The mayor of Carlisle forth come was, And with him a full great rout; These three yeomen dread him full sore, For of their lives they stood in great doubt. The mayor came armed a full great pace, With a pollaxe in his hand; Many a strong man with him was, There in that stour to stand. The mayor smote at Cloudesle with his bill, His buckler he burst in two; Full many a yeoman with great ill, "Alas, treason!" they cried for woe. "Keep we the gates fast," they bad, "That these traitors theréout not go." But all for nought was that they wrought, For so fast they down were laid, Till they all three, that so manfully fought, Were gotten without at a braid. "Have here your keys," said Adam Bel, "Mine office I here forsake; If you do by my counsèl, A new porter do ye make." (_stour_, battle. _at a braid_, in a moment.) He threw the keys there at their heads, And bad them evil to thrive, And all that letteth any good yeoman To come and comfort his wife. Thus be these good yeomen gone to the wood, As light as leaf on lind; They laugh and be merry in their mood, Their enemies were far behind. When they came to English wood, Under the try sty tree, There they found bows full good, And arrows full great plenty. "So God me help," said Adam Bel, And Clym of the Clough so free, "I would we were now in merry Carlisle, Before that fair meany." They set them down and made good cheer, And eat and drank full well: Here is a fit of these wight young men, And another I shall you tell. (_letteth,_ hindereth. _lind,_ tree. _trysty tree_, trysting tree. _meany_, company.) [THE THIRD FIT.] |As they sat in English-wood, Under their trysty tree, Them thought they heard a woman weep, But her they might not see. Sore then sighed the fair Alice, And said, "Alas that ever I saw this day! For now is my dear husband slain, Alas and well a way! "Might I have spoken with his dear brethren, Or with either of them twain, [To let them know what him befell] My heart were out of pain!" Cloudeslè walked a little beside, And looked under the greenwood lind; He was ware of his wife and children three, Full woe in heart and mind. "Welcome, wife," then said William, "Under this try sty tree; I had weened yesterday, by sweet saint John, Thou should me never have see." "Now well is me," she said, "that ye be here, My heart is out of woe:" "Dame," he said, "be merry and glad, And thank my brethren two." "Hereof to speak," said Adam Bel, "I-wis it is no boot; The meat that we must sup withal It runneth yet fast on foot." Then went they down into a laund, These noble archers all three, Each of them slew a hart of grice, The best they could there see. [Illustration: 0178]