Here cometh none in, sayd the porter,

Then Cloudeslè cast his eyen asyde, Be hym that dyed on a tre,

And saw hys brethren twaine Tyll a false th-fe'be hanged up.

At a corner of the market-place, Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

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:

Yet hope I well to fare, An if that we stande long without,

If I might have my hands at wyll Lyk a thefe honge thou shalt be.

Ryght lytle wolde I care. Lo! here we have the kyngès seale :

Then bespake good Adam Bell What, lurden, art thou wode ?

To Clym of the Clough so free : The porter went it had been so,

Brother, se ye marke the justice wel; And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

Lo! yonder ye may him see : Welcome be

And at the sherife shote I wyll lordes seale, he sayde ;

my For that ye shall come in.

Strongly wyth arrowe kene; He opened the gate full shortlye;

A better shote in mery Carleile An euyl openyng for him.

Thys seven yere was not sene. Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell,

They loosed their arrowes both at once, Therof we are full faine;

Of no man had thei dread ; But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,

The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe, How we shall com out agayne.

That both theyr sides gan blede. Had we the keys, sayd Clim of the Clough,

All men voyded, that them stode nye, Ryght wel then should we spede,

When the justice fell to the grounde,

And the sheryf fell hym by;
Then might we come out wel ynough
When e se tyme and nede.

Eyther had his deathes wounde.

All the citizens fast gan Aye,
They called the porter to counsell,

They durst no lenger abyde:
And wrange hys necke in two,
And cast him in a depe dongeon,

There lyghtly they loosed Cloudesle,

Where he with ropes lay tyde. And toke hys keys hym fro.

Wyllyam sterte to an officer of the towne, Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bell,

His axe fro hys hand he wronge, Se, brother, the keys are here,

On eche syde he smote them downe, The worst porter to merry

Carleile

Hym thought he taryed to long.
They have had thys hundred yere.

Wyllyam saide to his brethren two;
And now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,

Thys daye let us lyve and de;

If ever you have nede as I have now, For to delyuer our dere brother,

The same shall you finde by me.
That Iyeth in care and wo.

They shot so well in that tyde,
Then they bent theyr good yewe bowes, Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure,

And loked theyr stringes were sound, That they kept the stretes on orery side ; The markett place in mery

Carleile

That batayle did long endure. They beset that stound.

The fought together as brethren tru, And, as they loked them besyde,

Lyke hardy men and bolde,
A pair of new galowes thei see,

Many a man to the ground they thrue,
And the justice, with a quest of squyers, And many a herte made colde.
Had judged theyr fere to de:

But when their arrowes were all gon,
And Cloudeslè himselfe lay in a carte,

Men preced to them full fast, Fast bound both fote and hand;

They drew their swordes then anone, And a stronge rope about hys necke,

And theyr bowes from them cast. All readye for io hange.

They wenten lyghtlye on theyr way, The justice called to hym a ladde,

With swords and bucklers round: Cloudeslès clothes should he have,

By that it was myd of the day, To take the measure of that yemàn,

They made mani a wound. Therafter to make hys grave.

There was many a nout-horne in Carleile I have sene as great marveile, sayde Cloudesle,

blowen, As betweyne thys and pryme,

And the belles backward did ryng, He that maketh thys grave for me

Many a woman sayde, Alas! Hymselfe may lye herin.

And many theyr handes did wryng. Thou speakest proudli, sayd the justice, The mayre of Carleile forth was com, I shall the hange with my hande.

Wyth hym a full great route : Full well herd this his bretheren two,

These yemen dred him full sore, There styll as they did stande.

Of their loves they stode in doute.

a

ye

"In a nunnery here besyde;

The mayre came armed a full great pace, Herof to speake, said Adam Bell,
With a pollaxe in hys hande;

Iwis it is no bote:
Many a strong man wyth him was,

The meate that we must supp withall,
There in that slowre to stande.

It runneth yet fast on fote.
The mayre smot at Cloudeslè with his bil, Then went they downė into a launde,
Hys bucler he brast in two,

These noble archares thre;
Full many a yeman with great evyll,

Eche of them slew a hart of greece, Alas! they cryed for wo.

The best that they could se. Keepe we the gates fast, they bad,

Have here the best, Alyce my wyfe, That these traytours thereout not go.

Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye; But al for nought was that the wrought,

By cause ye so bouldly stode by me,
For so faste they downe were layde,

When I was slayne full nye.
Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,
Were gotten without, abraide.

Then went they to theyr suppère
Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel,

Wyth suche meate as they had ;

And ihanked God of their fortune,
Myne office I here forsake,

They were both mery and glad.
Andyf you do by my counsell,
A new porter
do make.

And when thei had supped well,
He threw theyr keys at theyre heads,

Certain wythouten lease, And bade them well to thryve,

Cloudeslè sayd, We wyll to our kyng, And all that letteth any good yeman

To get us a charter of peace. To com and comfort his wyfe.

shal be at our sojournyng, Thus be these good yemen gon to the wod, And lyghtly, as lefe on lynde ;

My tow sons shall wyth ber go,

And there they shall abyde.
The lough and be mery in theyre mode,
Theyr foes wer ferr behind.

Myne eldest son shall go wyth me;

For hym have you no care;
And when they came to the old Englishe wode,
Under the trusty tre,

And he shall breng you worde agayn,

How that we all do fare.
There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes full great plentyè.

Thus be these yemen to London gone,
So God me help, sayd Adam Bell,

As fast as they might he*, And Clym of the Clough so fre,

Tyll they came io the kyng's pallàce, I would we were in mery Carleile,

Where they would nedes be. Before that fayre meynè.

And whan they came to the kyngès courte, They set them downe, and made good chere,

Unto the pallace-gate, And eate and dranke full well.

Of no man wold they ask no leave, A Second Fyt of the wighty yeomen :

But boldly went in therat.
Another I wyll you
tell.

The preced prestly, went into the hall,
Part the Third.

Of no man had they dreade :
As they sat in Englyshe wood,

The porter came after, and dyd them call,

And with them gan to chyde.
Under the green-wode tre,
They thought they heard a woman wepe,

The usher sayde, Yemen, what would

have?

ye

I But her they mought not se.

tell to me:

pray you Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce :

You myght thus make offycers shent: That ever I sawe thys daye !

Good syrs, of whence be ye? For nowe is my dere husband slayne : Syr, we be outlawes of the forest, Alas! and well-a-day!

Certayne withouten lease :

And hether we be come to our kyng,
Might I have spoke with his dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,

To get us a charter of peace.
To shew them what hiin befell,

And whan they came before the kyng, My heart were out of payne.

As it was the lawe of the lande, Cloudeslè walk'd a little beside,

They kneled downe without lettyng, Lookt under the green-wood linde,

And eche held up his hand. He was ware of his wife, and children thre,

The sayed, Lord, we beche the here, Full wo in harte and mynde.

That

ye
will

graunt us grace: Welcome, wyfe, then sayd Wyllyam, For we have slayne your fat falow-dere Under this trusti tre:

In many a sondry place. I wende yesterday, by sweete saynt John, What be your nains, then said our kyng, Thou shoulde me verer have see.

Anone that you tell me? “ Now well is me that ye be here,

Thưy said, Adain Bell, Climn of the Clough, My harte is out of wo."

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

* Hie, hasten.

a

Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng, How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, That men have tolde of io me?

And my sherife also ? Here to God I make an avowe,

Syr, they be slayne, without leasynge, Ye shall be hanged all thre.

And many an officer mo. Ye shal be dead without mercy,

Who hath them slayne? sayd the kyng: As I am kynge of this lande.

Anone thou tell to me. He commandeth his officers every one,

Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough, Fast on them to lay hande.

And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè. There they toke these good yemen,

Alas for rewth! then sayd our kynge, And arrested them all thre:

My hart is wonderous sore; So may 1 thryve, said Adam Bell,

I had lever than a thousande pounde, Thys game lyketh not me.

I had known of thys before; But, good lorde, we beseche you now,

For I have graunted them grace, That yee graunt us grace,

And that forthynketh me: Insomuche as frelè to you we comen,

But had I knowen all thys before, As frelè fro you to passe,

They had been hanged all thre. With such weapons as we have here, The kyng he opened the letter anone, Tyll we be out of your place;

Himselfe he read it thro', And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,

And founde how these outlawes had slaine We wyll aske you no grace.

Thre hundred men and mo: Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge ;

Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe, Ye shall be hanged all thre.

And the mayre of Carleile towne; That were great pity, then said the quene, Of all the constables and catchipolles, If any grace myght be.

Alyve were scant left one.
My lorde, when I came fyrst into this lande The baylyes and the bedyls both,
To be your wedded wyfe,

And the sergeaunte of the law,
The fyrst boone that I wold aske,

And forty fosters of the fe, Ye'wold graunt it me belyfe :

These outlawes had yslaw. And I never asked none tyll now;

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere; Then, good lorde, graunt it me.

Of all they chose the best; Now ask it, madam, said the kyoge,

So perelous outlawes as they were,

Walked not by easte or west. And graunted it shall be.

When the kyng this letter had red, Then, good my lord, I you beseche,

In harte he syghed sore: These yemen graunt ye me.

Take the tables anone, he bad, Madame, ye myght have asked a boone

For 1 may eat no more. That should have been worth them all three.

The kyng called hys best archars, Ye myght have asked towres and townes, To the buttes with him to go: Parkes and forests plentè ;

I wyl see these felowes shote, he sagd, But none soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd ; In the north have wrought this wo. Nor none so lefe to me.

The kynges bowmen busket them blyre, Madame, sith it is your desire,

And the quenes archers also : Your asking graunted shal be;

So dyd these thre wyghtye yemen; But I had lever have geven you

With them they thought to go. Good market townes thre.

There tvise or thryse they shote about, The quene was a glad woman,

For to assay theyr hande; And sayde, Lord, gramarcyè;

There was no shote those yemen shot I dare undertake for them

That any prycke* myght stand. That true men they shal be.

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudeslè ·

By him that for me dyed,
But, good my lord, speke some mery word,
That comfort they may se.

I hold him never no good archar,

That shoteth at buites so wyde.
I graunt you grace, then sayd our kyng,
Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.

“ At what a butte now wold ye shote,

I pray thee tell to me?" They had not setten but a whyle

At such a but, syr, he says,
Certayne without lesynge,

As men use in my countrè.
There came messengers out of the north
With letters to our kyng.

Wyllyam went into a fyeld,

With his two bretherène :
And whan they came before the kynge, There they set up two hasell roddes,
They knelt downe on theyr kne;

Full twenty score betwene.
Sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well,
Or Carleile in the north cuntrè.

* Mark.

up

a

a

a

I hold him an archar, said Cloudeslè, And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene, That yonder wand cleveth in two.

By God and by my fay; Here is none suche, sayd the kyng,

Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, Nor none that can so do.

No man shall say the nay. I shall assaye, sir, sayd Cloudesly,

Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman Or that I farther go.

Of clothyng, and of fe : Cloudesly with a bearying arowe

And thy two breathren, yemen of my chambre, Clave ihe wand in two.

For they are so semely to se. Thou art the best archer, then said the king, Your sonne, for he is tendre of age, For sothe, that ever I see.

Of my wyne-seller he shall be: And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam,

And when he cometh to man's estate, I wyll do more mastery.

Shall better avaunced be. I have a sonne is seren yeare olde,

And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife, He is to me full deare;

Me longeth her sore to se ; I wyll hym tye to a stake;

She shall be my chefe gentlewoman, All shall se, that be here;

To govern my nurserye. And lay an apple upon hys head,

The

yemen thanketh them courteously: And go syxe score hym fro,

To some bishop wyl we wend, And I my selfe with a broad arów

Of all the synnes that we have done, Shall cleave the apple in two.

To be assoyld at his hand. Now haste the, then said the king;

So forth be gone these good yemen, By hym that dyed on a tre,

As fast as they might be; But yf thou do not as thou hast sayde, And after came and dwelled with the kynge, Hanged shalt thou be.

And dyed good men all three. An thou touche his head or gowne,

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen, In syght that men may se,

God send them eternal blysse ; By all the sayrtes that be in heaven,

And all that with a hand-bowe shoteth, I shall hange you all thre.

That/of heaven they never mysse. Amen. That I have promised, said Wyllyam, That wyll 'I never forsake.

$106. Song. Willow, willow, willou. And there even before the kynge In the earth he drove a stake:

It is from the following stanzas that Shakspeare has

taken his song of the Willow in his Othello, A. 4. s.3. And bound thereto his eldest sonne,

though somewhat varied, and applied by him to a And bad hym stand styll thereat;

female character. He makes Desdemona introduee And turned the childes face him fro,

it in this pathetic and affecting manner: Because he should not sterte.

“ My mother had a maid call’d Barbarie ;

She was in love; and he she lov'd forsook her,
An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent;

And she prov'd mad. She had a song of Willow;

An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune : Syxe score paces they were out mete,

And she dyed singing it." And thether Cloudeslè went.

A poor soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree, There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,

O willow, willow, willow! Hys bowe was great and longe ;

With his hand on his bosom, his head on his He set that arrowe in his bowe,

knee; That was both styffe and stronge.

O willow, willow, willow ! He prayed the people that wer there,

O willow, willow, willow ! That they all still wold stand,

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland! For he that shõteth for such a wager

He sighed in his singing, and after each grone, Behoveth a stedfast hand.

O willow, &c.

I am dead to all pleasure, my true love is gone; Much people prayed for Cloudeslè,

O willow, &c.
That his lyfe saved myght be;
And whan he made him redy to shote,

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
There was many a weeping ee.

My love is turned ; untrue she doth prove :

O willow, &c.
But Cloudeslè cleft the apple in twaine, She renders me nothing but hạte for my

love. His sonne he did not nee.

O willow, &c. Over Gods forebode, sayde the kynge,

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. That thou shold shote at me.

me (cried he) ye lovers, each one ; I geve thee eightene pence a day,

O willow, &c. And my bowe shalt thou bere,

Her heart's hard as marble,sherues not my mone. And over all the north countrè,

O willow, &c. I make the chyfe rydère.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

a

a

mones :

a

name.

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept | Q willow, willow, willow! the willow garlànd, apace;

O willow, &c. O willow, &c.

A signe of her falsenesse, before me doth stand: The salt tears fell from him, which drowned O willow, &c. his face.

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

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

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

() willow, &c. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The salt tears fell from him, which softened Ingrave where I rest mee, hang this to the view, the stones.

O willow, &c. O willow, &c.

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

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

With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, She was borne to be faire; I to die for her

O willow, &c. love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sing, () the greene willow, &c. Let Love no more boast him in palace or bower;

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,

O willow, &c. O willow, &c.

Cause once well I lov'd her, and honourd her For women are trothles, and Aotein an houre. O willow, &c.

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

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. But what helps complaining? In vain I com- The name of her sounded so sweet in mine eare,

plain : O willow, &c.

O willow, &c. I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine. It rais'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare. O willow, &c.

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

Sing, () the greene willow, &c. Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me;

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe ;

() willow, &c. O willow, &c. He that plaines of his false love, mine's falser It now brings me anguish, then brought me than she.

reliefe. O willow, &c.

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

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The willow wreath weare I, since my love did Farewell, faire false-hearted : plaints end with fleet;

my breath! () willow, &c.

O willow, willow, willow ! A garland for lovers forsaken most meete.

Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause O willow, &c.

of my death. Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!

O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
Part the Second.
Lowe layd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine,
O willow, willow, willow!

§ 107. Barbara Allen's Cruelty. Against her too cruell, still, still I complaine, O willow, willow, willow !

IN Scarlet towne, where I was borne, O willow, willow, willow !

There was a fair maid dwellin, Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd! Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye! O love too injurious, to wound my poor heart !

Her name was Barbara Allen.
O willow, &c.

All in the merrye month of Maye,
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart, When greene buds they were swellin,
O willow, &c.

Young, Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, Sing, O the greene willow, &c,

For love of Barbara Allen,