Welcome, wyfe, then fayde Wyllyam,

Under this trufli tre :

I wende yesterday, by fwete faynt John,
Thou fhulde me never have fe.

"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 must fupp withall,

It runneth yet fast on fote.

Then went they downe into a launde,

Thefe noble archares thre;

20

25

30

Eche of them flew a hart of greece,

The best that they cold fe.

Have here the beft, Alyce, my wyfe,
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeflye;

By caufe ye fo bouldly. ftode by me
When I was flayne full nye.

35

Then went they to fuppère

Wyth fuche meate as they had; And thanked God of ther fortune:

They were both mery and glad.

VOL. I.

M

Ver. 19. I had wende. PC. Ver. 20. never had fe. PC.

4.0

And

And when they had fupped well,

Certayne wythouten lease,

Cloudeflè fayd, We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

Thus be thefe yemen to London gone,

As faft as they myght he,

Tyll they came to the kynge's pallàce,

55

Where they woulde nedes be.

And whan they came to the kyngès courte,

Unto the pallace gate,

Of no man wold they aske 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.

60

The

The usher fayde, Yemen, what would ye have? 65

I pray you tell to me:

You myght thus make offycers fhent:

Good fyrs, of whence be ye?

Syr, we be out-lawes of the foreft
Certayne withouten leafe;

And hether we be come to our kyng

To get us a charter of

peace.

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 ye wyll graunt us grace;
For we have fl yne your fat falow dere

In many a fondry place.

What be your nams, then faid our king,

Anone that you tell me?

They fayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,

And Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

Be ye thofe theves, then fayd our kyng,

That men have tolde of to me?

Here to God I make an avowe,

Ye fhal be hanged all thre.

But, good lorde, we beseche you now,
That yee graunt us grace,
Infomuche as frelè to you we comen,

As frelè fro you to paffe,

With fuch weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And y£we lyve this hundreth yere,

We wyll aske you no grace.

Ye fpeake proudly, fayd the kynge;

Ye shall be hanged all thre.

That were great pitye, then fayd the quene,

If any grace myght be.

My lorde, whan I came fyrft into this lande

To be your wedded wyfe,

The fyrst boone that I wold aske,

Ye would graust it me belyfe :

Fr. 111. 119. bowne. PC.

100

105

110

And

And I never afked none tyll now;

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

Then, good my lord, I you befeche,

Thefe yemen graunt ye me.

Madame, ye myght have asked a boone,

That fhuld have been worth them all three. 120

Ye myght have asked towres, and townes,

Parkes and forestes plentè.

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

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

I graunt you grace, then fayd our king,
Wafhe, felos, and to meate go ye.

M 3

Ver. 130. God a mercye. MS.

135

They