The mayre came armed a full great pace,
With a pollaxe in hys hande;
Many a ftrong man wyth him was,

There in that ftowre to ftande.

The mayre fmot at Cloudeflè with his bil,
Hys bucler he braft in two,
Full many a yeman with great evyll,
Alas! they cryed for wo.
Kepe we the gates faft, they bad,

That thefe traytours thereout not go.
But al for nought was that the wrought,

For fo fafte they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that fo manfulli fought,
Were gotten without, abraide.

Have here your keys, fayd Adam Bel,
Myne office I here forfake,
And yf you do by my
counfell
A new porter do

ye

make.

He threw theyr keys at theyre heads,
And bad them well to thryve,
And all that letteth any good yeman
To com and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be thefe good yemen gon to the wod,
And lyghtly, as lefe on lynde;

The lough and be mery in theyre mode,
Theyr foes wer ferr behind.

Welcome, wyfe, then fayd Wyllyam,

Under this trufti tre:

[ wende yesterday, by fwcete faynt John, Thou shoulde me never have fee.

"Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo."
Dame, he fayde, be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.

Herof to fpeake, faid Adam Bell,

I-wis it is no bote:

The meate, that we muft fupp withall,

It runneth yet faft on fore.

Then went they downe into a launde,
Thefe noble archares thre;
Eche of them flew a hart of greece,

nye.

The beft that they cold fe. Have here the beft, Alyce, my wyfe, Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudellye; By caufe ye fo bouldly ftode by me, When I was flayne full Then went they to theyr fuppère Wyth fuche meate as they had; And thanked God of their fortune: They were both mery and glad. And when thei had fupped well, Certaine wythouten leafe,

Under the trufty tre,

There they found bowes full good,

And arrowes full great plentyè.

So God me help, fayd Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough fo fre,
I would we were in mery Carleile,
Before that fayre meynè.

They fet them downe, and made good chere,
And eate and dranke full well.

A fecond fyt of the wighty yeomen,
Another I wyll you tell.

Part the Third.

AS they fat in Englyfhe wood,

Under the green-wode tre,

They thought they heard a woman wepe,

But her they mought not fe.

Sore then fyghed the fayre Alyce :

That ever I fawe thys day!

For nowe is my dere hufband flayne:

Alas! and well-a-way!

Might I have fpoke with his dere brethren,
Or with evther of them twayne,

To fhew to them what him befell,
My heart were out of payne,

Cloudeflè walk'd a little befide,
Lookt under the green-wood linde,

He was ware of his wife, and children thre,
Full wo in harte and mynde.

To get us a charter of peace.
Alyce fhal be at our fojournying
In a nunnery here befyde';
My tow fons fhail wyth her go,
And there they fhall abyde.
Mync eldeft fon fhall go wyth me;

For hym have you no care;

And he fhall brcng you worde agayn,
How that we all do fare.

Thus be thefe yemen to London gone,
As faft as they might he,

Tyll they came to the kyng's pallace,
Where they woulde nedes be.

And whan they came to the kyngès courte,
Unto the pallace-gate,

Of no man wold they afke no leave,

But boldly went in therat.

They preced preftly into the hall,

Of no man had they dreade:

The porter came after, and dyd them' call,

And with them gan to chyde.

The ufher fayde, Yemen, what would ye have? I pray youll to me :

You myght this make offycers fhent :

Good fyrs, of whence be ye?

Syr, we be out-lawes of the foreft

Certayne withouten leafe:

And hether we be come to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

And

And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
The kneled downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.

The fayed, Lord, we befeche the here,
That ye will graunt us grace:
For we have flayne your fat falow-dere
In many a fondry place.

What be your nams, then faid our kyng,

Anone that you tell me?

They faid, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudeflè.

Be those theves, then fayd our kyng,
ye

That men have tolde of to me?
Here to God I make an avowe,
Ye thall be hanged all thre.
Ye fhal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande.
He commandeth his officers every one,
Faft on them to lay hande.

There they toke thefe good yemen,
And arrefted them all thre:
So may I thryve, faid Adam Bell,
Thys game lyketh not me.

But, good lorde, we befeche you now,
That yee graunt us grace,
Infomuche as frelè to you we comen,
As frelè fro you to passe,
With fuch weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,
We wyll afke you no grace.
Ye fpeake proudly, fayd the kynge;
Ye fhall be hanged all thre.

That were great pity, then fayd the quene,
If any grace myght be.

My lorde, whan I came fyrft into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrit boone that I wold afke,
Ye wold graunt it me belyfe:
And I never afked none tyll now;
Then, good lorde, graunt it me.
Now ask it, madam, faid the kynge,
And graunted it fhall be.
Then, good my lord, I you befeche,
Thefe yemen graunt ye me.
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone

That thuld have been worth them all three. Ye myght have afked towres and townes, Parkes and forefis plentè.

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

Madame, fith it is your defyre,

Your asking graunted shal be; But I had lever have geven you Good market townes thre. The quene was a glad woman, And fayde, Lord, gramarcyè: I dare undertake for them

That true men they thal be

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

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

They had not fetten but a whyle
Certayne without lefynge,

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

And whan they came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne;
Sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntrè.

How fareth my juftice? fayd the kyng,
And my fherife alfo ?

Syr, they be flayne without leafynge,
And many an officer mo.

Who hath them flayne, fayd the kyng,
Anone thou tell to me?

Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudeflè."

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

I had lever than a thousande pounde,
I had known of thys before;
For I have graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me:
But had I knowen all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre.
The kyng he opened the letter anone,
Himfelfe he red it thro',

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

Fyrft the juftice, and the fheryfe,

And the mayre of Carleile towne ;
Of all the conftables and catchipolles
Alyve were fcant left one.

The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the fergeaunte of the law,
And forty fofters of the fe,

Thefe outlawes had yflaw:

And broke his parks, and flayne his dere;
Of all they chose the best;
So perelous out-lawes, as they were,
Walked not by eatte nor weft.

When the kyng this letter had red,

In harte he fyghed fore:
Take up the tables anone he bad,

For I may eat no more.

The kyng called hys beft archars
To the buttes wyth hym to go:
I wyl fee thefe felowes thote, he fayd,
In the north have wrought this wo.
The kynges bowmen bufket them blyve,
And the quenes archers alfo;
So dvd thefe thre wyghtye yemen;
With them they thought to go.
3 N3

There

There twife or thryfe they fhote about,

For to affay theyr hande;
There was no fhote thofe yemen shot
That any prycke myght stand.

Then fpake Wyllyam of Cloudeflè;
By him that for me dyed,
I hold him never no good archar,
That fhoteth at buttes fo wyde.

"At what a butte now wold ye fhote,
I pray thee tell to me?"

At fuch a but, fyr, he fayd,

As men ufe in my countrè.
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,

With his two bretherène:
There they fet up two hafell roddes
Full twenty fore betwene.

I hold him an archar. faid Cloudeflè,
That yonder wand cleveth in two.
Here is none fuche, fayd the kyng,
Nor none that can fo do.

I fhall affaye, Sir, fayd Cloudeflè,
Or that I farther go.

Cloudefly with a bearyng arowe

Clave the wand in two.

Thou art the best archer, then fayd the king,

For fothe that ever I fee.

And yet for your love, fayd Wyllyam,

I wyll do more mastery.

I have a fonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare;

I wyll hym tye to a stake;

All fhall fe, that be here;

And lay an apple upon hys lead,
And go fyxe fcore hym fro,
And I my felfe with a broad aròw
Shall cleve the apple in two.
Now hafte the, then fayd the king,
By hymn that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not, as thou haft fayde,
Hanged fhalt thou be.

And thou touche his head or gowne,
In fyght that men may fe,
By all the fayntes that be in heaven,
I fhall hange you all thre.
That I have promifed, faid Wyllyam,
That wyll I never forfake.
And there even before the kynge

In the earth he drove a ftake:
And bound thereto his eldest fonne,

And bad hym ftand ftyll thereat;
And turned the childes face him fio,
Because he should not fterte.
An apple upon his head he fet,

And then his bowe he bent;
Syxe foore pares they were out mete,
And thether Cloudeflè went.

There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe;
He fet that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.
He prayed the people that wer there
That they all ftill wold stand,
For he that hoteth for fuch a wager
Behoveth a ftedfaft hand.

Much people prayed for Cloudeflè,
That his lyfe faved myght be;
And whan he made him redy to shote,
There was many a weeping ee.
But Cloudefle cleft the apple in twaine,
His fonne he did not nee.
Over Gods forbode, fayde the kinge.

That thou fhold shote at me.

I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countrè
I make the chyfe rydère.

And I thyrtene pence a day, faid the quene,
By God, and by my fay;

Come feche thy payment when thou wyit, No man fhall fay the nay.

Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman

Of clothyng, and of fe:

And thy two breathren, yemen of my chambre,

For they are fo femely to fe.

Your fonne, for he is tendre of age,

Of my wync-feller he thall be:
And when he cometh to mans eftate,
Shall better avaunced be.

And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife,
Me longeth her fore to fe;

She fhall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye.

The yemen thanketh them courteously;
To fome bishop wyl we wend,
Of all the fynnes, that we have done,
To be alloyi'd at his hand.

So forth be gone thefe good yemen,

As falt as they might he;

And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all three.

Thus endeth the lives of thefe good yemen,
God fend them eternal blyffe,

And all that with a hand-bowe fheteth,
That of heaven they never mytle. Amen.

$106. Song Willow, Willow, Willow. It is from the following ftanzas that Shakspeare has taken his fong of the Willow, in his Othello, A. 4. f. 3. though fomewhat varied, and ap plied by him to a female character. He makes Defdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner:

Mark.

"My

"My mother had a maid call'd Barbarie :
"She was in love; and he the lov'd forfook her,

"And the prov'd mad. She had a fong of WILLOW,
"An old thing 'twas, but it exprefied her fortune;
"And the dyed finging it."

APOORE foule at fighing under a ficamore tree';

O willow, willow, willow!

With his hand on his bofon, his head on his knce: O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow fhall be my garland!
He figh'd in his finging, and after each grone,
O willow, &c.

I am dead to all pleafure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

My love the is turned; untrue the doth prove: O willow, &c.

She renders me nothing but hate for my love. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one;
O willow, &c,

Her heart's hard as marble, the rues not my mone.
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The cold ftreams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;

O willow, &c.

The falt tears fell fromhim, which drowned his face: O willow, &c.

Sing, O the gicene willow, &o.

The mute birds fat by him,made tameby his mones:

O willow, &c.

The falt tearsfell from him, whichfoftnedtheftones. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the grecne willow, &c.

Let nobody blame me, her fcornes I do prove : O willow, &c.

She was borne to be faire; I to die for her love. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Part the Second.

LOWE lay'd by my forrow, begot by difdaine,
O willow, willow, willow!

Against her too cruell, ftill ftill I complaine,
O willow, willow, willow 1

O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
O love too injurious, to wound my poor heart!
O willow, &c.

To fuffer the triumph, and joy in my smart:
O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O willow, willow, willow! the willow garland, O willow, &c.

A figne of her falfeneffe before me doth stand: O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,

O willow, &c.

So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye.

O willow, &c.

O willow, &c.

O willow, &c.

Caufconcewell I lov'd her,and honour'd her name: O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The name of her founded fo fweete in mine care, O willow, &c.

It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare. O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe ; O willow, &c.

it now brings me anguish,then brought me reliefe, O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c. 3 N

Farewell,

O willow, willow, willow! O willow, willow, willow!

Sing, O the greene willow fhall be my garland!

IN

§197.

Barbara Allen's Cruelty.
Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a fair maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrve month of May,

When greene buds they were swellin, Young Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,

For love of Barbara Allen.

He fent his man unto her then,

To the town where thee was dwellin;
You must come to my mafter deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen,

For death is printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin:
Then hafte away to comfort him,

O lovely Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his heart is ftealin:
Yet little better fhall he bee
For bonny Barbara Allen.
So flowly, flowly, fhe came up,

And flowly the came nye him;
And all she say'd, when there the came,
Young man, I think y' are dying.

He turned his face unto her ftrait,
With deadlye for ow fighing;
O lovely maid, come pitty mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.
If on your death-bed you dee lye,
What needs the tile you are tellin;
I cannot keep you from your death:
Farewell, fayd Barbara Allen.
He turned his face unto the wall,

As deadly pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adient adieu to you all!
Adieu to Barbara Allen!

As fhe was walking ore the fields,
She heard the belis a kneilin;
And every stroke did feem to faye,

Unworthye Barbara Ailen.

She turned her bodye round about,

And fpied the corple a coming:
Laye down, lave down the corps, the fayd,
That I may look up in him.

With fcornful eye fhe looked downe,
Her check with laughter fwellin;
While all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.

When he was alive and neare me! She, on her death-bed as the laye, Beg'd to be buried by him; And fore repented of the daye That he did ere denye him. Farewell, the fayd, ye virgin's all, And thun the fault I fell in : Henceforth take warning by the fall Of cruel Barbara Allen.

$108. The following ballad is upon the fame fubject as the Induction to Shakipeare's Taming of the Shrew: whether it may be thought to have fuggefted the hint to the dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, the icader must determine.

Toe Frolicfome Duke, or the Tinker's good Fortune.

The ftory is told of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy; and is thus related by an old Eng. lith writer: "The faid Duke, at the marriage of Eleonora, fifter to the King of Portugal, at Bruges in Flanders, which was folemnized in the deepe of winter; when as by reason of unfeafonable weather he could neitheir hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards, dice, &c. and fuch other domeftick fports, or to fee ladies dance; with fome of his courtiers, he would in the evening walke difguised all about the towne. It fo fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he found a country fellow dead drunke, fnorting on a bulke; he caused his followers to bring him to his palace, and there ft.ipping him of his old clothes, and attyring him after the court fathion, when he wakened, he and they were all ready to attend upon his excellency, and perfuade him that he was fome great Duke. The poor fellow, admiting how be came there, was ferved in ftate all day long; afte fupper he saw them dance heard muficke, and all the rest of thofe court-like pleafures: but late at night, when he was well-tipled, and again faft aflcepe, they put on his old robes, and to conveyed him to the place where they first found him. No v the fellow had not made them fo good fport the day before, as he did now, when he returned to himfelf: all the jeft was to fee how he looked upon it. In conclufion, after fome little admiration, the poor man told his friends he had feen a vifion; conftantly believed it; would not otherwife be perfuaded, and fo the jeft ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 2. fect. 2. memb. 4. ad ed. 1624 fol.

NOW as fame does report, a young duke keeps

a court,