THE BOOK
OF
BRAVE OLD BALLADS.
Illustrated with Sixteen Coloured Engravings,
FROM DRAWINGS BY JOHN GILBERT.
"I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet."—Sir Philip Sidney.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER,
WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. OGDEN AND CO.,
172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.
THE FROLICSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne[1]
The Childe of Elle[17]
Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly—
Part the First[30]
Part the Second[43]
Part the Third[55]
Sir Lancelot du Lake[74]
The Frolicksome Duke; or, The Tinker's Good Fortune[82]
The more Modern Ballad of Chevy Chase[89]
King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tamworth[106]
The Heir of Linne—
Part the First[118]
Part the Second[124]
Sir Andrew Barton—
Part the First[133]
Part the Second[142]
Brave Lord Willoughbey[155]
King John and the Abbot of Canterbury[162]
Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar[170]
Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale[181]
Valentine and Ursine—
Part the First[188]
Part the Second[198]
The King and the Miller of Mansfield—
Part the First[214]
Part the Second[222]
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
1. Sir Guy of Gisborne.
He took Sir Guy's head by the hair,
And stuck it upon his bow's end[11]
2. The Childe of Elle.
Pardon, my lord and father dear,
This fair young knight and me[28]
3. Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, &c.
Cloudesly bent a right good bow,
That was of a trusty tree[36]
4. They kneeled down without hindrance,
And each held up his hand[60]
5. Sir Lancelot Du Lake.
She brought him to a river side
And also to a tree[76]
6. The Frolicksome Duke. ([Frontispiece.])
Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,
Till at last knights and squires, they on him did wait[84]
7. Chevy Chase.
Then leaving life, Earl Percy took
The dead man by the hand[99]
8. King Edward and the Tanner.
The tanner he pull'd, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummel fast[114]
9. The Heir of Linne.
And he pull'd forth three bags of gold,
And laid them down upon the board[130]
10. Sir Andrew Barton.
They boarded then his noble ship,
They boarded it with might and main[150]
11. The Brave Lord Willoughbey.
They kneeled on the ground,
And praised God devoutly[157]
12. The Abbot of Canterbury.
Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he met his shepherd a going to fold[165]
13. Robin Hood and the Curtal Friar.
The friar took Robin Hood on his back,
Deep water he did bestride[174]
14. The Marriage of Allen-a-Dale.
He ask'd them seven times in the church,
Lest three times should not be enough[187]
15. Valentine and Ursine.
And kneeling down upon his knee,
Presents him to the king[197]
16. The Miller of Mansfield.
Well, quo' the miller's wife, young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodgèd shall be[218]
THE BOY'S
BOOK OF BALLADS.
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.
The woodweel[3] sang, and would not cease,
Sitting upon the spray,
So loud, he wakened Robin Hood,
In the greenwood where he lay.
Now by my faith, said jolly Robin,
A sweaven[4] I had this night;
I dreamt me of two wight[5] yeomen
That fast with me can fight.
Methought they did me beat and bind,
And took my bow me fro';
If I be Robin alive in this land,
I'll be wroken[6] on them two.
Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John,
As the wind that blows o'er a hill;
For if it be never so loud this night,
To-morrow it may be still.
Busk ye, bowne[7] ye, my merry men all,
And John shall go with me,
For I'll go seek yon wight yeomen,
In the greenwood where they be.
Then they cast on their gowns of green,
And took their bows each one,
And they away to the green forèst,
A shooting forth are gone;
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest be,
There were they aware of a wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.
A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Of many a man the bane;
And he was clad in his capull[8] hide
Top and tail and mane.
Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,
Under this tree so green,
And I will go to yon wight yeoman
To know what he doth mean.
Ah! John, by me thou settest no store,
And that I fairly find;
How oft send I my men before,
And tarry myself behind?
It is no cunning a knave to ken,
An[9] a man but hear him speak;
An it were not for bursting of my bow,
John, I thy head would break.
As often words they breeden bale,[10]
So they parted, Robin and John;
And John is gone to Barnesdale:
The gates[11] he knoweth each one.
But when he came to Barnesdale,
Great heaviness there he had,
For he found two of his own fellows
Were slain both in a glade.
And Scarlett he was flying a-foot
Fast over stock and stone,
For the proud sheriff with seven score men
Fast after him is gone.
One shot now I will shoot, quoth John,
(With Christe his might and main;)
I'll make yon fellow that flies so fast,
To stop he shall be fain.
Then John bent up his long bende-bow,
And fettled[12] him to shoot:
The bow was made of tender bough,
And fell down to his foot.
Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,
That ere thou grew on a tree;
For now this day thou art my bale,
My boote[13] when thou shouldst be.
His shoot it was but loosely shot,
Yet flew not the arrow in vain,
For it met one of the sheriff's men,—
Good William-a-Trent was slain.
It had been better for William-a-Trent
To have been a-bed with sorrow,
Than to be that day in the greenwood glade
To meet with Little John's arrow.
But as it is said, when men be met,
Five can do more than three,
The sheriff hath taken Little John,
And bound him fast to a tree.
Thou shalt be drawn by dale and down,
And hang'd high on a hill.
But thou mayst fail of thy purpose, quoth John,
If it be Christe his will.
Let us leave talking of Little John,
And think of Robin Hood,
How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
Where under the leaves he stood.
Good morrow, good fellow, said Robin so fair,
Good morrow, good fellow, quoth he:
Methinks by this bow thou bear'st in thy hand,
A good archer thou shouldst be.
I am wilful[14] of my way, quo' the yeoman,
And of my morning tide.
I'll lead thee through the wood, said Robin;
Good fellow, I'll be thy guide.
I seek an outlaw, the stranger said,
Men call him Robin Hood;
Rather I'd meet with that proud outlaw
Than forty pounds so good.
Now come with me, thou wighty yeoman,
And Robin thou soon shalt see:
But first let us some pastime find
Under the greenwood tree.
First let us some mastery make
Among the woods so even,
We may chance to meet with Robin Hood
Here at some unset[15] steven.
They cut them down two summer shoggs,[16]
That grew both under a briar,
And set them threescore rod, in twain,
To shoot the pricks[17] y-fere.[18]
Lead on, good fellow, quoth Robin Hood,
Lead on, I do bid thee.
Nay by my faith, good fellow, he said,
My leader thou shalt be.
The first time Robin shot at the prick,
He miss'd but an inch it fro';
The yeoman he was an archer good,
But he could never shoot so.
The second shoot had the wighty yeoman,
He shot within the garlànd;[19]
But Robin he shot far better than he,
For he clave the good prick-wand.
A blessing upon thy heart, he said;
Good fellow, thy shooting is good;
For an thy heart be as good as thy hand,
Thou wert better than Robin Hood.
Now tell me thy name, good fellow, said he,
Under the leaves of lyne.[20]
Nay, by my faith, quoth bold Robin,
Till thou have told me thine.
I dwell by dale and down, quoth he,
And Robin to take I'm sworn;
And when I am called by my right name,
I am Guy of good Gisbòrne.
My dwelling is in this wood, says Robin,
By thee I set right nought:
I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,
Whom thou so long hast sought.
He that had neither been kith nor kin,
Might have seen a full fair sight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both brown and bright.
To see how these yeomen together they fought
Two hours of a summer's day:
Yet neither Robin Hood nor sir Guy
Them fettled to fly away.
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
Robin was reachles[21] of a root,
And stumbled at that tide;
And Guy was quick and nimble withal,
And hit him o'er the left side.
Ah dear Lady, said Robin Hood, thou,
Thou art both mother and may',[22]
I think it was never man's destiny
To die before his day.
Robin thought on our Lady dear,
And soon leapt up again,
And straight he came with a backward stroke,
And he sir Guy hath slain.
He took sir Guy's head by the hair,
And stuck it upon his bow's-end:
Thou hast been a traitor all thy life,
Which thing must have an end.
Robin pull'd forth an Irish knife,
And nick'd sir Guy in the face,
That he was never o' woman born,
Could tell whose head it was.
Says, Lie there, lie there now, sir Guy,
And with me be not wroth;
If thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,
Thou shalt have the better cloth.
Robin did off his gown of green,
And on sir Guy did throw,
And he put on that capull hide,
That clad him top to toe.
The bow, the arrows, and little horn,
Now with me I will bear;
For I will away to Barnèsdale,
To see how my men do fare.
Robin Hood set Guy's horn to his mouth,
And a loud blast in it did blow,
That beheard the sheriff of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe.[23]
Hearken, hearken, said the sheriff,
I hear now tidings good,
For yonder I hear sir Guy's horn blow,
And he hath slain Robin Hood.
Yonder I hear sir Guy's horn blow,
It blows so well in tide,
And yonder comes that wighty yeoman,
Clad in his capull hide.
Come hither, come hither, thou good sir Guy,
Ask what thou wilt of me.
O I will none of thy gold, said Robin,
Nor I will none of thy fee.
But now I have slain the master, he says,
Let me go strike the knave;
For this is all the reward I ask;
Nor no other will I have.
Thou art a madman, said the sheriff,
Thou shouldst have had a knight's fee:
But seeing thy asking hath been so bad,
Well granted it shall be.
When Little John heard his master speak,
Well knew he it was his steven:[24]
Now shall I be loosed, quoth Little John,
With Christe his might in heaven.
Fast Robin he hied him to Little John,
He thought to loose him belive;[25]
The sheriff and all his company
Fast after him did drive.
Stand back, stand back, said Robin;
Why draw you me so near?
It was never the use in our country,
One's shrift another should hear.
But Robin pull'd forth an Irish knife,
And loosed John hand and foot,
And gave him sir Guy's bow into his hand,
And bade it be his boote.
Then John he took Guy's bow in his hand,
His bolts and arrows each one:
When the sheriff saw Little John bend his bow,
He fettled him to be gone.
Towards his house in Nottingham town,
He fled full fast away;
And so did all the company:
Not one behind would stay.
But he could neither run so fast,
Nor away so fast could ride,
But Little John with an arrow so broad,
He shot him into the back-side.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Woods.
[2] Shining.
[3] A kind of thrush.
[4] Dream.
[5] Strong.
[6] Revenged.
[7] Make ready.
[8] Horse-hide.
[9] If.
[10] Mischief.
[11] Ways.
[12] Made ready.
[13] Help.
[14] Missing.
[15] Unexpectedly.
[16] Twigs.
[17] Marks.
[18] Together.
[19] A ring round the prick.
[20] Lime.
[21] Careless.
[22] Maid.
[23] Little hill.
[24] Voice.
[25] Immediately.
The Childe[26] of Elle.
The Childe of Elle to his garden went,
And stood at his garden-pale,
When, lo! he beheld fair Emmeline's page
Come tripping down the dale.
The Childe of Elle he hied him thence,
I wist he stood not still,
And soon he met fair Emmeline's page
Come climbing up the hill.
Now Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh tell me how does thy lady gay,
And what may thy tidings be?
My lady she is all woe-begone,
And the tears they fall from her eyne;[28]
And aye she laments the deadly feud
Between her house and thine.
And here she sends thee a silken scarf
Bedewed with many a tear,
And bids thee sometimes think on her,
Who lovèd thee so dear.
And here she sends thee a ring of gold,
The last boon thou may'st have,
And bids thee wear it for her sake,
When she is laid in grave.
For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soon must she be,
For her father hath chose her a new love,
And forbid her to think of thee.
Her father hath brought her a carlish[29] knight,
Sir John of the north countrey,
And within three days she must him wed,
Or he vows he will her slay.
Now hie thee back, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy lady from me,
And tell her that I, her own true love,
Will die, or set her free.
Now hie thee back, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair lady know,
This night will I be at her bower-window,
Betide me weal or woe.
The boy he tripped, the boy he ran,
He neither stint[30] nor stay'd
Until he came to fair Emmeline's bower,
When, kneeling down, he said,
O lady, I've been with thine own true love,
And he greets thee well by me;
This night will he be at thy bower-window,
And die or set thee free.
Now day was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleep,
All save the lady Emmeline,
Who sate in her bower to weep:
And soon she heard her true love's voice
Low whispering at the wall;
Awake, awake, my dear lady,
'Tis I, thy true love, call.
Awake, awake, my lady dear,
Come, mount this fair palfrey:
This ladder of ropes will let thee down,
I'll carry thee hence away.
Now nay, now nay, thou gentle knight,
Now nay, this may not be;
For aye should I tint[31] my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend[32] with thee.
O lady, thou with a knight so true
May'st safely wend alone;
To my lady mother I will thee bring,
Where marriage shall make us one.
My father he is a baron bold,
Of lineage proud and high;
And what would he say if his daughter
Away with a knight should fly?
Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meat should do him no good,
Till he had slain thee, Childe of Elle,
And seen thy dear heart's blood.
O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,
And a little space him fro',
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could do.
O lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,
And once without this wall,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befall.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe:
At length he seized her lily-white hand,
And down the ladder he drew:
And thrice he clasped her to his breast,
And kissed her tenderly:
The tears that fell from her fair eyes,
Ran like the fountain free.
He mounted himself on his steed so tall,
And her on a fair palfrey,
And slung his bugle about his neck,
And roundly they rode away.
All this beheard her own damsel,
In her bed wherein she lay;
Quoth she, My lord shall know of this,
So I shall have gold and fee.
Awake, awake, thou baron bold!
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fled with the Childe of Elle,
To do the deed of shame.
The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merry men all:
And come thou forth, Sir John the knight,
Thy lady is carried to thrall.
Fair Emmeline scarce had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the town,
When she was aware of her father's men
Come galloping over the down:
And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countrey:
Now stop, now stop, thou false traitor,
Nor carry that lady away.
For she is come of high lineage,
And was of a lady born,
And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's son,
To carry her hence to scorn.
Now loud thou liest, Sir John the knight,
Now thou dost lie of me;
A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
So never did none by thee.
But light now down, my lady fair,
Light down, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knight
Do try this arduous deed.
But light now down, my dear lady,
Light down, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight
Do try our valour's force.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline
And aye her heart was woe,
While 'twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blow.
The Childe of Elle he fought so well,
As his weapon he waved amain,
That soon he had slain the carlish knight,
And laid him upon the plain.
And now the baron and all his men
Full fast approached nigh:
Ah! what may lady Emmeline do!
'Twere now no boote[33] to fly.
Her lover he put his horn to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soon he saw his own merry men
Come riding over the hill.
Now hold thy hand, thou bold baron,
I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts,
Fast knit in true love's band.
Thy daughter I have dearly loved
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirk
Hath freely said we may.
O give consent she may be mine,
And bless a faithful pair:
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lineage fair:
My mother she was an earl's daughter,
And a noble knight my sire—
The baron he frowned, and turned away
With mickle[34] dole and ire.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And did all trembling stand:
At length she sprang upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
Pardon, my lord and father dear,
This fair young knight and me:
Trust me, but for the carlish knight,
I never had fled from thee.
Oft have you called your Emmeline
Your darling and your joy;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroy.
The baron he stroked his dark-brown cheek,
And turned his head aside
To wipe away the starting tear
He proudly strove to hide.
In deep revolving thought he stood,
And mused a little space:
Then raised fair Emmeline from the ground,
With many a fond embrace.
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
Here, take her, Childe of Elle, he said,
And gave her lily hand;
Here, take my dear and only child,
And with her half my land:
Thy father once mine honour wronged
In days of youthful pride;
Do thou the injury repair
In fondness for thy bride.
And as thou love her, and hold her dear,
Heaven prosper thee and thine:
And now my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovely Emmeline.
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Knight.
[27] Bedeck'd.
[28] Eyes.
[29] Churlish.
[30] Stopped.
[31] Lose.
[32] Go.
[33] Good.
[34] Much grief.
Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough,[35] and William of Cloudesly.
PART THE FIRST.
To raise the deer out of their den;
Such sights hath oft been seen;
As by three yeomen of the north countrèy,
By them it is I mean.
The one of them hight[36] Adam Bell,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The third was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good enough.
They were outlawed for venison,
These yeomen everyone;
They swore together upon a day,
To English wood to be gone.
Now lithe and listen, gentlemen,
That of mirth loveth to hear:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.[37]
William was the wedded man,
Much more then was his care:
He said to his brethren upon a day,
To Carlisle he would fare,[38]
For to speak with fair Alice his wife,
And with his children three.
By my troth, said Adam Bell,
Not by the counsel of me:
For if ye go to Carlisle, brother,
And from this wild wood wend,
If that the justice should you take,
Your life were at an end.
If that I come not to-morrow, brother,
By pryme[39] to you again,
Trust you then that I am taken
Or else that I am slain.
He took his leave of his brethren two,
And to Carlisle he is gone:
There he knock'd at his own window
Shortly and anon.
Where be you, fair Alice, he said,
My wife and children three?
Lightly let in thine own husbànd,
William of Cloudesly.
Alas! then said fair Alice,
And sighed wondrous sore,
This place hath been beset for you
This half a year and more.
Now am I here, said Cloudesly,
I would that in I were:
Now fetch us meat and drink enough,
And let us make good cheer.
She fetched him meat and drink plenty,
Like a true wedded wife;
And pleased him with that she had,
Whom she loved as her life.
There lay an old wife in that place,
A little beside the fire,
Which William had found of charity
More than seven year.
Up she rose, and forth she goes,
Evil may she speed therefore;
For she had set no foot on ground
In seven year before.
She went unto the justice hall,
As fast as she could hie:
This night, she said, is come to town
William of Cloudesly.
Thereat the justice was full fayne,[40]
And so was the sheriff also:
Thou shalt not travel hither, dame, for nought;
Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go.
They gave to her a right good gown
Of scarlet, and of grain:[41]
She took the gift, and home she went,
And couched her down again.
They raised the town of merry Carlisle
In all the haste they can;
And came thronging to William's house,
As fast as they might ran.
There they beset that good yeomàn
Round about on every side:
William heard great noise of folks
That thither-ward fast hied.
Alice opened a back windòw
And looked all about,
She was 'ware of the justice and sheriff both,
And with them a great rout.
Alas! treason, cried Alice,
Ever woe may thou be!
Go into my chamber, husband, she said,
Sweet William of Cloudesly.
He took his sword and his buckler,
His bow and his children three,
And went into his strongest chamber,
Where he thought surest to be.
Fair Alice, like a lover true,
Took a pollaxe in her hand:
Said, He shall die that cometh in
This door, while I may stand.
Cloudesly bent a right good bow,
That was of a trusty tree,
He smote the justice on the breast,
That his arrow burst in three.
WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.
A curse on his heart, said William,
This day thy coat put on!
If it had been no better than mine,
That had gone near thy bone.
Yield thee, Cloudesly, said the justice,
And thy bow and thy arrows thee fro'.
A curse on his heart, said fair Alice,
That my husband counselleth so.
Set fire on the house, said the sheriff,
Since it will no better be,
And burn we therein William, he said,
His wife and children three.
They fired the house in many a place,
The fire flew up on high:
Alas! then cried fair Alice,
I see we here shall die.
William opened a back window,
That was in his chamber hi',
And there with sheets he did let down
His wife and children three.
Have you here my treasure, said William,
My wife and my children three:
For Christ's love do them no harm,
But wreak you all on me.
William shot so wondrous well,
Till his arrows were all ago',
And the fire so fast upon him fell
That his bowstring burnt in two.
The sparkles burnt and fell upon
Good William of Cloudesly:
Then was he a woeful man, and said,
This is a coward's death to me.
Liever had I, said William,
With my sword in the route to run,
Than here among mine enemies wode[42]
Thus cruelly to burn.
He took his sword and his buckler,
And among them all he ran:
Where the people were most in prece,[43]
He smote down many a man.
There might no man abide his strokes,
So fiercely on them he ran:
Then they threw windows, and doors on him,
And so took that good yeomàn.
There they him bound both hand and foot,
And in deep dungeon him cast:
Now Cloudesly, said the justice,
Thou shalt be hanged in haste.
A pair of new gallows, said the sheriff,
Now shall I for thee make;
And the gates of Carlisle shall be shut:
No man shall come in thereat.
Then shall not help Clym of the Clough,
Nor yet shall Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand more,
Nor all the devils in hell.
Early in the morning the justice uprose,
To the gates first gan he to gon',
And commanded to be shut full close
Lightly every one.
Then went he to the market place,
As fast as he could hie;
There a pair of new gallows he set up
Beside the pillory.
A little boy among them asked,
What meaneth that gallows-tree?
They said to hang a good yeoman,
Called William of Cloudesly.
That little boy was the town swine-herd,
And kept fair Alice's swine;
Oft he had seen William in the wood,
And given him there to dine.
He went out at a crevice in the wall,
And lightly to the wood did gon';
There met he with these wight yeomen
Shortly and anon.
Alas! then said that little boy,
Ye tarry here all too long;
Cloudesly is taken, and dampned[44] to death,
All ready for to hong.[45]
Alas! then said good Adam Bell,
That ever we see this day!
He had better with us have tarried,
So oft as we did him pray.
He might have dwelt in green forest,
Under the shadows green,
And have kept both him and us at rest,
Out of all trouble and teen.[46]
Adam bent a right good bow,
A great hart soon he had slain;
Take that, child, he said, to thy dinner,
And bring me mine arrow again.
Now go we hence, said these wight yeomen,
Tarry we no longer here;
We shall him borrow[47] by God his grace,
Though we buy it full dear.
To Carlisle went these bold yeomen,
All in the morning of May.
Here is a FYT[48] of Cloudesly,
And another is for to say.
PART THE SECOND.
Alas! then said good Adam Bell,
That ever we were made men!
These gates he shut so wondrous fast,
We may not come therein.
Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,
With a wile we will us in bring;
Let us say we be messengers,
Straight come now from our king.
Adam said, I have a letter written,
Now let us wisely work,
We will say we have the king's seal;
I hold the porter no clerk.
Then Adam Bell beat on the gates
With strokes great and strong,
The porter marvelled who was there,
And to the gates he throng.[49]
Who is there now, said the porter,
That maketh all this knocking?
We be two messengers, quoth Clym of the Clough,
Be come right from our king.
We have a letter, said Adam Bell,
To the justice we must it bring;
Let us in our message to do,
That we may again to the king.
Here cometh none in, said the porter,
By him that died on a tree,
Till a false thief be hanged up,
Called William of Cloudesly.
Then spake the good yeoman, Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary free,
And if that we stand long without,
Like a thief hanged thou shalt be.
Lo! here we have the king's seal:
What, Lurden,[50] art thou wood?[51]
The porter thought it had been so,
And lightly did off his hood.
Welcome is my lord's seal, he said;
For that ye shall come in.
He opened the gate full shortly;
An evil opening for him.
Now are we in, said Adam Bell,
Whereof we are full fain;
But Christ he knowes, that harrowed hell,
How we shall come out again.
Had we the keys, said Clym of the Clough,
Right well then should we speed,
Then might we come out well enough
When we see time and need.
They called the porter to counsel,
And wrung his neck in two,
And cast him in a deep dungeon,
And took his keys him fro'.
Now am I porter, said Adam Bell,
See, brother, the keys are here,
The worst porter to merry Carlisle
That they had this hundred year.
And now will we our bows bend,
Into the town will we go,
For to deliver our dear brother,
That lyeth in care and woe.