135. ‘Who hath them slayne?’ sayd the kyng; ‘Anone thou tell me.’ ‘Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’ 136. ‘Alas for rewth!’ than said our kynge: ‘My hart is wonderous sore; I had lever than a thousande pounde, I had knowne of thys before; 137. ‘For I have y-graunted them grace, And that forthynketh me: But had I knowne all thys before, They had been hanged all thre.’ 138. The kyng opened the letter anone, Himselfe he red it tho, And founde how these thre outlawes had slain Thre hundred men and mo: 139. Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe, And the mayre of Carlile towne; Of all the constables and catchipolles Alyve 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 his parks, and slayne his dere; Over all they chose the best; So perelous out-lawes as they were Walked not by easte nor west. 142. When the kynge this letter had red, In hys harte he syghed sore: ‘Take up the table,’ anone he bad, ‘For I may eat no more.’ 143. The kyng called his best archars To the buttes wyth hym to go: ‘I wyll se these felowes shote,’ he sayd, ‘That in the north have wrought this wo.’ 144. The kynges bowmen buske them blyve. And the quenes archers also; So dyd these thre wyght yemen; With 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 myght them stand. 146. Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle; ‘By God that for me dyed, I hold hym never no good archar, That shoteth at buttes so wyde.’ 147. ‘Whereat?’ than sayd our king, ‘I pray thee tell me.’ ‘At suche a but, syr,’ he sayd. ‘As men use in my countree.’ 148. Wyllyam wente into a fyeld, And his two brethren with him: There they set up two hasell roddes Twenty score paces betwene. 149. ‘I hold him an archar,’ said Cloudesle, ‘That yonder wande cleveth 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.’ Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe Clave the wand in two. 151. ‘Thou art the best archer,’ then said the king, ‘Forsothe that ever I se.’ ‘And yet for your love,’ sayd Wyllyam, ‘I wyll do more maystry. 152. ‘I have a sonne is seven 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 upon hys head, And go syxe score paces hym fro, And I my selfe with a brode arow Shall cleve the apple in two.’ 154. ‘Now haste thee then sayd the kyng, ‘By hym that dyed on a tre; But yf thou do not as thou hest sayde, Hanged shalt thou be.