Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume I: Part I

Mery it was in the grene forestAmonge the levès grene,Wheras men hunt east and westWyth bowes and arrowes kene;

To raise the dere out of theyr denne;Suche fightes hath ofte bene sene;As by thre yemen of the north countrèy,By them it is I meane.

The one of them hight Adam Bel,The other Clym of the Clough,The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,An archer good ynough.

They were outlawed for venyson,These yemen everych-one;They swore them brethren upon a day,To Englyshe wood for to gone.

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,That of myrthes loveth to here:Two of them were single men,The third had a wedded fere.

Wyllyam was the wedded man,Muche more then was hys care:He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,To Carleile he would fare;

For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,And with hys chyldren thre.By my trouth, sayde Adam Bel,Not by the counsell of me:

For if ye go to Carlile, brother,And from thys wylde wode wende,If that the justice may you take,Your lyfe were at an ende.

If that I come not to-morowe, brother,By pryme to you agayne,Truste you then that I am 'taken,'Or else that I am slayne.

He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,And to Carlile he is gon:There he knocked at his owne windòweShortlye and anone.

Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd,My wife and chyldren three?Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbànde,Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.

Alas! then sayde fayre Alyce,And syghed wonderous sore,Thys place hath ben besette for youThys halfe a yere and more.

Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee,I would that in I were.Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe,And let us make good chere.

She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye,Lyke a true wedded wyfe;And pleased hym with that she had,Whome she loved as her lyfe.

There lay an old wyfe in that place,A lytle besyde the fyre,Whych Wyllyam had found of charytyèMore than seven yere.

Up she rose, and forth shee goes,Evill mote shee speede therfore;For shee had sett no foote on groundIn seven yere before.

She went unto the justice hall,As fast as she could hye:Thys night, shee sayd, is come to townWyllyam of Cloudeslyè.

Thereof the justice was full fayne,And so was the shirife also.Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for nought,Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go.

They gave to her a ryght good goune,Of scarlate, 'and of graine':She toke the gyft, and home she wente,And couched her doune agayne.

They raysed the towne of mery CarleileIn all the haste they can;And came thronging to Wyllyames house,As fast as they might gone.

There they besette that good yemànRound about on every syde:Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes,That thither-ward fast hyed.

Alyce opened a backe wyndòwe,And loked all aboute,She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe,Wyth a full great route.

Alas! treason, cryed Alyce,Ever wo may thou be!Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd,Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.

He toke hys sword and hys bucler,Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,And wente into hys strongest chamber,Where he thought surest to be.

Fayre Alyce, like a lover true,Took a pollaxe in her hande:Said, He shall dye that cometh inThys dore, whyle I may stand.

Cloudeslee bente a right good bowe,That was of a trusty tre,He smot the justise on the brest,That hys arowe burst in three.

'A' curse on his harte, saide William,Thys day thy cote dyd on!If it had ben no better then myne,It had gone nere thy bone.

Yelde the Cloudeslè, sayd the justise,And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.'A' curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce,That my husband councelleth so.

Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife,Syth it wyll no better be,And brenne we therin William, he saide,Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.

They fyred the house in many a place,The fyre flew up on hye:Alas! then cryed fayre Alìce,I se we here shall dye.

William openyd a backe wyndòw,That was in hys chamber hie,And there with sheetes he did let downeHis wyfe and children three.

Have you here my treasure, sayde William,My wyfe and my chyldren thre:For Christès love do them no harme,But wreke you all on me.

Wyllyam shot so wonderous well,Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,That hys bowstryng brent in two.

The sparkles brent and fell uponGood Wyllyam of Cloudeslè:Than was he a wofull man, and sayde,Thys is a cowardes death to me.

Leever had I, sayde Wyllyam,With my sworde in the route to renne,Then here among myne enemyes wodeThus cruelly to bren.

He toke hys sword and hys buckler,And among them all he ran,Where the people were most in prece,He smot downe many a man.

There myght no man abyde hys stroakes,So fersly on them he ran:Then they threw wyndowes, and dores on him,And so toke that good yemàn.

There they hym bounde both hand and fote,And in a deepe dungeon him cast:Now Cloudesle, sayd the justice,Thou shalt be hanged in hast.

'A payre of new gallowes, sayd the sherife,Now shal I for thee make;'And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte:No man shal come in therat.

Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,Nor yet shall Adam Bell,Though they came with a thousand mo,Nor all the devels in hell.

Early in the mornynge the justice uprose,To the gates first can he gone,And commaunded to be shut full closeLightilè everych-one.

Then went he to the markett place,As fast as he coulde hye;There a payre of new gallowes he set upBesyde the pyllorye.

A lytle boy 'among them asked,'What meaned that gallow-tre?They sayde to hange a good yemàn,Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,And kept fayre Alyces swyne;Oft he had seene William in the wodde,And geuen hym there to dyne.

He went out att a crevis of the wall,And lightly to the woode dyd gone;There met he with these wightye yemenShortly and anone.

Alas! then sayde the lytle boye,Ye tary here all too longe;Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death,And readye for to honge.

Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,That ever we saw thys daye!He had better have tarryed with us,So ofte as we dyd hym praye.

He myght have dwelt in grene forèste,Under the shadowes greene,And have kepte both hym and us att reste,Out of all trouble and teene.

Adam bent a ryght good bow,A great hart sone hee had slayne:Take that, chylde, he sayde, to thy dynner,And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.

Now go we hence, sayed these wightye yeomen,Tarry we no longer here;We shall hym borowe by God his grace,Though we buy itt full dere.

To Caerleil wente these bold yemen,All in a mornyng of maye.Here is a FYT of Cloudeslye,And another is for to saye.