Then fpake the good yeman Clym of the Clough, And lyghtly dyd off hys hode. 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 keys, faid Clim of the Clough, They called the porter to counfell, They have had thys hundred yere. Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes, And, as they loked them befyde, A pair of new galowes thei fee, The justice called to hym a ladde, I have fene as great mervaile, fayde Cloudeflè, Thou fpeakeft proudli, fayd the justice, At a corner of the market-place, Then befpake good Adam Bell The one hyt the juftice, the other the shersfe, Eyther had his deathes wounde. They durft no lenger aby de: If ever you have nede, as I have now, Theyr ftringes were of filke ful fure, That batayle did long endure. fide; The fought together as brethren tru, Men preced to them full faft, By that it was myd of the day, There was many an out-horne in Carleile blower, Many a woman fayde, Alas! And many theyr handes did wryng. The mayre of Carleile forth was com, Wyth hym a ful great route: Thefe yemen dred him full fore, Of their lyves they ftode in doute, The The mayre came armed a full great pace, The mayre fmot at Cloudflè with his bil, That thefe traytours thereout not go. Have here your keys, fayd Adam Bel, A new porter do ye make. He threw theyr keys at theyre heads, Thus be thefe good yemen gon to the wod, And when they came to the old Englishe wode, There they found bowes full good, They fet them downe, and made good chere, A fecond fyt of the wightye yeomen, Part the Third. AS they fat in Englyfhe wood, Under the green-wode tre, They thought they heard a woman wepe, Sore then fyghed the fayre Alyce ; For nowe is my dere hufband flayne: Might I have fpoke with his dere brethren, To fhew to them what him befell, Cloudeflè walk'd a litle befide, He was ware of his wife, and children thre, Welcome, wyfe, then fayd Wyllyam, Under this trufti tre : I wende yesterday, by fweete fayne John, "Now well is me that ye be here, My harte is out of wo." Herof to fpeake, faid Adam Bell, The meate, that we muft fupp withall, Then went they downe into a launde, The beft that they cold fe. Wyth fuche meate as they had; Thus be thefe yemen to London gone, Tyll they came to the kyng's pallàce, And whan they came to the kyngès courte, Unto the palace-gate, Of no man wold they afke no leave, 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. And whan they came before the kyng, The fayed, Lord, we befeche the here, What be your nams, then faid our king, They faid Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, Be ye those theves, then fayd our kyng, That men have tolde of to me? Here to God I make an avowe, Ye shall be hanged all thre. Ye fhal be dead withoute mercy, As I am kynge of this lande. But, good lorde, we beseche you now, That yee graunt us grace, That were great pity, then fayd the quene, My lorde, whan I came fyrft into this lande The fyrst boone that I wold afke, Then, good lorde, graunt it me. Then good my lord, I you befcche, But none foe pleasant to my pay, fhee fayd; Madame, fith it is your defyre, Your asking graunted fhal 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 shal be. But good my lord, fpeke fome mery word, I graunt you grace, then fayd our kyng. There came meffengers out of the north And whan they came before the kynge, How fareth my juftice? fayd the kyng, Syr, they be flayne without leafynge, Who hath them flayne, fayd the kyng, Anone thou tell to me? "Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudetle." I had lever than a thoufande pounde, The kyng he opened the letter anone, And founde how thefe outlawes had flaine Fyrft the juftice, and the sheryfe, And the mayre of Carleile towne ; The baylyes, and the bedyls both, Thefe outlawes had yflaw : And broke his parks, and flayne his dere ; When the kyng this letter had red, Take 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 hym never no good archar, That hoteth at buttes fo wyde. "At what a butte now wold yc I pray thee tell to me?" At fuch a but, fyr, he fayd, fhote, As men ufe in my countrè. I hold him an archar, fayd Cloudeflè, I fhall affaye, Sir, fayd Cloudeflè, Clave the wand in two. Thou art the best archer, then said the king, And yet for your love, fayd Wyllyam, I have a fonne is feven 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 head, Shall cleve the apple in two. By hym that dyed on a tre, And thou touche his head or gowne, In the earth he drove a stake: And bad hym ftand ftyll thereat; And then his bowe he bent; There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe, Muche people prayed for Cloudeflè, I geve thee eightene pence a day, And I thyrtene pence a day, faid the quene Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, 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 wyne-feller he shall be: And when he cometh to mans eftate, And, Wyllyam, bring to me your wife, The yemen thanketh them courteouslys So forth be gone these good yemen, And after came and dwelled with the kynge, Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen, God fend them eternal blyffe, And all that with a hand-bowe fhoteth, That of heaven they never myffe. Amen. $103. 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 applied 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 exprefs'd her fortune; "And the dyed finging it." APOORE foule fat fighing under a ficamore tree; willow, willow, willow! With his hand on his bofom, his head on his knee: Sing, O the greene willow fhall be my garland! I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone; O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. My love the is turned; untrue fhe doth prove: She renders me nothing but hate for my love. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. O pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one; Her heart's hard as marble, the rues not my mone. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The cold ftreams ran by him, his eyes wept apace; O willow, &c. The falt tears fell from him,which drowned his face: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. The mute birds fat by him, made tame by his mones: O willow, &c. The falt tears fell from him, which foftned theftones. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene 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. O that beauty fhould harbour a heart that's fo hard! My truc love rejecting without all regard. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. Let love no more boaft him, in palace or bower; O willow, &c. For women are trothles, and flote in an houre. O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. But what helps complaining? In vain I complaine: O willow, &c. I must patiently fuffer her fcorne and difdaine. O willow, &c. . Sing, O the greene willow, &c. Come, all you forfaken, and fit down by me; He that 'plaines of his falfe love, mine's falfer than Sing, O the greene willow, &c. [the. The willow wreath weare I, fince my love did fiert, A garland for lovers forfaken most meete. Sing, O the greene willow fhall by my garland! Part the Second. LOWE lay'd by my forrow, begot by difdaise, O willow, willow, willow! Sing, O the greene willow fhall be my garhad! O love too injurious, to wound my poor heat! O willow, &c. To fuffer the triumph, and joy in my fraart: O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. O willow, willow, willow! the willow galind, O willow, &c. A figne of her falfeneffe before me doth fund; O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I e, Sing, O the greene willow, &c. In grave where I reft mee, hang this to the view O willow, &c. Of all that doe know her, to blaze her untrue, O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, O willow, &c. "Here lyes one, drank poyfon for potion of O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. [fweet." Though the thus unkindly hath fcorned my love, O willow, &c. And carelessly fimiles at the forrowes I prove; O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, Caufe once well I lov'd her,and honour'd her name: 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 dear, 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 relieft, O willow, &c. Sing, O the greene willow, &c. Farewell, |