Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume I: Part II

And when they came to mery Carleile,All in 'the' mornyng tyde,They founde the gates shut them untyllAbout on every syde.

Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,That ever we were made men!These gates be shut so wonderous fast,We may not come therein.

Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;Let us saye we be messengers,Streyght come nowe from our king.

Adam said, I have a letter written,Now let us wysely werke,We wyl saye we have the kynges seale;I holde the porter no clerke.

Then Adam Bell bete on the gatesWith strokes great and stronge:The porter marveiled, who was therat,And to the gates he thronge.

Who is there now, sayde the porter,That maketh all thys knockinge?We be tow messengers, quoth Clim of the Clough,Be come ryght from our kyng.

We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel,To the justice we must itt bryng;Let us in our message to do,That we were agayne to the kyng.

Here commeth none in, sayd the porter,By hym that dyed on a tre,Tyll a false thefe be hanged,Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough,And swore by Mary fre,And if that we stande long wythout,Like a thefe hanged shalt thou be.

Lo! here we have the kynges seale:What, Lurden, art thou wode?The porter went it had ben so,And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

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

Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell,Wherof we are full faine;But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,How we shall com out agayne.

Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough,Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,Then might we come out wel ynoughWhen we se tyme and nede.

They called the porter to counsell,And wrang his necke in two,And caste hym in a depe dungeon,And toke hys keys hym fro.

Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel,Se brother the keys are here,The worst porter to merry CarleileThat 'the' had thys hundred yere.

And now wyll we our bowes bend,Into the towne wyll we go,For to delyuer our dere brothèr,That lyeth in care and wo.

Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes,And loked theyr stringes were round,The markett place in mery CarleileThey beset that stound.

And, as they loked them besyde,A paire of new galowes 'they' see,And the justice with a quest of squyers,That judged William hanged to be.

And Cloudeslè lay redy there in a cart,Fast bound both fote and hand;And a stronge rop about hys necke,All readye for to hange.

The justice called to him a ladde,Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have,To take the measure of that yemàn,Therafter to make hys grave.

I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle,As betweyne thys and pryme,He that maketh a grave for mee,Hymselfe may lye therin.

Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice,I will thee hange with my hande.Full wel herd this his brethren two,There styll as they dyd stande.

Then Cloudeslè cast his eyen asyde,And saw hys 'brethren twaine'At a corner of the market place,Redy the justice for to slaine.

I se comfort, sayd Cloudeslè,Yet hope I well to fare,If I might have my handes at wyllRyght lytle wolde I care.

Then spake good Adam BellTo Clym of the Clough so free,Brother, se you marke the justyce wel;Lo! yonder you may him se:

And at the shyrife shote I wyllStrongly wyth an arrowe kene;A better shote in mery CarleileThys seven yere was not sene.

They loosed their arrowes both at once,Of no man had they 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 sherife nye hym by;Eyther had his deathes wounde.

All the citezens fast gan flye,They durst no longer abyde:There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee,Where he with ropes lay tyde.

Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne,Hys axe 'from' hys hand he wronge,On eche syde he smote them downe,Hee thought he taryed to long.

Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two,Thys daye let us lyve and die,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.

They fought together as brethren true,Lyke hardy men and bolde,Many a man to the ground they threw,And many a herte made colde.

But when their arrowes were all gon,Men preced to them full fast,They drew theyr swordès then anone,And theyr bowes from them cast.

They went lyghtlye on theyr way,Wyth swordes and buclers round;By that it was mydd of the day,They made many a wound.

There was an out-horne in Carleil blowen,And the belles backwàrd dyd ryng,Many a woman sayde, Alas!And many theyr handes dyd wryng.

The mayre of Carleile forth com was,Wyth hym a ful great route:These yemen dred hym full sore,Of theyr lyves they stode in great 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 Cloudeslee with his bil,Hys bucler he brast in two,Full many a yeman with great evyll,Alas! Treason they cryed for wo.Kepe well the gates fast, they bad,That these traytours therout not go.

But al for nought was that they wrought,For so fast 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 counsellA new porter do ye make.

He threw theyr keys at theyr heads,And bad them well to thryve,And all that letteth any good yemanTo come and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be these good yeman gon to the wodAs lyghtly, as lefe on lynde;The lough and be mery in theyr mode,Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd.

When they came to Englyshe wode,Under the trusty tre,There they found bowes full good,And arrowes full great plentye.

So God me help, sayd Adam Bell,And Clym of the Clough so fre,I would we were in mery Carleile,Before that fayre meynye.

They set them downe, and made good chere,And eate and dranke full well.A second FYT of the wightye yeomen:Another I wyll you tell.