And bound therto his eldest sonne, And bad hym stande styll therat, And turned the childes face fro him, Because he shuld not sterte. 240 An apple upon his head he set, And then his bowe he bent; Syxe score paces they were out met, And thether Cloudeslè went. There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe, 245 Hys bowe was great and longe, He set that arrowe in his bowe, That was both styffe and stronge. He prayed the people that was there, That they would styll stande, 250 "For he that shooteth for such a wager, Behoveth a stedfast hand." Muche people prayed for Cloudeslè, That hys lyfe saved myght be, And whan he made hym redy to shote, 255 There was many a weping eye. Thus Cloudeslè clefte the apple in two, That many a man myght se;[L258] "Over gods forbode," sayde the kynge, "That thou shote at me! 260 "I geve the xviii. pence a day, And my bowe shalt thou beare, And over all the north countre, I make the chyfe rydere." "And I geve the xvii. pence a day," said the quene, 265 "By god and by my fay; Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, No man shall say the nay. "Wyllyam, I make the a gentelman, Of clothyng and of fe, 270 And thi two brethren yemen of my chambre, For they are so semely to se. "Your sonne, for he is tendre of age, Of my wyne-seller shall he be, And whan he commeth to mannes estate, 275 Better avaunced shall he be. "And, Wylliam, bring me your wife," said the quene, Me longeth her sore to se; She shal be my chefe gentelwoman, To governe my nursery." 280 The yemen thanketh them full curteously, And sayde, "To some bysshop wyl we wend, Of all the synnes that we have done To be assoyld at his hand." So forth be gone these good yemen, 285 As fast as they myght hye, And after came and dwelled with the kynge, And dyed good men all thre. Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen, God send them eternall blysse, 290 And all that with hande bowe shoteth, That of heaven may never mysse! 176, trusty, R. 177, there, C. 181, nowe, C. 184, drynke, R. 186. Another I wyll, R. 2, trusty, R. 3, they, R. 9, brethen. 11, supplied from a modern edition. 12, put out, R. 18, thus, trusty, R. 20, had. 24, brethen. 31, graece. 37, whent. 45, at our, R. 51, you breng, R. 197. At what a butte now, wold ye shot. PERCY. 227, hest. 217-258. For remarks upon this passage in the story, see the preface to the ballad.