They had not fetten but a whyle
Certayne without lefynge,

There came meffengers 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 juftice? fayd the kyng,
And my therife alfo?

Syr, they be flayne without leafynge,
And many an officer mo.

Who hath them flayne, fayd the kyng,

Anone thou tell to me?

"Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,

And Wyllyam of Cloudetle."
Alas for rewth! then fayd our kynge,
My hart is wonderous fore;

I had lever than a thoufande 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,
Himfelfe he red it thro,

And founde how thefe outlawes had flaine
Thre hundred men and mo:

Fyrft the juftice, and the sheryfe,

And the mayre of Carleile towne ;
Of all the conftables and catchipolles
Alyve were fcant left one.

The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the fergeaunte of the law,
And forty fofters of the fe,

Thefe outlawes had yflaw :

And broke his parks, and flayne his dere ;
Of all they chofe the beft;
So perelous out-lawes, as they were,
Walked not by cafte nor weft.

When the kyng this letter had red,
In harte he fyghed fore:
the tables anone he bad,
up
For I may eat no more.

Take

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There twife or thryfe they fhote about,

For to affay theyr hande; There was no fhote thofe yemen shot That any prycke* myght stand. Then fpake Wyllyam of Cloudeflè; By him that for me dyed, I hold hym never no good archar, That hoteth at buttes fo wyde. "At what a butte now wold yc I pray thee tell to me?"

At fuch a but, fyr, he fayd,

fhote,

As men ufe in my countrè.
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
With his two bretherène :
There they fet up two hafell roddes
Full twenty fcore betwene.

I hold him an archar, fayd Cloudeflè,
That yonder wand cleveth in two.
Here is none fuche, fayd the kyng,
Nor none that can fo do.

I fhall affaye, Sir, fayd Cloudeflè,
Or that I farther go.
Cloudefly with a bearyng arowe

Clave the wand in two.

Thou art the best archer, then said the king,
For fothe that ever I fee.

And yet for your love, fayd Wyllyam,
I wyll do more maftery.

I have a fonne is feven yere olde,

He is to me full deare;

I wyll hym tye to a stake;

All fhall fe, that be here;

And lay an apple upon hys head,
And fyxe fcore hym fro,
go
And I my felfe with a broad arow

Shall cleve the apple in two.
Now hafte the, then fayd the king,

By hym that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not, as thou haft fayde,
Hanged fhalt thou be.

And thou touche his head or gowne,
In fyght that men may fe,
By all the fayntes that be in heaven,
I fhall hange you all thre.
That I have promifed, faid William,
That wyll I never forfake.
And there even before the kynge

In the earth he drove a stake:
And bound thereto his eldeft fonne,

And bad hym ftand ftyll thereat;
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he fhould not fterte.
An apple upon his head he set,

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

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe;
He fet that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both ftyffe and stronge.
He prayed the people that wer there
That they all ftill wold stand,
For he that hoteth for fuch a wager
Behoveth a stedfaft hand.

Muche people prayed for Cloudeflè,
That his lyfe faved myght be;
And whan he made him redy to fhote,
There was many a weeping ce.
But Cloudeflè cleft the apple in twaine,
His fonne he did not nee.
Over Gods forbode, fayde the kinge,
That thou fhold fhote at me.

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

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

Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, No man fhall fay the nay.

Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman

Of clothyng, and of fe:

And thy two breathren, yemen of my chambre For they are fo femely to fe.

Your fonne, for he is tendre of age,

Of my wyne-feller he shall be:

And when he cometh to mans eftate,
Shall better avannced be.

And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife,
Me longeth her fore to fe;
She thall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye.

The yemen thanketh them courteouslys
To fome bithop wyl we wend,
Of all the fynnes, that we have done,
To be affoyl'd at his hand.

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

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

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen,

God fend them eternal blyffe,

And all that with a hand-bowe fhoteth, That of heaven they never myffe. Amen.

$103. Song. Willow, Willow, Willow. It is from the following ftanzas that Shakspeare has taken his fong of the Willow, in his Othello, A. 4. f. 3. though fomewhat varied, and applied by him to a female character. He makes Defdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner;

✦ Mark.

My

My mother had a maid call'd Barbarie:

She was in love; and he the lov'd forfook her, And the prov'd mad. She had a fong of WILLOW, An old thing 'twas, but it exprefs'd her fortune; "And the dyed finging it."

APOORE foule fat fighing under a ficamore tree;

willow, willow, willow!

With his hand on his bofom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow fhall be my garland!
He figh'd in his finging, 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 the is turned; untrue fhe doth prove:
O willow, &c.

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

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one;
O willow, &c.

Her heart's hard as marble, the rues not my mone.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The cold ftreams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;

O willow, &c.

The falt tears fell from him,which drowned his face: O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The mute birds fat by him, made tame by his mones: O willow, &c.

The falt tears fell from him, which foftned theftones. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let nobody blame me, her fcornes 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.

O that beauty fhould harbour a heart that's fo hard!
O willow, &c.

My truc love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let love no more boaft him, in palace or bower; O willow, &c.

For women are trothles, and flote in an houre. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

But what helps complaining? In vain I complaine: O willow, &c.

I must patiently fuffer her fcorne and difdaine. O willow, &c. .

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Come, all you forfaken, and fit down by me;
O willow, &c.

He that 'plaines of his falfe love, mine's falfer than
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

[the.

The willow wreath weare I, fince my love did fiert,
O willow, &c.

A garland for lovers forfaken most meete.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow fhall by my garland!

Part the Second.

LOWE lay'd by my forrow, begot by difdaise,
O willow, willow, willow!
Against her too cruell, ftili ftill I complaine,
O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow fhall be my garhad! O love too injurious, to wound my poor heat! O willow, &c.

To fuffer the triumph, and joy in my fraart: O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O willow, willow, willow! the willow galind, O willow, &c.

A figne of her falfeneffe before me doth fund; O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

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

So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I e,
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

In grave where I reft mee, hang this to the view O 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 poyfon for potion of O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

[fweet."

Though the thus unkindly hath fcorned my love, O willow, &c.

And carelessly fimiles at the forrowes I prove; O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
O willow, &c.

Caufe once well I lov'd her,and honour'd her name:
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The name of her founded fo fweete in mine care, O willow, &c.

It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my dear, O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe; O willow, &c.

It now brings me anguish, then brought me relieft, O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Farewell,

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