Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Alice had come to Inglewood to make known to Adam and Clim what had befallen her husband, but naturally had not found them, since they were already gone to William’s rescue. A woman is heard weeping, and Cloudesly, taking a turn to see what this may mean, comes upon his wife and three boys. Very sad she is, but the sight of her husband makes all well. Three harts are killed for supper, and William gives Alice the best for standing so boldly by him. The outlaws determine to go to the king to get a charter of peace. William takes his eldest son with him, leaving Alice and the two younger at a nunnery. The three brethren make their way to the king’s presence, without leave of porter or announcement by usher, kneel down and hold up their hands, and ask grace for having slain the king’s deer. The king inquires their names, and when he hears who they are says they shall all be hanged, and orders them into arrest. Adam Bell once more asks grace, since they have come to the king of their free will, or else that they may go, with such weapons as they have, when they will ask no grace in a hundred years. The king replies again that all three shall be hanged. Hereupon the queen reminds the king that when she was wedded he had promised to grant the first boon she should ask; she had hitherto asked nothing, but now begs the three yeomen’s lives. The king must needs consent.

Immediately thereafter comes information that the outlaws had slain the justice and the sheriff, the mayor of Carlisle, all the constables and catchpolls, the sergeants of the law, forty foresters, and many more. This makes the king so sad that he can eat no more; but he wishes to see these fellows shoot that have wrought all this woe. The king’s archers and the queen’s go to the butts with the three yeomen, and the outlaws hit everything that is set up. Cloudesly holds the butts too wide for a good archer, and the three set up two hazel rods, twenty score paces apart; he is a good archer, says Cloudesly, that cleaves one of these. The king says no man can do it; but Cloudesly cleaves the wand. The king declares him the best archer he ever saw. William says he will do a greater mastery: he will lay an apple on his son’s head (a boy of seven), and split it in two at six score paces. The king bids him make haste so to do: if he fail, he shall be hanged; and if he touch the boy, the outlaws shall be hanged, all three. Cloudesly ties the child to a stake, turning its face from him, sets an apple on its head, and, begging the people to remain quiet, cleaves the apple in two. The king gives Cloudesly eighteen pence a day as his bowman, and makes him chief rider over the North Country. The queen adds twelve pence, makes him a gentleman of cloth and fee and his two brothers yeomen of her chamber, gives the boy a place in her wine-cellar, and appoints Alice her chief gentlewoman and governess of her nursery. The yeomen express their thanks, go to Rome [to some bishop, in the later copy] to be absolved of their sins, live the rest of their lives with the king, and die good men, all three.

The rescue of Robin Hood by Little John and Much in No 117, sts 61–82, has a general resemblance to the rescue of Cloudesly by Adam and Clim in this ballad, st. 52 ff. The rescue of Will Stutly has also some slight similarity: cf. No 141, sts 26–33, and 70, 79–81, of ‘Adam Bell.’

The shooting of an apple from a boy’s head, sts 151–62, is, as is well known, a trait in several German and Norse traditions, and these particular feats, as well as everything resembling them, have been a subject of eager discussion in connection with the apocryphal history of William Tell.

The Icelandic saga of Dietrich of Bern, compiled, according to the prologue, from Low German tales and ballads, narrates that young Egil, a brother of Weland the Smith, came to Nidung’s court with the fame of being the best bowman in the world. Nidung, to prove his skill, required Egil [on pain of death] to shoot an apple from the head of his son, a child of three years, only one trial being permitted. Egil split the apple in the middle. Though allowed but one chance, Egil had provided himself with three arrows. When asked why, he answered the king that the two others were meant for him, if he had hit the boy with the first. Saga Ðiðriks Konungs af Bern, ed. Unger, c. 75, p. 90 f; Peringskiöld, Wilkina Saga, c. 27, p. 63 f; Raszmann, Die Deutsche Heldensage, II, 247 f; the Swedish rifacimento, Sagan om Didrik af Bern, ed. Hyltén-Cavallius, c. 73, p. 54. The Icelandic saga was composed about 1250.

Saxo, writing about 1200, relates nearly the same incidents of Toko, a man in the service of King Harold Bluetooth († c. 985). Toko, while drinking with comrades, had bragged that he was good enough bowman to hit the smallest apple on top of a stick at the first shot. This boast was carried to the king, who exacted a fulfilment of it on pain of death; but the apple was to be set on the head of Toko’s son. The father exhorted the boy to stand perfectly still, and, to make this easier, turned the child’s face from the direction of the shot; then, laying out three arrows from his quiver, executed the required feat. When the king asked why he had taken three arrows, Toko replied, To wreak the miss of the first with the points of the others. Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, Book x, ed. Holder, p. 329 f.

The White Book of Obwalden, written about 1470, informs us that Tell, a good archer, having refused to bow to Gesler’s hat, was ordered by the landvogt to shoot an apple from the head of one of his children. Unable to resist, Tell laid-by a second arrow, shot the apple from the child’s head, and being asked why he had reserved the other arrow, replied that if the first had missed he would have shot Gesler or one of his men with the second.[10]

This story is introduced into a piece of verse on the origin of the Swiss confederacy, of nearly the same date as the prose document. In this the landvogt says to Tell that if he does not hit with the first shot, it will cost him his life; the distance is one hundred and twenty paces, as in the English ballad, and Tell says simply that he would have shot the landvogt if he had hit his son.[11] (Tell uses a cross-bow, not the long-bow, as the English.)

Henning Wulf, a considerable person in Holstein, who had headed an unsuccessful outbreak against Christian the First of Denmark, was captured and brought before the king. The king, knowing Henning to be an incomparable archer, ordered him to shoot an apple from the head of his only son, a child: if he succeeded, he was to go free. The exploit was happily accomplished. But Henning had put a second arrow into his mouth, and the king asked the object. The second arrow was for the king, had the boy been hit. Henning Wulf was outlawed. The story, which is put at 1472, is the subject of a painting preserved in a church.[12]

The Norwegian king, Haraldr Harðráðr († 1066), who has a grudge against Hemingr, son of Áslákr, undertakes to put him to proof in shooting, swimming, and snow-shoe sliding. They go to a wood, and both execute extraordinary feats with bow and lance; but Hemingr is much superior to the king. The king orders Hemingr to shoot a nut from his brother Björn’s head, on pain of death for missing. Hemingr would rather die than venture such a shot; but his brother offers himself freely, and undertakes to stand still. Then let the king stand by Björn, says Hemingr, and see whether I hit. But the king prefers to stand by Hemingr, and appoints somebody else to the other position. Hemingr crosses himself, calls God to witness that the king is responsible, throws his lance, and strikes the nut from his brother’s head, doing him no harm. Hemings Ðáttr, Flateyjarbók, III, 405 f (1370–80); Müller, Sagabibliothek, III, 356 ff. This story was probably derived from an old song, and is preserved in Norwegian and Färöe ballads: ‘Harald kongin og Hemingen unge,’ Landstad, Norske Folkeviser, No 15, #A#, #B#, pp. 177–188; ‘Geyti Áslaksson,’ Hammershaimb, Færöiske Kvæder, No 17, #A-C#, II, 149–163. In Norwegian #A#, 5–10, the shot is exacted under pain of imprisonment. Hemingen insists that the king shall take a place near his brother [son], whom he exhorts to stand erect and bold; one half of the nut falls, the other is left on the head; the king asks what was to have been done with a second arrow which Hemingen had secreted, and is answered as in the previous cases.[13] The first and last of these incidents are wanting in #B# (19–22). In the Färöe ballad, #A#, 53–62, the king tells Geyti (whom he also calls Hemingur) that he must shoot a nut from his brother’s head. Geyti asks the king to go to the wood with him to see the result, invokes God and St Olav, hits the nut without touching his brother. It is not till the next day that the king asks Geyti why he had _two_ arrows with him in the wood.

The same story, pleasingly varied for the occasion, is found in the saga of the Norwegian king Ólafr Tryggvason († 1000). The king hears that Eindriði, a handsome, rich, and amiable young man, is unconverted. Eindriði is a good swimmer, bowman, and dirk-thrower. Ólafr, a proficient in all such exercises, proposes to try masteries with him in the feats which he has repute for, on the terms that if Eindriði is beaten he shall be baptized, but if victor shall hold such faith as he will. The first trial is in swimming, and in this Ólafr shows unequivocal superiority. The next day they shoot at a target, and the advantage, after two essays, is rather with Eindriði. The king compliments Eindriði; but the issue between them is not yet decided. This fine young fellow’s salvation is at stake, and expedients which one might otherwise scruple at are justifiable. Ólafr knows that Eindriði tenderly loves a pretty child, four or five years old, his sister’s son. This boy shall be our target, says the king. A chessman (the king-piece) on his head shall be the mark, to be shot off without hurting the boy. Eindriði must needs submit, but means to have revenge if the child comes to harm. The king orders a cloth to be passed round the boy’s head, each end of which is to be held firmly by a man, so as to prevent any stirring when the whiz of the arrow is heard. Ólafr signs both himself and the point of his arrow with the cross, and shoots; the arrow takes off the chessman, passing between it and the head, grazing the crown and drawing some little blood. The king bids Eindriði take his turn; but Eindriði’s mother and sister beg him with tears to desist, and he, though ready to take the risk, yields to their entreaties, and leaves the victory with Ólafr. On the third day there is a match at a game with dirks. For a time no one can say which does the better; but in the end Ólafr performs feats so marvellous as in Eindriði’s conviction to demonstrate the assistance of a deity: wherefore he consents to be baptized. Saga Ólafs Tryggvasonar, Fornmanna Sögur, II, 259–74, c. 235; Flateyjarbók, I, 456–64, cc. 359–64.

Punker, a warlock of Rorbach (a town not far from Heidelberg), had obtained from the devil, as the regular recompense for his having thrice pierced the crucifix, the power of making three unerring shots daily, and had so been able to pick off in detail all but one of the garrison of a besieged town. To put his skill to proof, a certain nobleman ordered him to shoot a piece of money from his own son’s head. Punker wished to be excused, for he feared that the devil might play him false; but being induced to make the trial, knocked the coin from the boy’s cap, doing him no damage. Before shooting, he had stuck another arrow into his collar, and asked why, replied that if the devil had betrayed him, and he had killed the child, he would have sent the other bolt through the body of the person who had obliged him to undertake the performance. Malleus Maleficarum, Pars II, Quæstio I, c. xvi.[14] The date of the transaction is put at about 1420.

The last three forms of this tradition have the unimportant variations of brother and brother, or uncle and nephew, for father and son, and of nut, chessman, or coin for apple.

The story is German-Scandinavian, and not remarkably extended.[15] The seven versions agree in two points: the shot is compulsory; the archer meditates revenge in case he harms the person on whose head the mark is placed.[16] These features are wanting in the English ballad. William of Cloudesly offers of his own free motion to shoot an apple from his son’s head, and this after the king had declared him the best archer he had ever seen, for splitting a hazel-rod at twenty score paces; so that the act was done purely for glory. To be sure, the king threatens him with death if he does not achieve what he has undertaken, as death is also threatened in four of the seven German-Scandinavian stories for refusal to try the shot or for missing; but the threats in sts 154 f of the English ballad are a revival of the vow in sts 119 f. Justice has been balked by the unconditional boon granted the queen; aggravating and exasperating circumstances have come to light since this unadvised grace was conceded, and a hope is presented for a pretext under which the king may still hang the outlaws, all three. The shooting of the apple from the boy’s head, isolated from any particular connection, is perhaps all of the German-Scandinavian story that was known to the English ballad-maker, and all minor resemblances may well be fortuitous.[17]

If the shooting of an apple by somebody from somebody’s head is to be regarded as the kernel of the story, its area may then be considerably extended.

Castrén heard the following story among the Finns in Russian Karelia. Robbers had carried a man off over a lake. The son of the captive, a boy of twelve, followed along the other side of the lake, threatening to shoot them if they did not let his father go. These threats, for a time, only procured worse treatment for the prisoner; but at last the boy was told that his father should be released if he could shoot an arrow across the water and split an apple laid on his father’s head. This the boy did, and his father was liberated. Castrén’s Reiseerinnerungen aus den Jahren 1838–44, ed. Schiefner, p. 89 f.

A Persian poet introduces into a work composed about 1175 this anecdote.[18] A distinguished king was very fond of a beautiful slave, so much so that he was never easy unless he was in some way engaged with him. When the king amused himself with shooting, this slave would tremble with fear, for the king would make his mark of an apple placed on his favorite’s head, split the apple, and in so doing make the slave sick with alarm.

J. Grimm had seen a manuscript of travels in Turkey, in the Cassel library, with a picture of an archer aiming at an apple on a child’s head. Deutsche Mythologie, I, 317, note, ed. 1875.

With regard to the Persian story, Benfey observes that it must be admitted as possible that the shooting of an apple from the head of a beloved person may have been pitched upon in various localities, independently, as the mark of supreme skill in archery, but that this is not likely, and that the history of tradition requires us rather to presume that the conception was original in one instance only, and borrowed in the remainder; in which case the borrowing would be by the West from the East, and not the other way. We can come to no decision, however, he adds, until the source of the Persian story, or some older form of it, shall have been discovered. (Göttinger Gelehrte Anzeigen, 1861, p. 680.) The cautiousness of the imperial scholar is worthy of all imitation. The Persian saga, as it is sometimes called, is, in the perhaps mutilated form in which we have it, an inconsistent and inept anecdote; the German-Scandinavian saga is a complete and rational story. In this story it is fundamental that the archer executes a successful shot under circumstances highly agitating to the nerves; he risks the life of a beloved object, and in the majority of versions his own life is at stake besides. That the act must be done under compulsion is the simplest corollary. If the archer is cool enough to volunteer the shot, then the chief difficulty in making it is removed. This is a fault in the English ballad, where the father is unconcerned, and all the feeling is shown by the spectators. Cloudesly had already split a hazel-rod at twenty score paces; what was it for him to hit an apple at six score?[19]

But we are still far from covering the range of stories which have been treated as having some significant relation to that of Egil. Any shot at an apple, any shot at an object on a child’s person (provided the case be not a fact and recent), has been thought worth quoting, as a probable sprout from the same root. For examples: In an Esthonian popular tale, one Sharpeye hits an apple which a man a long way off is holding by his mouth. In a Servian poem, the hero, Milosch, sends an arrow through a ring, and hits a golden apple on the point of a lance. Bellerophon’s sons, Hippolochus and Isandrus, disputing which should be king of the Lycians, it was proposed that the question should be settled by seeing which could shoot through a ring placed on the breast of a child lying on his back. Laodamia, sister of the competitors, offered her son Sarpedon for the trial, and the uncles, to show their appreciation of such handsome behavior, resigned their claims in favor of Sarpedon. The shot, we may understand, did not come off.[20]

With regard to all this series of stories, and others which have been advanced as allied, more will be required to make out a substantial relationship than their having in common a shot at some object in contiguity with a living human body, be the object an apple, or whatever else. The idea of thus enhancing the merit or interest of a shot is not so ingenious that one instance must be held to be original, and all others derivative. The archer Alcon, according to Servius,[21] was wont to shoot through rings placed on men’s heads. Sir John Malcolm (Kaye’s Life, II, 400) was told that at Mocha, when the dates were ripe, a stone, standing up some three inches, would be put on the head of a child, at which two or three of the best marksmen would fire, with ball, at thirty-one yards distance. A case was reported, about fifty years ago, of a man in Pennsylvania shooting a very small apple from the head of another man.[22] A linen-weaver was judicially punished at Spires, some thirty years ago, for shooting a sheet of paper from his son’s hand, and afterwards a potato (“also einen Erdapfel,” Rochholz!) from the boy’s head.[23] The keel-boat men of the Mississippi, in their playfulness, would cut the pipe out of a companion’s hat-band at a long distance. “If they quarreled among themselves, and then made friends, their test that they bore no malice was to shoot some small object from each other’s heads,” such as an apple. Such feats have of late been common on the American stage.

Whatever may be thought of the linen-weaver at Spires, it will scarcely be maintained that the Mississippi keel-boat men shot at apples in imitation of William Tell. As to the selection of an apple, it seems enough to say that an apple makes a convenient mark, is familiar to temperate climates, and at hand at almost any part of the year.[24] But the chief point of all to be borne in mind is, that whether the Mississippi boatmen took their cue, directly or indirectly, from William Tell, they do not become mythical personages by virtue of their repeating his shot. None the more does William of Cloudesly. A story long current in Europe, a mythical story if you please, could certainly be taken up by an English ballad-maker without prejudice to the substantial and simply romantic character of his hero.[25]

The late Mr Joseph Hunter unhesitatingly declared Adam Bell “a genuine personage of history,” and considered that he had had “the good fortune to recover from a very authentic source of information some particulars of this hero of our popular minstrelsy which show distinctly the time at which he lived.”

“King Henry the Fourth, by letters enrolled in the Exchequer, in Trinity Term, in the seventh year of his reign [1406], and bearing date the 14th day of April, granted to one Adam Bell an annuity of 4_l._ 10_s._ issuing out of the fee-farm of Clipston, in the forest of Sherwood, together with the profits and advantages of the vesture and herbage of the garden called the Halgarth, in which the manor-house of Clipston is situated.

“Now, as Sherwood is noted for its connection with archery, and may be regarded also as the _patria_ of much of the ballad poetry of England, and the name of Adam Bell is a peculiar one, this might be almost of itself sufficient to show that the ballad had a foundation in veritable history. But we further find that this Adam Bell violated his allegiance by adhering to the Scots, the king’s enemies; whereupon this grant was virtually resumed, and the sheriff of Nottinghamshire accounted for the rents which would have been his. In the third year of King Henry the Fifth [1416], the account was rendered by Thomas Hercy, and in the fourth year by Simon Leak. The mention of his adhesion to the Scots leads us to the Scottish border, and will not leave a doubt in the mind of the most sceptical that we have here one of the persons, some of whose deeds (with some poetical license, perhaps) are come down to us in the words of one of our popular ballads.” (New Illustrations of the Life, Studies, and Writings of Shakespeare, I, 245 f, 1845.)

Mr Hunter’s points are, that an Adam Bell had a grant from the proceeds of a farm in the forest of Sherwood, that Adam Bell is a peculiar name, and that his Adam Bell adhered to the king’s enemies. To be sure, Adam Bell’s retreat in the ballad is not Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire, but Englishwood, or Inglewood, in Cumberland (an old hunting-ground of King Arthur’s, according to several romances), a forest sixteen miles in length, reaching from Carlisle to Penrith.[26] But it would be captious to insist upon this. Robin Hood has no connection in extant ballads with the Cumberland forest, but Wyntoun’s Scottish Chronicle, c. 1420, makes him to have frequented Inglewood as well as Barnsdale.[27] The historical Adam Bell was granted an annuity, and forfeited it for adhering to the king’s enemies, the Scots; the Adam Bell of the ballad was outlawed for breaking the game-laws, and in consequence came into conflict with the king’s officers, but never adhered to the king’s enemies, first or last, received the king’s pardon, was made yeoman of the queen’s chamber, dwelt with the king, and died a good man. Neither is there anything peculiar in the name Adam Bell. Bell was as well known a name on the borders[28] as Armstrong or Graham. There is record of an Adam Armstrong and an Adam Graham; there is a Yorkshire Adam Bell mentioned in the Parliamentary Writs (II, 508, 8 and 17 Edward II,) a hundred years before Hunter’s annuitant; a contemporary Adam Bell, of Dunbar, is named in the Exchequer Rolls of Scotland under the years 1414, 1420 (IV, 198, 325); and the name occurs repeatedly at a later date in the Registers of the Great Seal of Scotland.

The placability of the king in this ballad is repeated in the Gest of Robin Hood, and is also exhibited in the Tale of Gamelyn, where Gamelyn is made justice of all the free forest, as William is here made chief rider over all the North Country. The king, besides, forgives all Gamelyn’s eight young men, and puts them in good office. The king of the outlaws, in the tale, had previously made his peace without any difficulty. Vv 888–94, 687–89.

Translated, after Percy’s Reliques, by Bodmer, II, 78; by Fouqué, Büsching, Erzählungen, u. s. w., des Mittelalters, I, 1; the third Fit, by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Altenglands, No 70.

#c.# 1
Mery it was in grene forest,
Amonge the leues grene,
Where that men walke both east a_n_d west,
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene,

2
To ryse the dere out of theyr denne;
Suche sightes as hath ofte bene sene,
As by th[r]e yemen of the north countrey,
By them it is as I meane.

3
The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.

4
They were outlawed for venyson,
These thre yemen euerechone;
They swore them brethen vpon a day,
To Englysshe-wood for to gone.

5
Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
And that of myrthes loueth to here:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.

6
Wyllyam was the wedded man,
Muche more then was hys care:
He sayde to hys brethen vpon a day,
To Carelel he would fare,

7
For to speke with fayre Alse hys wife,
And with hys chyldren thre:
‘By my trouth,’ sayde Adam Bel,
‘Not by the counsell of me.

8
‘For if ye go to Caerlel, brother,
And from thys wylde wode wende,
If the justice mai you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.’

9
‘If that I come not to morowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste not els but that I am take,
Or else that I am slayne.’

10
He toke hys leaue of hys brethen two,
And to Carlel he is gone;
There he knocked at hys owne wyndowe,
Shortlye and anone.

11
‘Wher be you, fayre Alyce, my wyfe,
And my chyldren three?
Lyghtly let in thyne husbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’

12
‘Alas!’ then sayde fayre Alyce,
And syghed wonderous sore,
‘Thys place hath ben besette for you
Thys halfe yere and more.’

13
‘Now am I here,’ sayde Cloudesle,
‘I woulde that I in were;
Now feche vs meate and drynke ynoughe,
And let vs make good chere.’

14
She feched him meat and drynke plenty,
Lyke a true wedded wyfe,
And pleased hym with that she had,
Whome she loued as her lyfe.

15
There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle besyde the fyre,
Whych Wyllyam had found, of cherytye,
More then seuen yere.

16
Up she rose, and walked full styll,
Euel mote she spede therefoore!
For she had not set no fote on ground
In seuen yere before.

17
She went vnto the justice hall,
As fast as she could hye:
‘Thys nyght is come vn to thys town
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’

18
Thereof the iustice was full fayne,
And so was the shirife also:
‘Thou shalt not trauaile hether, da_m_e, for nought;
Thy meed thou shalt haue or thou go.’

19
They gaue to her a ryght good goune,
Of scarlat it was, as I heard say[n]e;
She toke the gyft, and home she wente,
And couched her doune agayne.

20
They rysed the towne of mery Carlel,
In all the hast that they can,
And came thronging to Wyllyames house,
As fast [as] they might gone.

21
Theyr they besette that good yeman,
Round about on euery syde;
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes,
That heytherward they hyed.

22
Alyce opened a shot-wyndow,
And loked all about;
She was ware of the justice and the shrife bothe,
Wyth a full great route.

23
‘Alas! treason,’ cryed Alyce,
‘Euer wo may thou be!
Go into my chambre, my husband,’ she sayd,
‘Swete Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’

24
He toke hys sweard and hys bucler,
Hys bow and hy[s] chyldren thre,
And wente into hys strongest chamber,
Where he thought surest to be.

25
Fayre Alice folowed hi_m_ as a louer true,
With a pollaxe in her hande:
‘He shalbe deade that here co_m_eth in
Thys dore, whyle I may stand.’

26
Cloudesle bent a wel good bowe,
That was of trusty tre,
He smot the justise on the brest,
That hys arrowe brest in thre.

27
‘God’s curse on his hartt,’ saide William,
‘Thys day thy cote dyd on;
If it had ben no better then myne,
It had gone nere thy bone.’

28
‘Yelde the, Cloudesle,’ sayd the justise,
‘And thy bowe a_nd_ thy arrowes the fro:’
‘Gods curse on hys hart,’ sayde fair Al[i]ce,
‘That my husband councelleth so.’

29
‘Set fyre on the house,’ saide the sherife,
‘Syth it wyll no better be,
And brenne we therin William,’ he saide,
‘Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.’

30
They fyred the house in many a place,
The fyre flew vpon hye;
‘Alas!’ than cryed fayr Alice,
‘I se we shall here dy.’

31
William openyd hys backe wyndow,
That was in hys chambre on hye,
And wyth shetes let hys wyfe downe,
And hys chyldren thre.

32
‘Haue here my treasure,’ sayde William,
‘My wyfe and my chyldren thre;
For Christes loue do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.’

33
Wyllyam shot so wonderous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all go,
And the fyre so fast vpon hym fell,
That hys bo[w]stryng brent in two.

34
The spercles brent and fell hym on,
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
But than was he a wofull man, and sayde,
Thys is a cowardes death to me.

35
‘Leuer I had,’ sayde Wyllyam,
‘With my sworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne ennemyes wode
Thus cruelly to bren.’

36
He toke hys sweard and hys buckler,
And among them all he ran;
Where the people were most in prece,
He smot downe many a man.

37
There myght no man stand hys stroke,
So fersly on them he ran;
Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him,
And so toke that good yeman.

38
There they hym bounde both hand and fote,
And in depe dongeon hym cast;
‘Now, Cloudesle,’ sayde the hye justice,
‘Thou shalt be hanged in hast.’

39
‘One vow shal I make,’ sayde the sherife,
‘A payre of new galowes shall I for the make,
And al the gates of Caerlel shalbe shutte,
There shall no man come in therat.

40
‘Then shall not helpe Clim of the Cloughe,
Nor yet Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand mo,
Nor all the deuels in hell.’

41
Early in the mornyng the justice vprose,
To the gates fast gan he gon,
And commaunded to be shut full cloce
Lightile euerychone.

42
Then went he to the market-place,
As fast as he coulde hye;
A payre of new gallous there dyd he vp set,
Besyde the pyllory.

43
A lytle boy stod them amonge,
And asked what meaned that gallow-tre;
They sayde, To hange a good yeaman,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.

44
That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,
And kept fayre Alyce swyne;
Full oft he had sene Cloudesle in the wodde,
And geuen hym there to dyne.

45
He went out of a creues in the wall,
And lightly to the woode dyd gone;
There met he with these wyght yonge men,
Shortly and anone.

46
‘Alas!’ then sayde that lytle boye,
‘Ye tary here all to longe;
Cloudesle is taken and dampned to death,
All readye for to honge.’

47
‘Alas!’ then sayde good Adam Bell,
‘That euer we see thys daye!
He myght her with vs haue dwelled,
So ofte as we dyd him praye.

48
‘He myght haue taryed in grene foreste,
Under the shadowes sheene,
And haue kepte both hym and vs in reaste,
Out of trouble and teene.’

49
Adam bent a ryght good bow,
A great hart sone had he slayne;
‘Take that, chylde,’ he sayde, ‘to thy dynner,
And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.’

50
‘Now go we hence,’ sayed these wight yong me_n_,
Tary we no lenger here;
We shall hym borowe, by Gods grace,
Though we bye it full dere.’

51
To Caerlel went these good yemen,
In a mery mornyng of Maye:
Her is a fyt of Cloudesli,
And another is for to saye.

52
And when they came to mery Caerlell,
In a fayre mornyng-tyde,
They founde the gates shut them vntyll,
Round about on euery syde.

53
‘Alas!’ than sayd good Adam Bell,
‘That euer we were made men!
#b.#
These gates be shyt so wonderly well,
That we may not come here in.’

54
Than spake Clymme of the Cloughe:
With a wyle we wyll vs in brynge;
Let vs say we be messengers,
Streyght comen from oure kynge.

55
Adam sayd, I haue a lettre wryten wele,
Now let vs wysely werke;
We wyll say we haue the kynges seale,
I holde the porter no clerke.

56
Than Adam Bell bete on the gate,
With strökes greate and stronge;
The porter herde suche a noyse therate,
And to the gate faste he thronge.

57
‘Who is there nowe,’ sayd the porter,
‘That maketh all this knockynge?
‘We be two messengers,’ sayd Clymme of the Clo[ughe],
‘Be comen streyght frome oure kynge.’

58
‘We haue a lettre,’ sayd Adam Bell,
‘To the justyce we must it brynge;
Let vs in, oure message to do,
That we were agayne to our kynge.’

59
‘Here cometh no man in,’ sayd the porter,
‘By hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged,
Called Wyllyam of Clowdysle.’

60
Than spake that good [yeman Clym of the Cloughe,
And swore by Mary fre,
If that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be.]

61
[Lo here] we haue got the kynges seale;
[What! l]ordane, arte thou wode?
[The p]orter had wende it had been so,
[And l]yghtly dyd of his hode.

62
‘[Welco]me be my lordes seale,’ sayd he,
‘[For] that shall ye come in:’
[He] opened the gate ryght shortly,
[An] euyll openynge for hym!

63
‘[N]owe we are in,’ sayd Adam Bell,
‘[T]herof we are full fayne;
[But] Cryst knoweth that herowed hell,
[H]ow we shall come oute agayne.’

64
‘[Had] we the keys,’ sayd Clym of the Clowgh,
‘Ryght well than sholde we spede;
[Than] myght we come out well ynough,
[Whan] we se tyme and nede.’

65
[They] called the porter to a councell,
[And] wronge hys necke in two,
[And] kest hym in a depe dongeon,
[And] toke the keys hym fro.

66
‘[N]ow am I porter,’ sayd Adam Bell;
‘[Se], broder, the keys haue we here;
[The] worste porter to mery Carlell,
[That ye] had this hondreth yere.

67
‘[Now] wyll we oure bowës bende,
[Into the t]owne wyll we go,
[For to delyuer our dere] broder,
[Where he lyeth in care and wo.’

68
Then they bent theyr good yew bowes,
And loked theyr stri_n_ges were round;]
The market-place of mery Carlyll,
They beset in that stounde.

69
And as they loked them besyde,
A payre of newe galowes there they se,
And the iustyce, with a quest of swerers,
That had iuged Clowdysle there hanged to be.

70
And Clowdysle hymselfe lay redy in a carte,
Fast bounde bothe fote and hande,
And a strong rope aboute his necke,
All redy for to be hangde.

71
The iustyce called to hym a ladde;
Clowdysles clothes sholde he haue,
To take the mesure of that good yoman,
And therafter to make his graue.

72
‘I haue sene as greate a merueyll,’ sayd Clowd[esle],
‘As bytwene this and pryme,
He that maketh thys graue for me,
Hymselfe may lye therin.’

73
‘Thou spekest proudely,’ sayd the iustyce;
‘I shall hange the with my hande:’
Full well that herde his bretheren two,
There styll as they dyd stande.

74
Than Clowdysle cast hys eyen asyde,
And sawe hys bretheren stande,
At a corner of the market-place,
With theyr good bowes bent in theyr hand,
Redy the iustyce for to chase.

75
‘I se good comforte,’ sayd Clowdysle,
‘Yet hope I well to fare;
If I myght haue my handes at wyll,
[Ryght l]ytell wolde I care.’

76
[Than b]espake good Adam Bell,
[To Clym]me of the Clowgh so fre;
[Broder], se ye marke the iustyce well;
[Lo yon]der ye may him se.

77
[And at] the sheryf shote I wyll,
[Stron]gly with an arowe kene;
[A better] shotte in mery Carlyll,
[Thys se]uen yere was not sene.

78
[They lo]used theyr arowes bothe at ones,
[Of no] man had they drede;
[The one] hyt the iustyce, the other the sheryf,
[That b]othe theyr sydes gan blede.

79
[All men] voyded, that them stode nye,
[Whan] the iustyce fell to the grounde,
[And the] sheryf fell nyghe hym by;
[Eyther] had his dethës wounde.

80
[All the c]ytezeyns fast gan fle,
[They du]rste no lenger abyde;
[There ly]ghtly they loused Clowdysle,
[Where he] with ropes lay tyde.

81
[Wyllyam] sterte to an offycer of the towne,
[Hys axe] out his hande he wronge;
[On eche] syde he smote them downe,
[Hym tho]ught he had taryed to longe.

82
[Wyllyam] sayd to his bretheren two,
[Thys daye] let vs togyder lyue and deye;
[If euer you] haue nede as I haue nowe,
[The same] shall ye fynde by me.

83
[They] shyt so well in that tyde,
For theyr strynges were of sylke full sure,
That they kepte the stretes on euery syde;
That batayll dyd longe endure.

84
They fought togyder as bretheren true,
Lyke hardy men and bolde;
Many a man to the grounde they threwe,
And made many an hertë colde.

85
But whan theyr arowes were all gone,
Men presyd on them full fast;
They drewe theyr swerdës than anone,
And theyr bowës from them caste.

86
They wente lyghtly on theyr waye,
With swerdes and buckelers rounde;
By that it was the myddes of the daye,
They had made many a wounde.

87
There was many a noute-horne in Carlyll blowen,
And the belles backwarde dyd they rynge;
Many a woman sayd alas,
And many theyr handes dyd wrynge.

88
The mayre of Carlyll forth come was,
And with hym a full grete route;
These thre yomen dredde hym full sore,
For theyr lyuës stode in doubte.

89
The mayre came armed, a full greate pace,
With a polaxe in his hande;
Many a stronge man with hym was,
There in that stoure to stande.

90
The mayre smote at Clowdysle with his byll,
His buckeler he brast in two;
Full many a yoman with grete yll,
‘[Al]as, treason!’ they cryed for wo.
‘[Ke]pe we the gates fast,’ they bad,
‘[T]hat these traytours theroute not go.’

91
But all for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they downe were layde
Tyll they all thre, that so manfully fought,
Were goten without at a brayde.

92
‘Haue here your keys,’ sayd Adam Bell,
‘Myne offyce I here forsake;
Yf ye do by my councell,
A newë porter ye make.’

93
He threwe the keys there at theyr hedes,
And bad them evyll to thryue,
And all that letteth ony good yoman
To come and comforte his wyue.

94
Thus be these good yomen gone to the wode,
As lyght as lefe on lynde;
They laughe and be mery in theyr mode,
Theyr enemyes were farre behynde.

95
Whan they came to Inglyswode,
Under theyr trysty-tre,
There they founde bowës full gode,
And arowës greate plentë.

96
‘So helpe me God,’ sayd Adam Bell,
And Clymme of the Clowgh so fre,
‘I wolde we were nowe in mery Carlell,
[Be]fore that fayre meynë.’

97
They set them downe and made good chere,
And eate an[d dr]anke full well:
Here is a fytte [of] these wyght yongemen,
And another I shall you tell.

98
As they sat in Inglyswode,
Under theyr trysty-tre,
Them thought they herde a woman [wepe],
But her they myght not se.

99
Sore syghed there fayre Alyce, and sayd,
Alas that euer I se this daye!
For now is my dere husbonde slayne,
Alas and welawaye!

100
Myght I haue spoken wyth hys dere breth[eren],
With eyther of them twayne,
[To shew to them what him befell]
My herte were out of payne.

101
Clowdysle walked a lytell besyde,
And loked vnder the grene wodde lynde;
He was ware of his wyfe and his chyldre[n thre],
Full wo in herte and mynde.

102
‘Welcome, wyfe,’ than sayd Wyllyam,
‘Unto this trysty-tre;
I had wende yesterdaye, by swete Sai[nt John],
Thou sholde me neuer haue se.’

103
‘Now wele is me,’ she sayd, ‘that [ye be here],
My herte is out of wo:’
‘Dame,’ he sayd, ‘be mery and glad,
And thanke my bretheren two.’

104
‘Here of to speke,’ sayd Ad[am] Bell,
‘I-wys it [is no bote];
The me[at that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.’

105
Then went they down into a lau_n_de,
These noble archares all thre,
Eche of the]m slewe a harte of grece,
[The best t]hey coude there se.

106
‘[Haue here the] best, Alyce my wyfe,’
[Sayde Wyllya]m of Clowdysle,
‘[By cause ye so] boldely stode me by,
[Whan I w]as slayne full nye.’

107
[Than they] wente to theyr souper,
[Wyth suc]he mete as they had,
[And than]ked God of theyr fortune;
[They we]re bothe mery and glad.

108
[And whan] they had souped well,
[Certayne] withouten leace,
[Clowdysle] sayde, We wyll to oure kynge,
[To get v]s a chartre of peace.

109
[Alyce shal] be at soiournynge,
[In a nunry] here besyde;
[My tow sonn]es shall with her go,
[And ther the]y shall abyde.

110
[Myne eldest so]ne shall go with me,
[For hym haue I] no care,
[And he shall breng] you worde agayne
[How that we do fare.

111
Thus be these wig]ht men to London gone,
[As fast as they ma]ye hye,
[Tyll they came to the kynges] palays,
#c.#
There they woulde nedës be.

112
And whan they came to the kyngës courte,
Unto the pallace gate,
Of no man wold they aske leue,
But boldly went in therat.

113
They preced prestly into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade;
The porter came after and dyd them call,
#a.#
And with them began to [chyde.]

114
The vssher sayd, Yemen, what wolde ye haue?
I praye you tell me;
Ye myght thus make offycers shent:
Good syrs, of whens be ye?

115
‘Syr, we be outlawes of the forest,
Certayne withouten leace,
And hyther we be come to our kynge,
To get vs a charter of peace.’

116
And whan they came before our kynge,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
They kneled downe without lettynge,
And eche helde vp his hande.

117
They sayd, Lorde, we beseche you here,
That ye wyll graunte vs grace.
For we haue slayne your fatte falowe dere,
In many a sondry place.

118
‘What is your names?’ than sayd our kynge,
‘Anone that you tell me:’
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough,
And Wylliam of Clowdesle.

119
‘Be ye those theues,’ than sayd our kynge,
‘That men haue tolde of to me?
Here to God I make a vowe,
Ye shall be hanged all thre.

120
‘Ye shall be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande:’
#c.#
He commanded his officers euerichone
Fast on them to lay hand.

121
There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them all thre:
‘So may I thryue,’ sayd Adam Bell,
‘Thys game lyketh not me.

#a.# 122
‘But, good lorde, we beseche you nowe,
That ye wyll graunte vs grace,
In so moche as we be to you commen;
Or elles that we may fro you passe,

123
‘With suche weapons as we haue here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyue this hondred yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.’

124
‘Ye speke proudly,’ sayd the kynge,
‘Ye shall be hanged all thre:’
‘That were great pity,’ sayd the quene,
‘If any grace myght be.

125
‘My lorde, whan I came fyrst in to this lande,
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrst bone that I wolde aske,
Ye wolde graunte me belyfe.

126
‘And I asked you neuer none tyll nowe,
Therfore, good lorde, graunte it me:’
‘Nowe aske it, madame,’ sayd the kynge,
‘And graunted shall it be.’

127
‘Than, good lorde, I you beseche,
The yemen graunte you me:’
‘Madame, ye myght haue asked a bone
That sholde haue ben worthe them thre.

128
‘Ye myght haue asked towres and towne[s],
Parkes and forestes plentie:’
#c.#
‘None so pleasaunt to mi pay,’ she said,
‘Nor none so lefe to me.’

129
‘Madame, sith it is your desyre,
Your askyng graunted shalbe;
But I had leuer haue geuen you
Good market-townës thre.’

130
The quene was a glad woman,
And sayd, Lord, gramarcy;
I dare vndertake for them
That true men shall they be.

131
But, good lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se:
‘I graunt you grace,’ then said our ki_n_g,
‘Wasshe, felos, and to meate go ye.’

132
They had not setten but a whyle,
Certayne without lesynge,
There came messe_n_gers out of the north,
With letters to our kyng.

133
And whan the came before the kynge,
The kneled downe vpon theyr kne,
And sayd, Lord, your offycers grete you wel,
Of Caerlel in the north cuntre.

134
‘How fare[th] my justice,’ sayd the kyng,
‘And my sherife also?’
‘Syr, they be slayne, without leasynge,
And many an officer mo.’

135
‘Who hath them slayne?’ sayd the kyng,
‘Anone thou tell me:’
‘Adam Bel, and Clime of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’

136
‘Alas for rewth!’ then sayd our kynge,
‘My hart is wonderous sore;
I had leuer [th]an a thousand pounde
I had knowne of thys before.

137
‘For I haue y-graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me;
But had I knowne all thys before,
They had ben hanged all thre.’

138
The kyng opened the letter anone,
Hym selfe he red it tho,
A_nd_ founde how these thre outlawes had slai_n_e
Thre hundred men and mo.

139
Fyrst the justice and the sheryfe,
And the mayre of Caerlel towne;
Of all the co_n_stables a_nd_ catchipolles
Alyue were left not one.

140
The baylyes and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe
These outlawes had y-slaw;

141
And broke_n_ his parks, and slaine his dere;
Ouer all they chose the best;
So perelous outlawes as they were
Walked not by easte nor west.

142
When the kynge this letter had red,
In hys harte he syghed sore;
‘Take vp the table,’ anone he bad,
‘For I may eate no more.’

143
The kyng called hys best archars,
To the buttes with hym to go;
‘I wyll se these felowes shote,’ he sayd,
‘That in the north haue wrought this wo.’

144
The kynges bowmen buske them blyue,
And the quenes archers also,
So dyd these thre wyght yemen,
Wyth them they thought to go.

145
There twyse or thryse they shote about,
For to assay theyr hande;
There was no shote these thre yemen shot
That any prycke might them stand.

146
Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
By God that for me dyed,
I hold hym neuer no good archar
That shuteth at buttes so wyde.

147
‘Wherat?’ then sayd our kyng,
‘I pray thee tell me:’
‘At suche a but, syr,’ he sayd,
‘As men vse in my countree.’

148
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And his to brothren with him;
There they set vp to hasell roddes,
Twenty score paces betwene.

149
‘I hold him an archar,’ said Cloudesle,
‘That yonder wande cleueth in two:’
‘Here is none suche,’ sayd the kyng,
‘Nor none that can so do.’

150
‘I shall assaye, syr,’ sayd Cloudesle,
‘Or that I farther go:’
Cloudesle, with a bearyng arow,
Claue the wand in to.

151
‘Thou art the best archer,’ the_n_ said the ki_n_g,
‘Forsothe that euer I se:’
‘And yet for your loue,’ sayd Wylliam,
‘I wyll do more maystry.

152
‘I haue a sonne is seuen yere olde;
He is to me full deare;
I wyll hym tye to a stake,
All shall se that be here;

153
‘And lay an apple vpon hys head,
And go syxe score paces hym fro,
And I my selfe, with a brode arow,
Shall cleue the apple in two.’

154
‘Now hast the,’ then sayd the kyng;
‘By him that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not as th_o_u hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.

155
‘And thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayntes that be in heave_n_,
I shall hange you all thre.’

156
‘That I haue promised,’ said William,
‘I wyl it neuer forsake;’
And there euen before the kynge,
In the earth he droue a stake;

157
And bound therto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stande styll therat,
And turned the childes face fro him,
Because he shuld not sterte.

158
An apple vpon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent;
Syxe score paces they were outmet,
And thether Cloudesle went.

159
There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe;
Hys bowe was great and longe;
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.

160
He prayed the people that was there
That they would styll stande;
‘For he that shooteth for such a wager,
Behoueth a stedfast hand.’

161
Muche people prayed for Cloudesle,
#a.#
That hys lyfe saued myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,
There was many a wepynge eye.

162
Thus Clowdesle clefte the apple in two,
That many a man it se;
‘Ouer goddes forbode,’ sayd the kynge,
‘That thou sholdest shote at me!

163
‘I gyue the .xviii. pens a daye,
And my bowe shalte thou bere,
And ouer all the north countree
I make the chefe rydere.’

164
‘And I gyue the .xii. pens a day,’ sayd the que[ne],
‘By God and by my faye;
Come fetche thy payment whan thou wylt,
No man shall say the naye.

165
‘Wyllyam, I make the gentylman
Of clothynge and of fee,
And thy two brethren yemen of my chambr[e],
For they are so semely to se.

166
‘Your sone, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller shall he be,
And whan he commeth to mannës state,
Better auaunced shall he be.

167
‘And, Wylliam, brynge me your wyfe,’ sayd th[e quene];
Me longeth sore here to se;
She shall be my chefe gentylwoman,
And gouerne my nursery.’

168
The yemen thanked them full courteysly,
And sayd, To Rome streyght wyll we wende,
[Of all the synnes that we haue done
To be assoyled of his hand.

169
So forth]e be gone these good yemen,
[As fast a]s they myght hye,
[And aft]er came and dwelled with the kynge,
[And dye]d good men all thre.

170
[Thus e]ndeth the lyues of these good yemen,
[God sen]de them eternall blysse,
[And all] that with hande-bowe shoteth,
[That of] heuen they may neuer mysse!

* * * * *

_Deficiencies in #a#, #b# are supplied from #c# unless it is otherwise noted._

#a.#

120^1. deed.

#b.#

87^1. an oute horne. _The emendation is Prof. Skeat’s._

99^{1,2}. and sayd _begins the second line_.

100^3. _supplied from_ #d#, #e#.

#c.#

5^3. singele.

11^1. be your.

13^2. In woulde.

16^2. spende.

17^1, 107^1. whent.

18^3. fore.

22^1. shop-wyndow.

22^4. great full great.

23^3. Gy.

26^1. welgood.

30^3. Alece.

33^2. all gon.

34^{3,4}. and sayde _begins the fourth line_.

44^2. there Alyce.

44^4. geuend.

46^4. Allreadye.

48^4. in reaffte [?].

51^1. Cyerlel.

52^1. Carelell.

_Variations from_ #b#.

53^3. shut: wonderous.

54^1, 56^1, 64^3, 76^1, 85^3, 102^1, 107^1. Then.

54^3. Lee.

54^4. come nowe.

55^3. seales.

56^3. a _wanting_.

56^4. faste _wanting_.

57^4. come ryght.

58^2. me _for_ we.

59^1. commeth none.

59^2. Be: vpon.

61^3. went.

62^1. he saide.

62^3. full shortlye.

63^1. are we.

63^3. know.

64^4, 79^2, 106^4, 108^1. When.

65^1. a _wanting_.

65^4. hys keys.

66^2, 67^3, 76^3. brother.

66^4. hundred.

68^1. They bent theyr bowes. Then, good yew _from_ #e#, #f#.

68^3. in mery.

68^4. in _wanting_.

69^3. And they: squyers.

70^2. bounde _wanting_.

71^2. Cloudesle.