116. And whan they came before the kyng, As it was the lawe of the lande, They kneled downe without lettyng, And eche held up his hand. 117. They sayed, ‘Lord, we beseche you here, That ye wyll graunt us grace; For we have slayne your fat falow dere In many a sondry place.’ 118. ‘What is your names,’ than said our king, ‘Anone that you tell me?’ They sayd, ‘Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’ 119. ‘Be ye those theves,’ than sayd our kyng, ‘That men have tolde of to me? Here to God I make a vowe, Ye shal be hanged al thre. 120. ‘Ye shal be dead without mercy, As I am kynge of this lande.’ He commanded his officers everichone, Fast on them to lay hande. 121. There they toke these good yemen, And arested them al thre: ‘So may I thryve,’ sayd Adam Bell, ‘Thys game lyketh not me. 122. ‘But, good lorde, we beseche you now, That ye wyll graunt us grace, Insomuche as we be to you comen, Or elles that we may fro you passe, 123. ‘With such weapons, as we have here, Tyll we be out of your place; And yf we lyve this hondred yere, We wyll aske you no grace.’ 124. ‘Ye speake proudly,’ sayd the kynge; ‘Ye shall be hanged all thre.’ ‘That were great pitye,’ sayd the quene, ‘If any grace myght be. 125. ‘My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande To be your wedded wyfe, The fyrst boone that I would aske, Ye would graunt me belyfe: 126. ‘And I asked you never none tyll now; Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me.’ ‘Now aske it, madam,’ sayd the kynge, ‘And graunted shal it be.’ 127. ‘Than, good lord, I you beseche, These yemen graunt you me.’ ‘Madame, ye myght have asked a boone, That shuld have been worth them thre. 128. ‘Ye myght have asked towres, and townes, Parkes and forestes plentie.’ ‘None soe pleasant to my pay,’ shee sayd; ‘Nor none so lefe to me.’ 129. ‘Madame, sith it is your desyre, Your askyng graunted shal be; But I had lever have given you Good market townës thre.’ 130. The quene was a glad woman, And sayde, ‘Lord, gramarcy; I dare undertake for them, That true men shal they be. 131. ‘But, good lord, speke som mery word, That comfort they may se.’ ‘I graunt you grace,’ than sayd our kyng; ‘Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.’ 132. They had not setten but a whyle Certayne without lesynge, There came messengers out of the north With letters to our kyng. 133. And whan they came before the kynge, They kneled downe upon theyr kne; And sayd, ‘Lord, your officers grete you well, Of Carlile in the north cuntre.’ 134. ‘How fareth my justice,’ sayd the kyng, ‘And my sherife also?’ ‘Syr, they be slayne, without lesynge, And many an officer mo.’