Syr, we be out-lawes of the foreft

Certayne withouten lease,

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 flayne 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.

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Be

ye thofe theves, then fayd our kyng,
That men have tolde of to me?

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There they toke these good yemen,

And arefted 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 frelè to you we comen,

As frelè fro you to passe,

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

We wyll aske you no grace.

Ye speake proudly, fayd the kynge;

Ye fhall 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 afke,

Ye would graunt it me belyfe:

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105

110

And I never afked none tyll now
Then, good lorde, graunt it me.

Nowe

Ver. 111. 119. bcwne. P.C.

Nowe aske it, madam, fayd the kynge,
And graunted it fhall be.

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Then, good my lord, I you befeche,

These yemen graunt ye me.

Madame, ye myght have afked a boone,

That fhuld have been worth them all three. 120

Ye myght have asked towres, and townes,

Parkes and foreftes plentè.

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

But good my lord, fpeke fom mery word,

fe.

That comfort they may
Į graunt you grace, then fayd our king,
Wafhe, felos, and to meate go ye.

Ver. 139. God a mereye. MS.

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They

They had not fetten but a whyle
Certayne without lefynge,

There came meffengers out of the north
With letters to our kyng.

And whan the 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 fherife alfo ?

Who hath them flayne, fayd the kyng;

Anone thou tell to me?

Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,

And Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

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Alas for rewth! then fayd our kynge;
My hart is wonderous fore;

The kyng hee opened the letter anone,

Himfelfe he red it tho,

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

Fyrft the justice, and the fheryfe,
And the mayre of Carleile towne ;

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Of all the constables 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 chose the best;

So perelous out-lawes, as they were,

Walked not by eafte nor weft.

When the kynge this letter had red,
In harte he fyghed fore:

Take up the tables anone he bad,

For I may eate no more.

The kyng called hys beft archars
To the buttes with hym to go:

I wyll fe these felowes fhote, he fayd,
In the north have wrought this wo.

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The