As often wordes they breeden bale,
So they parted Robin and John;
And John is gone to Barnefdale,
The gateshe knoweth eche one.
But when he came to Barnefdale,

Great heavineffe there hee hadd,
For he found tow of his owne fellowes
Were flaine both in avlade.

And Scarlette he was flying a-foote

Faft over ftocke and ftone,

For the proud fheriffe with feven score men
Faft after him is gone.

One shoote now I will fhoote, quoth John,
With Chrift his might and mayne;
Ile make yond fheriffe that wends so fast,
To ftopp he fhall be fayne.

Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,
And fettled him to fhoote:

The bow was made of tender boughe,

And fell downe at his foote.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,

That ever thou grew on a tree;
For now this day thou art my bale,
My boote when thou fhold bee.
His fhoote it was but loofely fhott,
Yet flew not the arrowe in vaine,
For it mett one of the sheriffes men,
And William a Trent was flaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent
To have bene abed with forrowe,
Than to be that day in the green wood flade

To meet with Little John's arrowe.

But as it is faid, when men be mett,
Fyve can doe more than three,

The fheriffe hath taken Little John,
And bound him faft to a tree.

Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,

And hanged hye on a hill.

But thou mayft fayle of thy purpofe, quoth John,
If it be Chrift his will.

Lett us leave talking of Little John,
And thinke of Robin Hood,

How he is gone to the wight yeoman,

Where under the leaves he stood.

Good morrow, good fellowe, fayd Robin fo fayre,
"Good morrowe, good fellow,' quo he:
Methinks, by this bowe thou beares in thy hande,
A good archere thou fholdt bee.

I am wilfulle of my waye, quo' the yeman,
And of my morning tyde.

Ile lead thee through the wood, fayd Robin:
Good fellow, Ile be thy guide.

I fecke an outlawe, the ftraunger fayd,
Men call him Robin Hood;

Rather Ild meet with that proud outlàwe
Than fortye pound foe good.

Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,
And Robin thou foone fhalt fee:
But first let us fome paftime find

Under the greenwood tree.
First let us fome masterye make
Among the woods fo even,

We may chance to meet with Robin Hood,
Here at fome unfett steven,

They cut them down two fummer fhroggs,
That grew both under a breere,

And fet them threefcore rood in twaine
To fhoote the prickes y-fere.

Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,
Leade on, I do bidd thee.

Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee fayd,
My leader thou shalt bee.

The first time Robin fhot at the pricke,
He mift but an inch it fro:

The ycoman he was an archer good,
But he cold never do foe.

The fecond shoote had the wightye yeman,
He fhot within the garland:

But Robin he fhot far better than hee,

For he clave the good pricke wande. A bleffing upon thy heart, he fayd;

Good fellowe, thy fhooting is goode;
For an thy heart be as good as thy hand,
Thou wert better than Robin Hoode.
Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, fayd he,
Under the leaves of lyne.

Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin,
Till thou have told me thine.

I dwelle by dale and downe, quoth hee,
And Robin to take Ime fworne;
And when I am called by my right name
I am Guy of good Gisborne.
My dwelling is in this wood, fays Robin,
By thee I fet right nought:

I am Robin Hood of Barnefdale,

Whom thou fo long haft fought.

He that had neyther beene kithe nor kin,
Might have feen a full fayre fight,
To fee how together thefe yeomen went
With blades both browne and bright:
To fee how thefe yeomen together they fought
Two howres of a fummers day:
Yet neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy
Them fettled to fly awaye.
Robin was reachles on a roote,

And ftumbled at that tyde;
And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,
And hitt him upon the fyde.

Ah deere Ladye, faid Robin Hood, thou
That art both mother and may',

I think it was never mans destinye
To dye before his day.

Robin thought on our Ladye decre,
And foone leapt up againe,

And

And ftrait he came with a backward stroke,
And he Sir Guy hath flayne.

He took Sir Guys head by the hayre,
And ftuck it upon his bowes end:
Thou hast been a traytor all thy life,
Which thing muft have an end.
Robin pulled forth an Iryfh knife,

And nicked Sir Guy in the face,
That he was never on woman born
Cold know whofe head it was.

Sayes, Lye there, lye there, now, Sir Guye,
And with me be not wrothe;

Iff thou have had the worft ftrokes at my hand,
Thou shalt have the better clothe.

Robin did off his

gowne of greene,

And on Sir Guy did throwe,

And hee put on that capull hyde,

That clad him topp to toe.

Thy bowe, thy arrowes, and litle horne,
Now with me I will beare;

For I will away to Barnefdale,

To fee how my men doe fare.

Robin Hood fett Guys horne to his mouth,
And a loud blaft in it did blow,
That beheard the, fheriffe of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe,

Hearken, hearken, fayd the fheriffe,

I heare nowe tydings good,

For yonder I hear Sir Guyes horne blowe,

And he hath flaine Robin Hoode.

Yonder I heare Sir Guyes horne blowe,

Itt blowes foe well in tyde,

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,
Ciadd in his capull hyde.

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,
Afke what thou wilt of mee.

OI will none of thy gold, fayd Robin,
Nor I will none of thy fee:

But now I have flaine the mafter, he sayes,
Lett me goe ftrike the knave;

For this is all the meede I afke,
None other reward Ile have.

Thou art a madman, fayd the theriffe,
Thou fholdt have had a knightes fee:
But feeing thy afking hath beene foe bad,
Well granted it fhal bee.

When little John heard his mafter fpeake,

Well knewe he it was his fteven:
Now fhall I be loofet, quoth Little John,
With Chrift his might in heaven.
Faft Robin hee hyed him to Little John,
He thought to loofe him blive;
The theriffe and all his companye
Faft after him 'gan drive.

Stand abacke, ftand abacke, fayd Robin;
Why draw you mee to neere?
Itt was never the ufe in our countryè,
Ones fhrift another hold heere.

But Robin pulled forth an Iryfh knife,

And lofed John hand and foote,

And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand,
And bade it be his boote.

Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand,
His boltes and arrowes eche one;

When the fheriffe faw Little John bend his bow
He fettled him to be gone.

Towards his houfe in Nottingham towne
He fled full faft away;
And fo did all the companye:

Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne foe faft,
Nor away fo faft cold ryde,

But Little John, with an arrowe foe broad,
He thott him into the backe-fyde.

§ 105. Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudefly,

were three noted outlaws, whofe skill in archery rendered them formerly as famous in the North of England, as Robin Hood and his fellows were in the midtand counties. Their place of refidence was in the foreft of Englewood, not far from Carlile (called corruptly in the ballad Englishwood, whereas Engle or Ingle wood fignifies wood for firing). At what time they lived does not appear. The author of the common ballad

on

"The pedigree, education, and marriage of Robin Hood," makes them contemporary with Robin Hood's father, in order to give him the honour of beating them: viz. The father of Robin a forester was,

And he fhot in a lufty long bow Two north-country miles and an inch at a fhot,

As the Pindar of Wakefield does know:
For he brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough,
And William of Clowdeflee,

To fhoot with our forefter for forty mark.
And our forefter beat them all three.

Colle&t. of Old Ballads, 1727, 1 vol. p. 67. This feems to prove that they were commonly thought to have lived before the popular hero of Sherwood.

I have only to add further concerning the principal hero of this ballad, that the BELLS were noted rogues in the North fo late as the time of Q. Elizabeth. See, in Rymer's Fœdera, a letter from Lord William Howard to fome of the officers of flate, wherein he mentions. them.

Part the Firft.

MERY it was in grene forèst

Among the levès grene, Wheras men hunt eaft and weft Wyth bowes and arrowes kene;

T.

To ryfe the dere out of theyr denne :
Suche fightes hath ofte bene fene;
As by thre yemen of the north countrèy,
By them it is I meane.

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

They were outlawed for venyfon,

Thefe yemen everychone;
They fwore then brethren upon a day,
To Englyfhe wood for to gone.
Now lith and lyften, gentylmen,
That of myrthe loveth to here:
Two of them were fingle men,

The third had a wedded fere.
Wyllyam was the wedded man,

Muche more than was hys care:
He fayde to hys brethren upon a day,
To Carleil he wold fare;

For to fpeke with fayre Alyce his wife,
And with hys children thre.
By my trouth, fayde Adam Bel,
Not by the counfell of me:
For if ye go to Carleil, brother,

And from thys wylde wode wende,
If the juftice may you take,

Your lyfe were at an ende.

If that I come not to-morrow, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Trufte not els, but that I am take,
Or elfe that I am flayne.

He took his leave of his brethren two,
And to Carleii he is gon:

Theyre he knocked at his owne windowe
Shortlye and anone.

Wher be you, fayre Alyce my wyfe,
And my chyldren thre?
Lyghtly let in thine owne hufbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

Alas! then fayde fayre Alyce,
And fyghed wonderous fore,

Thys place hath ben befette for you
Thys halfe

fere and more. Now am I here, faid Cloudeflè,

I wold that in 1 were:

Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe,
And let us make good chere.

She fetched hym meate and drynke plentyè,
Lyke a true wedded wyfe:
And pleafed hym with that he had,
Whome the loved as her lyfe.
There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle befyde the fyre,

Whych Wyllyam had found of charytyè
More than feven yere.

Up the rofe, and forth the goes,

Evel mote the fpede therefoore;

In all the hafte they can;
And came thronging to Wyllyames houfe,
As faft as they might gone.

There they befette that good yemàn
About on every fide:

Wyllyam hearde great noyfe of folkes,
That theyther-ward they hyed.
Alyce opened a back wyndow,

And loked all aboute,

She was ware of the ice and fhirife bothe, Wyth a full great route.

Alas! treafon, cryed Alyce,

Ever wo may thou be!

Goe into my chamber, hufband, the fayd,
Sweet Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

He toke hys fweard and hys bucler,

Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,
And wente into hys ftrongeft chamber,
Where he thought fureft to be.
Fayre Alyce, like a lover true,
Took a pollaxe in her hande :
He fhal be dead that here commeh in
Thys dore, whyle I may ftand.
Cloudeflè bente a wel-good bowe,
That was of trufty tre,
He finot the juftife on the breft,
That bys arowe bicft in three.
A curfe on his harte, faide William,
Thys day thy cote dyd on!
If it had ben no better than myne,
It had gone nere thy bone.
Yeld the, Cloudelle, fayde the juftife,
Thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.
A curfe on hys hart, fayd fair Alyce,
That my husband councelleth fo.
Set fyre on the houfe, faide the fherife,
Syth it wyll no better be,

And brenne we therein William; he faide,
Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.

They fyred the houfe in many a place ;
The fyre flew up on hye:

Alas! then cryed fair Alice,

I fe we here fhail dy.

3 N

Willia

William openyd a backe wyndow,
That was in hys chamber hie,
And wyth fhetes let downe his wyfe,
And cke hys chyldren thre.
Have here my treafure, fayde William,
My wyfe and my chyldren thre:
For Chriftès love do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.
Wyllyam fhot fo wonderous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all age,
And the fyre fo faft upon hym fell,
That hys bowftryng brent in two.
The fparkles brent and fell upon

Good Wyllyam of Cloudefle:
Than he was a wofull man, and fayde,
Thys is a cowardes death to me.
Lever had I, fayde Wyllyam,

With my fworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne enemycs wode
Thus cruelly to bren.

He toke hys fweard and hys buckler,
And among them all he ran,
Where the people were mott in prece,
He finot downe many a man.
There myght no man abyde hys stroke,
So ferily on them he ran :

Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him,
And fo toke that good yeman.

There they hym bounde both hand and fore, And in depe dongeon caft.

Now, Cloud.fle, fayd the hye juftice,

Thou shalt be hanged in haft.

A payre of new gallowes, fayd the fherife,
Now thal I for the make;

And the gates of Carleil fhal be fhutte,
No man thall come in therat.

Then fhal not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,
Nor yet fhall Adam Bell,
Though they come with a thousand mo,
Nor all the devels in hell.

Early in the mornynge the juft ce uprofe,
To the gates Airft gan he gon,
And commandeth to be that full clofe
Lightilè everychione.

Then went he to the markett place,
As falt as he could hye;

A pavre of new gallous there he fet up
Belyde the pyllorye.

A lytle boy among them asked,

What meaneth that gailow-tre ?" They fayde, To hange a good yeaman, Called Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

That lytle boye was the towne fwyne-heard,
And kept fayre Alyces fwyne;

Oft he had feene Cloudefle in the woede,
And geuend hym there to dyne.
He went out at a crevis in the wall,
And lightly to the woode dyd gone;

There met he with thefe wightye yemen

Shortly and anone.

Alas! then fayde that lytle boye,
Yetary here all to longe;

Cloudufle is taken, and dampned to death,
All readye for to honge.

Alas! then fayd good Adam Bell,
That ever we fee thys daye!
He had better with us have taryed,
So ofte as we dyd hym praye.

He myght have dwellyd in grene forèfte,
Under the fhadowes grene,

And have kepte both bym and us in refte,
Out of trouble and teene.

Adam bent a ryght good bow,

A great hart fone had he flayne:
Take that, chylde, he fayde, to thy dynner,
And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.

Now go we hence, fayed these wightye yeomes,
Tary we no lenger here;

We thall hym borowe by God his grace,
Though we bye it full dere.

To Caerleil wente thefe good yemen,
In a mery mornynge of Maye.
Here is a FYT of Cloudelye,
And another is for to faye.

Part the Second.

AND when they came to merry Carleil,
And in the mornynge tyde,
They founde the gates fhut them untyll
About on every syde.

Alas! then fayd good Adam Bell,

That ever we were made men!
Thefe gates be fhut fo wonderous wel,
We may not come here in.
Then befpake him Clym of the Clough,
Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;
Let us fave we be meffengers,

Streyght come nowe from our king.
Adam fayd, I have a letter written,
Now let us wyfely werke,
We wyl faye we have the kynges feals;
I holde the porter no clerke.
Then Adam Bell bete on the gate,
With ftrokes great and ftrong;
The porter herde fuch noyfe thcrat,
And to the gate he throng.

Who is there nowe, fayde the porter,

That maketh all thys dinne?

We be tow meffengers, fayde Clim of the Clough,
Be come ryght from our kyng.
We have a letter, fayde Adam Bel,
To the justice we muft it bryng;
Let us in our meffage to do,

That we were agayne to the kyng.
Here commeth none in, fayd the porter,
Be hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a falfe thefe be hanged up,
Called Wyllyam of Cloud.tle.

* Part.

Then

And fwore by Mary fre,
And if that we ftande long without,
Lyk a thefe honge thou shalt be.
Lo! here we have the kyngès feale:
What, Lurden, art thou wode?
The porter went it had been fo,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.
Welcome be my lordes feale, he fayde;
For that ye fhall come in.
He opened the gate full fhortlye;
An euyl openyng for him."

Now are we in, fayde Adam Bell,

Therof we are full faine;

But Chrift he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we fhall com out agayne.

Had we the kevs, fayd Clim of the Clough,
Ryght wel then fhould we fpede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we fe tyme and nede.
They called the porter to counfell,
And wrange hys necke in two,
And caft him in a depe dongeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.
Now am I porter, fayd Adam Bell,
Se, brother, the keys are here,
The worst porter to merry Carlcile

They have had thys hundred yere.
And now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyder our dere brother,

That lyeth in care and wo.

Then they bent theyr good yewe bowes,
And loked theyr ftringes were found,
The markett place in mery Carleile
They befet that found.

And, as they loked them befyde,

A pair of new galowes thei fee,
And the juftice, with a queft of fquyers,
Had judged theyr fere to de.

And Cloudeflè hymfeife lay in a carte,
Faft bound both fote and hand;
And a ftronge rop about hys necke,
All readye for to hange.

The juftice called to hym a ladde,
Cloudeflès clothes fhould he have,
To take the measure of that yeman,
Therafter to make hys grave.

I have fene as great mervaile, fayde Cloudeflè,
As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh thys grave for me
Hymfelfe may lye therin.

Thou fpeakeft proudli, fayd the justice,
I fhall the hange with my hande.
Full well herd this his bretheren two,
There ftyll as they did stande.
Then Cloudeflè caft his eyen afyde,
And faw hys brethren twaine

Redy the justice for to flaine.
I fe comfort, fayd Cloudeflè,
Yet hope I well to fare,
If I might have my hands at wyll
Ryght lytle wolde I care.
Then befpake good Adam Bell

To Clym of the Clough fo free,
Brother, fe ye marke the juftice wel;
Lo yonder ye may him see :
And at the sherife shote I wyll
Strongly wyth arrowe kene;
A better thote in mery Carleile

Thys feven yere was not fene.
They loofed their arrowes both at once,

Of no man had thei dread;

The one hyt the juftice, the other the sheryfe,
That both theyr fides gan blede.

All men voyded, that them ftode nye,
When the justice fell to the grounde,
And the fherife fell hym by;

Eyther had his deathes wounde.
All the citezens faft gan flye,

They durft no lenger abyde:
There lyghtly they loofed Cloudeflè,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.
Wyllyam fterte to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe fro hys hand he wronge,
On eche fyde he finote them downe,
Hym thought he taryed to long.
Wyllyam faide to his brethren two,
Thys daye let us lyve and de,
If ever you have nede, as I have now,
The fame fhall you finde by me.
They fhot fo well in that tyde,
Theyr fringes were of filke ful fure,
That they kept the ftretes on every fide;
That batayle did long endure.

The fought together as brethren tru,
Lyke hardy men and bolde,
Many a man to the ground they thrue,
And many a herte made colde.
But when their arrowes were all gon,

Men preced to them full faft,
They drew their fwordes then anone,
And theyr bowes from them caft.

They wenten lyghtlye on theyr way,
With fwerdes and bucklers round;

By that it was myd of the day,

They made mani a wound.